Even if it was the worst.
In that moment she hated herself for being such a coward. For entertaining the idea of selling herself in exchange for avoiding time spent in prison. But she was afraid. Jail was the big bad. Growing up, the law had been a terrifying prospect, men in uniform the enemy.
It was a fear that was bred so deeply into her that just thinking about it now made her break out into a cold sweat. She was afraid of the unknown, and while both options she was entertaining in her mind were unknown, one would be over much faster.
You don’t know that’s what he wants.
No, she didn’t know. But he had sent lingerie, and that said an awful lot.
And she wasn’t naive about men. Her father was a liar and a manipulator. And both in word and by example, he’d taught her how to identify other liars and manipulators. Charity wasn’t naive about anyone or their motivations.
She liked to be prepared for the worst. And in this case... Well, in this case it meant that Rocco had dressed her for the job he intended her to perform.
Another waiter appeared as soon as Rocco had cleaned his plate. “Dessert, Mr. Amari?”
“No—” the words left Charity’s mouth before she could reconsider them “—no dessert.”
“Please have dessert and coffee sent to my suite,” Rocco said, as though she hadn’t spoken. “Ms. Wyatt and I are ready to retire.”
“Of course, sir.” The waiter inclined his head, his bland expression not betraying any thought whatsoever, and scurried away to do Mr. Amari’s bidding.
Charity’s stomach sank to her toes, a sick feeling overtaking her. He wanted to take her somewhere private. He wanted to get her alone. Nothing good would come of that. “Are we going to discuss the deal?” She didn’t want to leave the dining room. She needed him to change his mind here.
“Of course. Up in my room. And this is the part where I will discover if you heeded my warning.”
Her heartbeat sped up, her pulse beating rapidly at the base of her neck. “What warning?” she asked, her throat dry. Because she knew which warning. She knew.
“If you are not wearing the lingerie I sent, I am about to find out.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything,” she said, her eyes meeting his. She tried to remind herself to dial it back. To appeal to him on an emotional level.
Challenging a man like him wouldn’t get her anywhere. He was all alpha male. If she tried to go at him head-on, he would push back. But if she played the weak, simpering female, she might just be able to arouse his protective instincts. She had to remember that. She had to stay in character.
“You will agree to whatever I ask. Because if we go to court, I will win. You know that to be true.”
She swallowed hard, not bothering to disguise it. She wanted him to see her every nerve. Every flicker of fear in her eyes. Being brave wouldn’t win any points with him. “I don’t understand how this would benefit you.”
“But you see, cara, that is not for you to understand. I do not have to explain myself to you. I merely have to present you with your options.” He put his hands on the table, his large fingers splayed over the pristine white cloth. “So you tell me, would you rather come to my suite or go to jail?”
Charity looked down at her untouched lunch, her lips cold. “If those are my options I would rather go to your suite,” she said, determination washing through her like a tide.
She could still turn this around. She would make him see that she was just a victim. She repeated the mantra over and over again. If she said it enough times, she might believe it. And if she believed it...all the better to make him believe it, too.
“Very good.” Rocco stood and walked toward her, extending a hand as though he were the perfect gentleman seeing to his companion. She didn’t accept the hand, standing up on her own, taking the hard glitter in his eyes as a personal triumph.
“I very much appreciate a strong-willed woman. But I also require compliance when it is demanded.” He straightened his cuffs, buttoned his jacket, then raised his focus to her, his dark gaze locking on to her. “I hope very much that you have given it where I have commanded. Otherwise, you will find my threats are not empty.” He held out his hand, and this time she took it. “Now, come, cara mia. It is time for us to adjourn to my room.”
THE SUITE WAS BEAUTIFUL. There were massive windows that overlooked Central Park, letting a generous amount of natural light in, bathing everything in warmth, in sunlight. For a moment, she simply stood in the doorway, pretending she was only taking in the sight of a beautiful room. One that was well out of her price range, one she would typically never even get to look at.
Unless she was running a con.
That’s all this is. You’re just running a con. And on the other side, lies freedom. You never have to do it again. You can be done.
She took a deep breath and kept examining the room, delaying the moment this became real. The floors were marble, rugs stationed throughout, beautifully appointed matching furniture with solid wood detail in the seating area, with a bed that boasted a matching frame in the bedroom. It was a large bed, with rich purple velvet coverings, and more pillows than she had ever seen in one place before.
For a moment, it was nice to look at. For a moment, it seemed innocuous.
But only for a moment.
Then Rocco came to stand behind her, the heat from his body intense, energy radiating from him and throwing everything inside of her out of alignment. As if he’d reached into her chest and moved everything around.
He had certainly reached into her life and done that. Moved everything around, put things on their ends.
“Dessert should be here shortly,” he said, breezing past her and walking into the room. “Make yourself at home.”
As if that was going to happen. “It’s difficult for me to feel at home here.”
“Oh yes, I imagine it is quite different to your little apartment in Brooklyn.”
Charity froze. Of course he would know all about her. He had sent the clothes to her home, after all. But hearing the details of her life spoken about by a perfect stranger just didn’t sit comfortably.
“Do you have to imagine?” she asked, her tone crisp. “Don’t you happen to have full walk-through photographs of my home available for your perusal? You seem to know a lot about me.”
“The art of war. One must know their enemies. Or so I have read.”
“And I’m your enemy?”
He closed the distance between them, curling his fingers around her arm, pulling her close. The contact of his skin against hers struck her like lightning. “You stole from me. People do not steal from me,” he said, his face close to hers, his tone deadly.
She could sense then that he was every inch the predator she had feared. And whatever she had been afraid he might ask of her, it would likely be that and more. Because there was no softness in him. No compassion.
He was the sort of man who only understood one thing. The cutthroat, black-and-white nature of revenge. Of killing or being killed, hunting or being hunted.
That would limit her ability to manipulate. But her strength would lie in him underestimating her.
He thought she was his prey. But he didn’t know that beneath this lacy monstrosity beat the heart of a beast. She had been brought up in a hard environment, with instability and poverty and all the