Vanishing Point II

This is wrong. 

I know it with every step I take through the winding gravel path, heels crunching against earth, palms damp at my sides.

The villa rises out of the hillside like something out of a dream—or a warning. Secluded, expensive and ancient. Thick stone walls and ivy curling up around the windows, lanterns flickering like they’re waiting for someone.

Like he’s waiting.

The night air is warm, too quiet, and the scent of jasmine clings to it heady and distracting. I feel it winding around my senses, softening my thoughts, fogging my judgment.

My phone is in my back pocket. All it would take is one call. A single breath, and I could bring everything down on him.

But I don’t. Instead, I walk up the steps.

The iron door is already ajar, like a welcome message. Or bait, depending on how foolish I turn out to be by the end of the night. 

I push it open slowly.

Inside, it’s quiet. The foyer is dimly lit, with expensive art and tall windows thrown open to the midnight breeze. Somewhere in the back, I hear music playing—something low and orchestral. 

“Lucien?” I call, my voice barely above a whisper.

I move deeper inside when I don’t get a response, every step echoing against the stone floor. My breath is shallow now, nerves singing, heart pounding behind my ribs like a warning drum.

Then I hear a faint rustle and a creek from upstairs. I look up and he’s standing at the landing.

Lucien Moretti.

Barefoot. Shirt half-unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled to the elbows. His hands by his sides, fingers tapping against his thigh. His dress pants are loose, yet I can tell just how tight his calf muscles are. 

And his eyes? They land on me with slow, unmistakable intent. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says.

“You sent me an invite,” I say, unable to keep the bite from my tone. “I thought you were smart,” I add. “But I should’ve known you’re like every other man who thinks he’s an irresistible catch.”

Lucien chuckles and his eyes—the green in them—sparkle with mischief. “Now, now, Miss Serrano,” he admonishes gently, like I’m a child, “we both know that if I thought that, it wouldn’t be a brag.”

He’s right. And I hate that he is. I hate that I can barely feel the rage I’m supposed to have for him, rather there’s a pool gathering in my stomach and the pulse between my thighs is racing with need.  

With lust. 

He walks up to me while I stand in place, suddenly frozen. Hints of sandalwood, mingling with the jasmine that accompanied me into the building and something earthy, dances around my senses. 

“But pride doesn’t mean I’m stupid, Maya.” His tone softens as he says my name and his gaze drops to my mouth again. “I knew you would come alone. Just like I felt it from the moment I laid eyes on you…that you were mine.”

Some other person and I would’ve wiped the arrogance from their lips. 

But him…for some reason, I feel helpless. Vulnerable. 

His thumb reaches for my face, grazing my cheek. I inhale sharply as I take a step back. “Don’t,” I say, even though my voice comes out with an audible crack. “Don’t touch me.”

“Why?” He asks. “Because I’m the last person you should desire? Because your body betrays your mind?” Lucien laughs. “One night, Agent Serrano. That’s all I’m asking.”

His shoulders rise and fall, his hands spread open. My thoughts scatter, filling my mind with a fantasy of places I would beg to have him touch. 

His hands…palming my breasts, teasing my nipples. His mouth on mine, trailing down my throat until I can’t breathe. His fingers memorizing every inch of my skin until it burns for him. 

My legs, around his firm thighs as he makes—

“No,” I shake my head firmly, pushing the image away. My jaw twitches as I tilt my chin in defiance. “You’re an arrogant piece-of-shit, Lucien Moretti.” I reach for my phone, pulling it out. “I’m calling for backup now and you’re going to prison, where you belong.”

He stares at me for a full minute, while the threat hangs between us. It should rattle him, even a little but it feels like I’m the one struggling with control. 

“Before or after I bury my head between your thighs and make you come?”

My brain stutters.

What? The word echoes in my head, but my mouth forgets how to form it.

His eyes drag over me, slow and sure, like he’s peeling back layers no one’s been allowed to touch.  “I bet it’s been a while,” he murmurs, each word like velvet laced with gunpowder. “Since anyone’s touched you the way you need. Since anyone’s wanted your body the way I do.”

He’s close now. I take a reflexive step back, my heart punching against my ribs. 

“So tell me, Agent,” he adds, voice soft and wicked, “when’s the last time someone had you fisting the sheets and begging to be used?”

I feel it slam into me—rage and lust and panic all wrapped into one electric current.

“Say it with your words,” Lucien dares, “that you’d rather walk away. And I’ll let you go.”

I should. God—it’s at the tip of my tongue to tell him off. My phone is dangling from my fingers, Kendall’s number on speeddial. I’m a federal agent and I’ve never doubted myself before. 

That’s why I know that I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life. 

***

He’s still asleep when I wake up the next morning.

One arm draped across my waist, the other curled under the pillow. His chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths, his face turned toward mine—peaceful in a way that doesn’t suit a man like Lucien Moretti.

His hair’s tousled, a dark mess that still smells faintly of me.

Of where he spent the better part of the night—buried between my thighs, in places I didn’t even know existed until his mouth found them.

I stare for a moment too long, then blink it away. No softness or second thoughts.

Carefully, I begin to shift, wriggling out from under his arm like it’s just another extraction assignment. I move with the kind of precision only years of training can teach—scooping up my bra from beneath the bed, finding my blouse half-tangled in the leg of a chair. 

At the door, I halt when he stirs slightly, lips parting with a faint exhale. But after a second, he settles again, still blissfully unaware that this was never supposed to happen.

Outside, I flag the first taxi I see, breath clouding the window as I rattle off the address to Kendall’s apartment—the hideout, the fallback plan. The life I’m supposed to be living.

As the cab pulls away, I glance down at myself. I smooth my hair, tug my shirt into place and wipe last night’s lipstick off with the back of my hand.

It never happened.

I repeat the words to myself, again and again, even as the taxi weaves through narrow streets and onto the highway. The city passes in a blur of noise and morning haze, and I press my palm to the cool glass, willing my pulse to slow.

By the time we pull up to the old, nondescript apartment building on the edge of the industrial district, I’ve rehearsed my excuse. I take the stairs two at a time, ready to deflect, spin, lie—whatever it takes.

But I barely make it to the top before I run straight into Kendall. He’s halfway into his jacket, hair rumpled, tie crooked and definitely not calm.

“Maya!” he barks, startled and impatient all at once. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I—” I start, but he cuts me off with a sharp wave of his hand.

“Never mind. No time. Grab your bag—we just got a tip-off. Lucien Moretti’s been located. The police have him in custody as we speak.”

“What?” My jaw drops. The air goes out of my lungs like a kicked door.

“An hour ago—” I murmur, more to myself than to him. “He was…sleeping.”

Kendall doesn’t hear me. He’s already halfway down the stairs, shouting for backup.

I stand frozen, my thoughts in chaos. Lucien Moretti. Arrested. To think that I was in his bed just an hour ago. 

I should be relieved that they’ve finally caught him, but all I can think about is how he made love to me last night and the last words he said before I fell asleep-

“You’ll never forget me, amore mia. As long as you live.”