And for some reason, I’m so turned on that I can’t stop looking.
He doesn't startle. He doesn't even turn around right away. He just stands there, his shoulders tensioning as he senses the change in the air. "The inventory logs are in the bottom drawer of the cabinet, Gia."
My voice is a dry rasp. "How did you?—?"
"I know your scent. Jasmine and amber don't belong here." He turns around slowly, making no move to put the shirt on.
I swallow hard. Up close, the damage is even worse. There’s a scar on his chest, right over his heart, that looks like it was made by a bullet. He’s a walking ledger of every person who ever tried to put him in the ground.
He’s a monster. A beautiful, broken monster.
"Staring is rude. little Gia," he all but purrs and I bite my lips.
"I’ve never seen... I didn't know," I whisper, my eyes tracing the silver lines.
"Violence leaves marks. You of all people should know that." He doesn't move to cover himself. He just stands there, allowing me to look, his green eyes dark and unreadable. "Are you afraid?"
I think about it. I think about the basement. I think about the pliers and the blood. My nerves are screaming at me to run, but my heart? My heart is steady. "No. I’m not."
"Liar," he murmurs, though there’s a ghost of a smirk on his lips.
"I’m not," I say, finding my sass again. I take a step closer, my bare feet sinking into the rug. "Scars are just stories. I’m curious about the ending, that’s all."
"The ending is still being written." He watches me approach, his body perfectly still. "You’re free to approach, if you wish. I won't bite. Not unless you ask me to."
My heart does a violent somersault. I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. But my hand is already moving. I reach out, my fingers trembling slightly, and I touch the scar on his shoulder blade.
His skin is hot. Scorching. The muscle beneath is hard as stone, but he doesn't flinch. I trace the line down, my fingertips grazingthe silver tissue. It feels different than the rest of him—smooth and tight.
"This one?" I ask, my voice barely audible.
"A knife in a Chicago alley. Fifteen years ago."
"And this?" I touch the mark over his heart.
"A parting gift from a man who didn't want to lose his territory. He missed by an inch."
The sexual tension in the room is so thick I could choke on it. He’s looking at me with an intensity that makes my blood feel like it’s boiling. I’m tracing his history, and he’s watching me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
"Gia," he says, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
"Yeah?"
"I know what my wish is."
I stop moving my hand. I look up at him, my breath catching. "You do?"
"I want you to come for me."
The words land like a blow to my stomach. I blink, my brain trying to process the command. "What?"
"The wager," he says, his eyes dropping to my mouth. "I won the race. I get a wish. And right now, I want to watch you come. For me. Alone."
Oh gods.
My face is an absolute inferno. "Rafael, you can't be serious. Right here? Now?"
"Are you refusing a debt, little Gia?" He steps closer, forcing me back against the edge of his heavy mahogany desk. He doesn't touch me, but his heat is everywhere. "I want to see what you look like when you lose control. I want to see if the Ghost Heiress makes the same sounds as the woman who kissed me in the basement."
