Celeste’s POV

"If you're going to kill me, at least let me finish my drink first.”

I say it lightly, my fingers gripping the fragile stem of my champagne glass. Whispered talks fill the ballroom, crystal clinking across polished cutlery. But here, in the shadows of the balcony, it's just him and me.

Adrian Devereaux

The man I arrived to kill. The man who, at this very moment, is gazing at me as though I belong to him.

He leans closer, the sharp aroma of his perfume wrapping around me like invisible shackles. Who claims I wish to murder you? Though his voice is silky, something deeper lurks behind. Something risky. Many more fascinating tactics exist to exact payment from someone.

Though my pulse races, I remain unflinching. I will not. Not when I have labored so hard to be here, to come this near to him.

Mr. Devereaux, your flirting is really unusual. Though my body tightens with awareness, I grin slowly and purposefully.

Reaching out, he says, "I don't flirt." Though the contact is electrifying, his fingers barely brush my wrist. I accept.

He's pushing me. Seeing whether I would withdraw. I do not. I am unable to. I need him to think I'm the prey while, really, I'm the predator.

I chuckled quietly. How incredible... dominating you.

His lips quiver, the suggestion of a grin there and gone. You don't know.

Oh, but I really do. I have studied. Adrian Devereaux lacks faith. Lacks affection. He has. Regulations. And at this time, he finds me dangerously interesting.

Ideal.

Keeping my eyes fixed on his, I raise my glass to my lips. So tell me, Adrian—do you always corner ladies in dark balconies, or am I simply unique?

He moves closer, the thin fabric of my dress allowing his body's heat to lick at mine. You are unique.

In what way?

His gaze falls to my lips, then lower, as though he could see past the silk and lace to the secrets I keep concealed. You don't fit here.

I tilt my head, pretending to be entertained, but within, frost runs down my spine. He looks too much.

"Now that's impolite," I joke, running my finger down the lapel of his tux. I assumed we were friends.

Before I could move away, he grips my wrist with a strong but not uncomfortable hold. Just enough to remind me who controls this moment.

Who dispatched you? His voice is soft, lethal.

My heartbeat stutters for a fraction of a second. He has his suspicions. I knew getting close to him would be risky, but I didn't expect him to be so aware.

As if I found the whole thing funny, I let my body relax under his grip and force a gentle chuckle. Send me? Sweetheart, I wouldn't need someone to send me if I desired a man's attention. I drop my voice and lean closer. I would just accept it.

A difficulty.

Something dances in his frigid blue gaze. Fun. Interest. Desire.

You believe, tiny liar, that you can manage me? Warm on my cheek, his breath is tightening just a little.

I grin. Give me a shot.

Then I act foolishly.

I kissed him.

It's a deliberate gamble. A bet. But the instant our lips touch, I know I may have misjudged him.

Adrian doesn't simply kiss me. He consumes me.

As he intensifies the kiss, his hand glides up my back and tangles in my hair. A deep, possessive growl from his chest sends a lovely tingle down my back. This shouldn't be fun for me. I shouldn’t be gasping as his fangs brush over my bottom lip, shouldn’t be melting into him.

Yet I am.

Curse him.

Breathless, my lips tingling, I push myself to draw away. "Well," I say, struggling to control my voice. "That was... surprising."

Adrian's gaze pierces my own; his face is a blank slate. Nothing with me is ever anticipated.

I don't believe so. It isn't. And it may be an issue.

He pulls out a sleek, black card from his pocket before I can step back.

9 PM tomorrow. My penthouse. His fingertips brushing my skin, he tucks it under the neckline of my dress, sending a jolt of fire right through me. Be on time.

It's not a question. It's a command.

Gripping the card, I swallow hard as he departs. The air between us is electrified; the tension is sharp enough to slice with a knife.

Then, just before he vanishes into the throng, he looks back. Celeste? Oh, and

I run chilly.

He grins. Being lied to bothers me.

My heart pounds against my ribs.

He is aware.

Raising my champagne glass in phony toast, I smile. Then it's fortunate I never lie.

Liar!

I breathe out quickly and my heart races as he disappears.

I ought to go. Vanish before he approaches too near. Before he really sees through me.

But then I glance down at the card. At the one address written on the shiny surface.

The penthouse he owns.

A snare.

Alternatively, a chance.

A wicked grin twists my lips as I slowly sip my champagne, letting the flavor of costly bubbles wash over my tongue.

Alright, Adrian. I'll participate in your game.

But you have no idea what you have just brought into your life.

What happens when I finish?

You will come to regret ever contacting me.

"You're late."

Adrian's speech is icy, but the fire in his eyes reveals a different narrative.

Entering his apartment, my heels tap on the smooth marble floor. The air between us is heated, dense with tension unrelated to rage but rather related to what occurred last night.

Smoothly throwing my clutch upon the closest table, I declare, "I don't take orders." I run on my own timetable, not anyone else's.

Adrian watches me with a severity that makes my stomach clench as he tilts his head. Dressed in a black button-up, the sleeves rolled up just enough to see the ink writhing over his forearms. A perilous contradiction: polished but natural. A man who lives on the edge yet flourishes in control.

You still arrived, he says quietly, moving closer.

I stand firm. A desire to know more.

His lips quiver, the ghost of a grin flickering at the corner. Is that everything?

I breathe out gently. Adrian, what do you want from me?

Though there is no joy in it, a gradual smile develops over his face. Just something gloomy. Some ownership. Tell me why you're deceiving me.

I hold my face neutral and swallow hard. You believe everyone that enters your life is concealing something?

He moves further closer, invading my space and filling my lungs with his scent—expensive whiskey and something clearly manly. Not at all. Only you.

Cursed it.

Refusing to let him see the spark of terror under my skin, I raise my chin. So why ask me here?

His fingers, scarcely there yet strangely claiming, touch my waist. You can't be trusted, so I don't allow anything I don't trust out of my sight.

A caution. A commitment.

I ought to go. Leave before I become too involved.

I let the game go on instead.

Celeste’s POV

"Careful, Adrian," I say softly, my fingertips running over the buttons of his shirt. You sound almost dangerously close to saying you want me.

He grips more firmly. Indeed, I. His voice becomes hoarse and heated. Desiring something and believing it are quite different, though.

I grin. Which one triumphs?

He leans forward, his lips hardly a breath away from mine. It depends.

Based on what?

Your ability to deceive me.

I feel a knot in my gut. He's pushing me. Driving me. And darn it, he's too good at it.

But I keep going.

Trailing my fingers along the cloth, I can feel his body's heat. Perhaps I enjoy keeping you on edge, I say.

His eyes get darker. Perhaps I enjoy forcing you to plead.

Though I hide it with a gradual, playful grin, the words set off a bolt of heat in me. You would have to put a lot more effort into it, sweetheart.

His laugh is low, dark. Don't tease me.

But I already do.

His fingers slide into my hair, tilting my head just enough to leave me gasping, and the air crackles. For a second, I believe he is going to kiss me. That he will destroy the thin line separating us and close the distance.

Rather, he retreats.

Curse him.

Frustrated and in pain in ways I don't want to acknowledge, I breathe out. Adrian, is this your practice? Play with ladies as if they were chess pieces?

His countenance changes to one that is inscrutable behind his eyes. Just the ones I can't solve.

I chuckle quietly and shake my head. You don't usually lose control, do you?

Slow and careful, his hand runs down my arm. I never lose.

A falsehood.

Eventually, everyone loses.

Then I suppose we'll know who falls first, I say.

He grins. We shall.

The tension grows, throbbing between us like a live wire. This is a risky game. Of power and passion, of truths hidden under layers of falsehood.

And I don't know who will break first.

A phone buzzes on the table before I can utter another word. Adrian looks at it; his grin fades and his face stiffens.

The atmosphere changes.

Peril.

Turning away, he responds to the summons with sharp efficiency. Talk.

Quiet. His jaw tightens then.

Look for him. His voice is deadly. At this time.

I saw my heart racing.

Whom is he seeking?

And why does it seem that, whatever it is…

It simply altered everything?

"You think I don’t see what you’re doing?"

Adrian's voice is deep and menacing, but it also has something else in it that makes me shudder.

I don't wince. I won't give up. Rather, I rest against the cold marble of the bar of his apartment, slowly and carefully swirling the amber liquid in my glass.

I murmur gently, lifting the glass to my lips, "You'll have to be more particular, darling."

Adrian's gaze pierces me. You're pushing me.

I grin. So?

He runs quickly. One moment he is at the window; the next he is in front of me, caging me against the bar. Though my face stays calm, my breath catches. I cannot let him know how much he influences me.

Intoxicating, his aroma wraps about me like black spice and premium whiskey. Slow, teasing, yet forceful, his fingers follow up my arm.

"Keep pushing, Celeste," he says softly, his lips only inches from me. Find out where it takes you.

My pulse beats in my throat. Perhaps I enjoy pushing you.

His fingers tighten on my wrist, not enough to harm but enough to send a warning. His speech was a lethal whisper, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

Perhaps I enjoy seeing you shatter.

Curse him.

I swallow hard and cover my response with a gentle laugh. You believe you can destroy me?

His hand slides over my throat's exposed flesh, fingers brushing it to send fire racing through me. I know I am able.

Our eyes meet, the air between us charged with something I cannot identify. Desire. Strength. A fight none of us wishes to lose.

I tilt my head and say, "Then try," my lips just touching his.

For a minute, I believe he will. That he'll finally eliminate the tension choking us since the minute we met by closing the distance.

Rather, he retreats.

Frustration coiling in my belly, I breathe out. "Coward."

His sneer is slow, menacing. Not at all, darling. I only like taking my time.

I swallow the last of my drink and set the glass down, rolling my eyes. Adrian, what is it this time then? A further test? Another match?

He grows more somber. No games. Only responses.

I raise an eyebrow. Answers to what?

His eyes get keener. "Who the hell are you, actually?"

I feel a knot in my gut. What sort of inquiry is that?

The sort I don't ask twice.

He moves, grabbing a document from his desk and throwing it upon the bar separating us. Though it lands softly, its weight seems intolerable.

I make myself see it. Printed in large characters on the front, my name—Lila Carter—

Damn.

I maintain a neutral expression. I didn't think you were the sort to search through a woman's history.

His voice is a deep growl as he leans forward. Your history is not that, is it?

I hold the bar's edge. Are you suggesting what specifically?

His blue eyes pierce me. You are a liar, Celeste.

I draw in a breath.

He is aware.

Not everything—not yet—but enough to put me dangerously near being exposed.

I tilt my head and try to smile. You make it sound negative.

His jaw clenches. You're playing a risky game.

I give a shrug. You are, too.

For a minute, none of us talked. The only sound is the gentle buzz of the city outside; the tension between us like a live wire ready to break.

Then, gradually, he raises the folder and opens it. He pushes one picture my way.

I look down and stop.

It's a photo of my brother.

Or more accurately, the brother meant to be dead.

I hold the bar tighter. Where did you find this?

Adrian looks at me closely. You tell me.

My thoughts are racing as I take a deep breath. Damien Living. That's not doable. It must be.

I make my voice remain constant. That means nothing to me.

Adrian shakes his head and tsk-tsks. Sweetheart, lie better.

I look into his eyes, my heart racing. What makes you care?

His face becomes more serious. Whoever this guy is, he wants you. Should he locate you before I do... He wanders off, obviously intending...

My belly knots. Why would he search for me?

Adrian says, his voice almost dangerously low, "You tell me."

Gripping the bar, my head whirls. Damien's existence alters everything should he be searching for me.

It also indicates that time is running out for me.

Adrian moves further closer, his presence so overwhelming that I cannot answer.

His fingertips touching my cheek, deceptively light, he whispers, "You're going to tell me everything." Should you deceive me once more, Celeste... He holds on more firmly.

I gulp. Pardon?

His lips brush my jaw, a phantom touch that ignites my blood. Then I'll ensure you regret it.

A test. A caution.

And I don't know which one frightens me more.

Celeste’s POV

"You should be afraid of me, Celeste."

Adrian's voice is smooth, deadly. A promise tied in seduction. His body only inches from mine as he grips my wrist and keeps me there. The air between us is thick—dangerous, heated, heady.

I ought to be terrified.

I ought to be running.

Instead, I turn my head and smirk upward at him. But nonetheless, here I am, just in front of you.

Though his smile shows no joy, his lips curve. You don't know when to quit playing games.

I raise an eyebrow. Adrian, you're the one playing. I'm only winning.

His hold gets just strong enough to raise my pulse but not enough to cause pain. His touch is a warning, a quiet promise of what he could do should he choose.

You believe you are succeeding? His breath fans on my lips, his words dropping to a whisper. You have no clue what you have gotten yourself into.

My heart races against my ribs as I take a deep breath. Show me then.

For a single second, something primal, dark, possessive flashes in his gaze. His thumb brushes my lower lip as his fingers glide from my wrist to my jaw, lifting my head.

Be careful what you wish for, he says softly.

My heart races. Where he touches me, my flesh burns.

This is not right. This is risky.

Still, I can't turn away.

My breath is shallow and I split my lips slightly. Perhaps I enjoy risk.

His hold tightens, his eyes darkening. Celeste, no. You enjoy control. You enjoy believing you are in control.

Yes, I do. And I despise how easy he sees through me.

His thumb pushes into my chin, angling my face farther closer. Tell me, darling... Do you still believe you are in charge?

I refuse to give up and swallow hard. You?

For a time, neither of us shifted. The tension between us is like a live wire, crackling with heat and something else—something we shouldn’t identify.

Then he performs the one thing I do not anticipate.

He gives me a kiss.

It's not gentle. It's not mild.

This is war.

His lips slam into me, asking, punishing, robbing my lungs of oxygen. His hand pulls me closer by means of a knot in my hair, as if he wants to devour me whole.

I ought to shove him away. I ought to tell myself why I'm here.

Still, I don't.

I returned his kiss. Strongly.

As his other hand holds my waist, raising me onto the bar counter, a roar rumbles from his chest. Instinctively, my legs encircle his hips and he moves between my thighs, intensifying the kiss until I forget why I ever sought to fight.

Flame. That is what this is.

Unstoppable, unmanageable, a wildfire.

Fisting my hands in his shirt, I draw him unreasonably closer, my body betraying me and dissolving into his.

Tracing my thigh, his fingers glide under the hem of my dress, teasingly threatening to go farther.

Gripping his wrist, I gasp against his lips before he can go higher.

He remains still.

Then, gradually, he draws back, his blue eyes searing into me.

"Scared?" he mocks.

Ignoring the fire gathering in my stomach, I breathe quickly. Do you? Not ever.

His lips twist into a slow, devilish grin. Excellent.

Then he completely releases me, moving back as if nothing just occurred.

Breathless, I blink; my skin still tingles from his touch.

Bastard

He smooths his visage into something inscrutable and straightens his cuffs. We have now discussed the actual cause of your presence.

I feel a tightening in my tummy. What is the cause?

His grin vanishes. The brother of yours.

The atmosphere changes right away. What was once warmth between us turns colder and more acute.

A gradual exhalation hides my response. I have said you—

Lie to me again and I'll discover the truth myself. He speaks with steel. You won't enjoy my techniques, and I swear it.

A shiver rushes down my back.

Adrian Devereaux is not just hazardous when he desires something.

He is unrelenting.

And at the moment, I am his aim.

I make myself remain composed to consider. What precisely do you believe you know?

His eyes narrow. Your actual name is not Lila Carter. That you aren't just some random lady seeking employment. He approaches closer, speaking softly. The man in that image, then, is looking for you.

My blood runs chilly.

He's nearly there. Too near.

I have to mislead him.

Shaking my head, I chuckled softly. You believe I have some long-lost brother looking for me out there? That's a stretch, even for you.

Adrian's face remains unchanged. I don't believe it. I do.

I gulp.

Damien Living.

Should Adrian actually have evidence, then all I have scheduled is in jeopardy.

I have to get in front of this. I have to shape the story first.

I make a smirk. What then is your strategy? Lock me up here till I divulge some great secret, then?

His eyes dance with mirth. You'd already be in my bed, darling, if I believed it would help.

A wave of heat enters my body, but I suppress it.

You truly think well of yourself, don't you?

He tilts his head down. Not at all. I just know what I desire.

For a brief second, his attention falls to my lips before returning to my eyes.

And I always receive what I desire.

My heart races.

I had to leave this place. At this time.

Stepping passed him, I pushed off the bar. Our talk is finished.

But he holds my wrist and stops me first, so I cannot move forward.

Not just now.

Turning around to face him, I breath forcefully. Adrian, what do you want from me?

He grips more firmly. All.

I gasp.

His phrasing suggests more than simply veracity.

It's about me.

The air is again dense with something hazardous. Unstoppable.

And I see, too late, that I am already in too deep.

A loud bang reverberates around the penthouse, preventing me from speaking first.

Adrian's eyebrows knit together.

I scowl. Expecting guests?

His gaze toward the door keeps my wrist in his hold.

One more knock. This time was more difficult.

Adrian's voice is soft as he exhales. Remain here.

But the instant he releases me, I seize his arm.

Something seems off.

Who is it? I say softly.

His jaw clenches. I have no idea.

I feel a shiver down my back.

Three knocks. More loudly. More pressing.

Adrian's face darkens. Tense and fully attentive, he walks to the door.

My heart racing, I remain planted.

The moment he opens the door, it flies open.

And there is the last individual I ever anticipated to witness.

One man.

Dark locks. Emerald eyes.

The same green eyes as me.

Damien

Living.

And pointing a pistol directly at Adrian's chest.