Sexual Deception (New Adult Interracial Romance, Bad for You Series Vol #1) (6 page)

“Of course. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Blended sun dried tomatoes are fifty percent of the sauce. It makes the liquid so rich and thick.

When tomatoes are dried, all the water is taken out of the fruit, so what you're left with is this sweet pulp.”

She set the fork next to her bowl and scowled at me. “Why am I here?”

“Don't you want to taste what I made for dessert first before we get into that?”

She stood and traced the outline of her body with her hands. “I thought you would be hungry for the sweet treats I brought with me.”

She slid her palms against the side of her breasts and then cupped those supple mounds. The urge to get up and take her ran through me. In my mind, she was an enemy. To my dick, she continued to remain a prospect for bedtime activities.

Would it be that bad to fuck her? Of course. I can't believe I even had to ask. But how far will
she go with this enticing thing?

“Take off that dress,” I said.

“Help me.”

I let go of the gun and got up. “Okay.”

In seconds, she swung her bowl at me.
Fuck.
I dodged it. The glass crashed to the ground. I charged for her. She ducked under the table and then it and all the food, plates, and wine turned over, slamming into my body. I stumbled, but didn't fall. The table flipped over. Everything splattered around us. Her shoes were off as she formed her hands into fists and snarled at me.

Blocking the only exit she knew out of the room, I scanned the floor for the gun that I had attached to the table. “If you didn't like the food that much, you could have just told me.”

“I loved the food. I just didn't enjoy the company.”

I grabbed the table and turned it sideways. Only wood and my empty holster stared back at me.

Fuck. She has the gun.
A click sounded in front of me. I looked up.

Melody held my gun and pointed it at my face. “Why did you ask me to come upstairs?”

I raised my hands and grinned. “Does it matter? You have me now, just shoot.”

She rose. “When you realized that I was still in your gallery, why didn't you come downstairs and kill me?”

“Why not just stay upstairs and cook us dinner?”

“That's not an answer.”

“It's mine.”

Still aiming my way, she scooted to the side and stuck her feet, one by one, back into her heels.

“You had a gun in your office ceiling that could have shot me dead in my chest. Why didn't you do it?”

I inched her way, not enough to startle her, but more to close the distance between us.

“Remember you asked me why I read philosophy?”

She shifted the point to my heart. “Make this quick. My weak womanly arms can't hold this gun up for too long. I tend to lose patience fast and shoot an asshole real quick when answers aren't given on a timely basis.”

I chuckled. “I love philosophy. It motivates people to ask questions about right and wrong, true things and false ones. When Julio asked me to kill you and showed me your picture, tons of questions flooded my mind.”

“Little philosophical ones, huh?”

“Lots of them. Like why would Miguel want to kill you in the first place?”

She smirked. “Why not?”

I dove for her. She shot my way. A bullet grazed my shoulder and burned into my flesh. No matter how many times someone shot me, I could never get used to the pain like the action guys on the movies. Blinking through the insane throbbing, I grunted and kicked up the chair near her. It slammed into her leg, but didn't take her down. I slung the wine bottle at her. She avoided it. It crashed against the wall. Sharp pieces rained down on us.
Damn she’s quick.
I reached for something else. Shooting behind her, she raced out of the living room, moving fast and impressively in those heels. But not fast enough. I caught her from behind.

You should have worn sneakers, sweetheart.

“Get off of me.” She struggled to twist around and shoot me.

I held her arms down and knocked the gun out of her hand. It fell to the ground and shot out a bullet from the impact of hitting the tile. Although my condo was soundproof, I didn't relish the idea of a gun going off more than once in my home. A tiny little pistol stuck in the holster on her inner thigh.

I removed the small gun, slung it to the side, turned her body around, and shoved her against the wall. “You're just gaining all types of first-time records tonight. Aren't you?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You're the first person to ever shoot me in my condo.”

“And the first to knock you off of your game?”

“Maybe.”

“How about the first woman to make you scream.” She slammed her knee into my dick.

“Bitch!” With luck, I held on to her as she hammered me with punches to my temples.

She's a fucking beast!

Pain ate away at my skull. It wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to me, but I'd had better nights. I yanked her down to the ground, got on top of her, and held her hands to the floor. “You're not getting cheesecake now and I made a delicious chocolate chip one.”

Panting, she dug her nails into my hands and kicked her legs at me. We wrestled on the floor, grappling like mixed martial art fighters. I couldn't keep a steady hold on her and she could never truly get away. She flipped. I rolled. She dipped. I dived. Her dress ripped in the best places and exposed black lace against that chocolate skin.

After minutes of struggling against each other, her skirt rode up to her waist. She paused under me with her legs spread open and me lying on top of her. Every time she squirmed under me, it incited thunder bolts of lust to my groin.

She panted, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Now that you've stopped injuring my dick, yes.”

She relaxed her body and gazed up at the ceiling. “What are we doing?”

“Surviving.”

“Is that what's getting hard between my thighs, survival?”

“It could be.” I shouldn't have, but I rubbed my stiffness up against her.

She bit her bottom lip. “You should stop that.”

“Why?” My dick begged me to let him out of my jeans. “Is it because you're bad for me?”

“Real bad.”

I drank in that enchanting face—big brown eyes, high cheek bones, full lips, and skin that made me want to caress it. “Is that what happened to Miguel? Did he get a taste of that bad pussy?”

“Let go of my hands and let me show you what I let him taste.”

“No.” I tilted her way and captured her mouth. Even crazier, she took what I gave her, sucking on my tongue as I slid it between her lips. All thoughts of survival disappeared as my brain cells rushed to my cock. Groaning, I shifted both of her small wrists to one hand and slipped my other hand down to her breasts.

Damn. She might be the death of me.

Those mounds were more than two handfuls. They reminded me of soft pillows. Her nipples pebbled under my exploring. A soft whimper came from her.

But is it real or fake?

Her body reacted like a turned-on woman. Those nipples pushed up against her bra's lacy material. Her legs widened more as if inviting me to come inside. I was ten seconds away from yanking my dick out and giving it to her. Ten seconds. But my gut jumped into the scene, splashing cold logic on my face.

I ceased with touching and kissing her. “You are bad.”

She stared up at me with sleepy eyes. Her chest rose and fell like her heart raced fast within.

“Are you scared to try this pussy?”

I dragged my gaze from those dreamy eyes down to those succulent legs. “Yes. I'm scared I'll die in the middle of fucking you.”

“Smart man. It won't be the middle, but it'll definitely be after you make me come.” She wrapped one of her legs around me. I pressed my cock into her as need drummed a staccato pattern of hunger into me. It jumbled my thoughts into a ball of confusion.

Why am I not fucking her again?

“Could we agree to you trying to kill me after I come?” I asked.

“No. Rule number one, never let them come. Those seconds right before a man's sperm spills out of his cock are the best times to slice his neck.”

Oh yeah. That's why I'm not going to have sex with her. She's a goddamn killer.

I swallowed and yearned to touch my own neck, just to make sure she hadn't somehow cut it while she talked.

“So you never wait until after a guy comes. Why not?” I asked.

“Because then clarity has returned.”

“Hmmm.” I circled her nipple with my index finger. “How many guys have you had inside of you before you took their lives?”

“Enough to make you blush.” Fury glazed over her eyes. “But you're asking the wrong

questions, aren't you?”

“How many guys did you let come inside of you?”

“One.”

“How many men have you had sex with and not slain them?”

“One.”

“Same man?”

“Yes.” She avoided my eyes.

“Who?”

“Miguel.”

My body tensed. I was sure she felt it.

Is she lying or telling the truth? How does it matter or mean nothing to this situation?

I pinched the nipple that I'd been taunting. She closed her eyes and moaned.

Hmmm. She sounds so good, but how much is an act and how much is reality?

“How many times have you let Miguel come inside of you?” I whispered.

“So much that I could never count it in a lifetime.”

But I never met or heard about her.
Odd.
I usually met Miguel's broads as he traveled with them or the few times I visited while he shot a movie or went on some marketing tour spreading the word about his films. He kept tons of groupie females around him, ones that enjoyed being in his spotlight.

Yet, I'd never seen him with anyone more than a few times.

I didn't think one woman could keep his attention enough. Acting was his heart, crime his
passion.

Miguel loved acting, but in the end, he saw it as a legal front, a way to clean dirty money for his uncles, true hitters in Cuba and various parts of the Caribbean Islands. Drug money funded the production of his movies. Him and I came up with the idea ten years ago as a joke while we drank at our favorite bar. It sounded like a great idea. Pretend to dump loads of thousands into crappy scripts and produce several straight to DVD films. When he did his taxes, he would claim that he raised the majority of his funds from investors, his uncles, and then he wrote down outrageous expenses. For years, that's how he did it, producing several movies a year for fun. In most of them, he played the main character some bad guy trying to turn good.

But life is crazy.

No one realized that the movies would gain cult mania, raising Miguel's movie production company to fame and his amateur acting career to star status.

I looked down at Melody while she analyzed my facial expressions. At least that's what she looked like she was doing as her pupils moved from side to side and she squinted a few times when I chewed on the side of my cheek. It was something I did when I contemplated complex puzzles.

“If Miguel's got a chance to taste that sweet treasure, then why does he want to kill you?” I asked. “You did tell me you had some bad stuff.”

“I do. It wasn't the fact that he didn't like it. Miguel just loves it too much.”

I flicked my finger against her nipple. She arched up and whimpered.

God, I should give you this dick.

“Why is he trying to kill you, Melody?”

“Because I asked to quit.”

“Quit what?”

“Killing for him.” She lifted her head up enough to lap at my chin.

She killed for him? Why have I never heard about her?

But then, I didn't know the three other killers in the Art District that worked for Miguel. He liked to keep us all in the dark. I never knew why, but I guessed many reasons. Perhaps, he wouldn't have liked us to befriend each other, compare notes, unite, and maybe go against him. Miguel wasn't as paranoid as Julio, but he did second-guess everyone’s actions to the point that my head hurt just thinking about it. I also considered the fact that he might use one of us against the other, if he needed to. One didn't keep so many professional murderers around him without having a couple of alternative plans for the psychos.

Releasing Melody's hands, I rolled off of her and readied myself for any sudden attack. “So he wouldn't accept your resignation? Is that what you're telling me?”

She took her time getting up and didn't try to pull the few torn fabrics of her dress to cover her exposed skin or bra. “No. Not my resignation. He wouldn't accept my retirement.”

Retirement.

My gut inflamed into roaring fire. I had a year before I was out of this job and off on my own retirement. I had plans and stacks of money hidden away. There was always that tiny fear in the back of my head that Miguel wouldn't accept my leaving. I knew too much about him. If I was him, I might've considered killing me once or twice.

“You know what he told me, when I called him and said I was done?” She got up off the floor.

“He replied, 'No one walks away from this, not even you, Mami.' The next day, my little sister's decapitated head lay in a pretty pink box with gold and white polka dot bows all over the top. The message told me I had seven hours to come to his house.”

I stood too, but remained quiet. Things unfolded in my head. I hadn't contacted my family since I'd been working for Miguel. Angry killers targeted an enemy's relative. I couldn't allow that, so I left them without another word and just sent them small boxes of money with no return address. I did my best to make sure no one knew about my mom or other relatives, especially Miguel.

Is Mom safe from him when I retire?

“Anything clicking in that handsome head of yours?” she asked.

“I think you're story is gripping.” I got to my gun before she remembered it, put the safety back on, and gripped it hard. “Anything else you need to say before I let you go?”

“You're letting me go now?”