She sits up straight, belatedly prim. “We are not discussing my sex life.”
“Why not?” I flash her my most charming smile. “Your sex life sounds pretty damn intriguing to me.”
“Clearly, you’re not getting enough action in your own, Cruz.”
Bull's-eye. Since taking over as the head of Los Muertos in New York, I've kept my sexual interactions to the bare minimum.
Last year, I thought a woman would be my ticket out of this life. Aislinn Granville. My old crush from high school. Finley’s half-sister. And now, she’s married to New York City's most notorious crime boss, Damon King.
But I was never attracted to Aislinn the way I am to Finley. I felt a connection to Aislinn because, like me, she was raised as the daughter of a powerful man, attempting to navigate the expectations forced on her since birth.
Though they share a bloodline, Finley was raised as the daughter of an imprisoned mob boss. I didn’t know her growing up, but there is a wildness to her now, a take-no-prisoners tenacity that drew me in from the moment I first met her.
I’ve fought the attraction for months. But I’m sick of fantasizing about Finley every damn time I take a shower.
I’ve embraced my legacy and now I want to embrace her, too.
That’s not all I want … but Finley’s not ready to know the full extent of my plans. Yet.
“You’re right. What’s that expression—all work and no play …”
“Resorting to clichés now?”
“I express my creativity in other ways.”
An unmistakable flare of attraction brightens Finley’s gaze for the briefest of moments before she blinks it away. “Good for you.”
I cock my head to the side, silently appraising her. Finley’s sex appeal is not overt. It’s a subtle glaze that mists her poreless skin, an ethereal glow that originates from somewhere deep inside her. So damn intriguing.
“What if it could be good for you?”
She holds my gaze for a moment, the breath stilling in my lungs. And then she reaches for the vase sitting just to her left, sliding it in front of her. A bouquet of white flowers explode from the top of the glass in a verdant arrangement.
She plucks a single rose from the mix and pulls it out, sniffing it briefly before twirling it with her fingers. “Do you like flowers, Sebastián?”
“Objectively speaking, yes. Although it’s not really something I’ve ever thought about.”
“I’m not much of a flower person, myself. It seems like a lot of money and time are wasted on something that will wilt and die in just a few days. I do like roses though.” She extends the bloom toward me. “They are beautiful, don’t you think?”
I nod, wondering where she’s going with this.
Her fingertips run up and down the stem. “It’s not the flower that I find beautiful though. It’s the thorns.”
“There are no thorns on that rose,” I observe.
“No. They’ve been stripped off. The only protection this beauty has, and it’s been stolen.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bouquet of roses that still have their thorns.”
She plucks at the petals, creating a silken stack on the mahogany bar top. One by one. “My middle name is Rose. Finley Rose Byrne.”
“It’s a beautiful name.”
She doesn’t acknowledge the compliment. “My mother used to say it would have been more accurate to name me Thorne.”
“Because of your sharp instinct for self-preservation?”
“Hmm. I think I prefer your theory to hers, actually.” Finley’s hands momentarily still, the corners of her mouth pulling down. “My mother was a little more to the point. Anyone who gets close to you will have blood on their hands and regret in their heart.”