Many things went through my mind the moment this woman stepped into the private garden. They’re gone now, though. Replaced by one singular thought burning its way through my chest, stealing the air from my lungs—she’ll eat me alive. Bit by bit, she’ll chew me whole, spit me out, then devour me all over again.

The strange thing is that I might actually ask her to do it. Might even beg. Which is why I know she must be a witch. There’s no other explanation for this paradox, this timid, delicate thing delivering such a visceral omen.

I should listen to the details of the business meeting taking place at this very moment. But her pure, deep-set eyes, trapped in a limbo between gray and blue, put a spell on me with their peculiar sparkle. Just like that porcelain skin that seems to glow in this twilight. It makes me wonder if I’m the only one seeing the creature before us, or if I’m bewitched.

There’s something about her. The way she timidly peeks at me from under those thin bangs that don’t fully cover her forehead. Something about the way her delicate curves stand before us. She reminds me of those precious ancient statues adorning museum halls.

Us…

My mind shifts into gear, trying to break free from this witch’s charm. I focus on all the people around me—my business partners, hers, and both our security teams.

“Ronan…” My brother’s tone doesn’t hide the fact that he’s trying to get my attention. “Meeting in two days to see the painting and close the deal sounds good to you too, yeah?”

He’s going to give me a hard time after this, I just know it.

“It does. We have a warehouse in a secure location, toward the edge of the city, quiet, secluded. We can meet there.” They’re the first words I’ve spoken since the meeting started, but I only seem to direct them at her—Ingrid Thorp.

“Respectfully, no.” The spell breaks further as Erika Brand, her business partner, replies, pulling my attention.

“No?” I question, narrowing my eyes on the brown-eyed woman.

“No offense, Mr. Hennessey, but I would prefer we meet in a place of our own choosing. Where we are a bit more… comfortable.”

She means safe. She doesn’t trust us, but then again, she has no reason to. We’ve never met before. This business deal was arranged through the dark corners of the web, where shady deals are struck, and most are for items that will never see anything but a crooked market.

Ingrid seems to share the sentiment, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, rubbing her fingers together. Her eyes nervously flash from the floor to me enough times that it gets me wondering—is it because of the meeting or… me?

A strange heat fills a part of me that has no business waking up right now.

“I believe we should all be comfortable, should we not?” I was expecting this. “Name the place. We’ll tell you if it works for us.”

Erika purses her lips and reluctantly agrees after her eyes drift briefly to my brother. “Rosenberg Hotel, in one of the private dining rooms of the restaurant. Eight in the evening, in two days—Friday.”

I turn to my brother Finn, to my right, Maddox and Carter behind me, and Vincent to my left. They all nod.

“Very well. We will bring our own appraiser and continue the conversation there.”

“Just a reminder, to ensure we are all on the same page. The price is no longer negotiable, and the sale will be final.”

“Final? No.”

“Yes,” she insists.

Erika’s back straightens further, her attitude grave, like until now she kept her guard low so she could offer us some sense of ease. Maybe under any other circumstances, I would be affected.

Not now. Not when my eyes drift once again to the porcelain witch standing quietly beside her, head tilted down ever so slightly. Not with that deceiving virtue painted on her lush lips, when her eyes scream of wickedness.

A bizarre desire grows inside of me, one that wants to crack her open and find out where that wickedness comes from.

“If you do not agree with the terms,” Erika continues, unwavering, “we have a long list of buyers, as you well know, who would accept them in a heartbeat. Considering the… dubious provenance of the painting, surely you understand why we have to wash our hands of it right away.”

“And surely you understand why three million is a lot of money to gamble with,” I argue.

“If you’re looking to gamble, Mr. Hennessey, I suggest visiting The Royal Casino on third street. We are seeking a business deal here.” I think the air is sucked out of the atmosphere as Ingrid speaks for the first time.

Her voice distracts me from the obvious bite of her words. She sounds like a birdsong filling a meadow on a warm summer day, and I crave to be right there with her.

“Careful now, that sharp tongue and those steel eyes will get you in trouble.” I lower my voice, reveling in the shock painted vividly on her parted lips. For a split moment, I forget it’s not just us.

“What my partner means to say…” Erika says quickly, “is that we do not wish to waste our time or yours. We are positive that you will be pleased with the piece.”

“Friday. Eight o’clock. The Rosenberg,” I almost rasp, my throat constricting, my lungs close to heaving.

I’m suffocating.

That woman… she’s infusing the oxygen with her seemingly innocent black magic, and I need to break the damn spell.

I have to walk past her to leave, and I can’t stop myself from glancing over my shoulder. She turns her head slightly, but our gazes never connect.

I’m not sure if it makes me feel better or worse, but she’s trying hard not to look at me. As am I.

It doesn’t matter. The heat of her body as I brush past her seems to have the same effect.

* * *

We’ve just passed through the gates of the garden, my steps heavy and quick, eager to get the fuck out of there, when my brother gives me a forceful nudge.

“What the hell was that, man?! Do you even know what happened in that meeting?”

I roll my eyes, heading toward the driver’s side of the Range Rover parked across the street, Finn falling into step behind me.

“I think we all know what happened there,” Vin says, to my dismay.

Most people have an irrational fear of Vincent Sinclair’s attention on them. I am no exception. It’s the darkness of his black eyes that I try to avoid when I look in the rearview mirror. I swear to the gods the man can look into your soul, peel all the layers until he finds the exact information he needs to hold against you. He’s five or six years younger than my twenty-seven, yet his talent doesn’t show his age. He gets better the more he practices, putting the fear of God into people. Only, those people have begun calling him The Serpent, and they don’t think it’s God they should fear when they fall under his gaze.

He’s a good kid, though—all four of them are.

My brother, Finnigan, the pretty boy who has been turning heads with his baby blues and curly blond locks, long before he started filling those shoulders and pecs with muscle.

Maddox Severin, who has never looked his age, towers over all of us. His wide, muscled frame growing month by month, nurtured by his hunger for grueling workouts and fighting. He’s the one who trains all our men and we’ve had to build him a gym so he can focus his brute force there, not on our guys.

Then there’s Carter Pierce, the man with peculiar dark blue and hazel eyes, that are as beautiful as they are empty. He’s always prim and proper, with his white shirts, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tweed waistcoats, and impeccable slicked-back hair and undercut. He doesn’t really look like he’s from this time. He’s quite something—different. A man of few words and the ones he sometimes chooses make me wonder about the skeletons in his closet. Or maybe severed heads in the fridge. Yet he’s the one I gravitate toward the most, and even after all these years, I still don’t understand why.

We started this organization more or less together, even though Carter and Finn were away at university for a portion of it. It worked to our benefit. All the connections they sought there have proved fruitful, while Vin, Madds, and I built the bases here.

“There he goes again. He’s gone.”

“Fuck you!” I spit at Madds, who kicks my seat from behind.

“Wouldn’t mind being lost in that blue-eyed little thing either,” Finn teases.

“Gray…” I whisper. But it comes out more like a grunt. A visceral need to smack my brother’s head against the dashboard arises, and I can’t make sense of it. Even aware that the asshole is just messing with me.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

The engine roars to life, covering the rest of the bullshit coming out of their mouths. But it does nothing against my intrusive thoughts about the woman who almost took my damn breath away. I don’t even dare ask myself if they all noticed it. I already know they did.

Fuck!

I put my foot down, the streetlights of Queenscove blurring as I drive through the night, knowing full well I’m stupidly attracting the attention of both the residents and the tourists of this seaside city. The majority of them are currently out on the streets since it’s Saturday night.

Does it really matter, when we have most of the police in our pocket anyway? They won’t stop us.

With my fingers tightening around the steering wheel, my mind drifts to those prominent cheeks, her round eyes, silky brown hair, square, yet delicate jaw… that high cupid’s bow that begs to be licked.

Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?

More importantly, what the hell is going on with her? Who is she and what is she doing here? A woman like her, so delicate and soft, doesn’t belong in this cruel world—our world. It’s too harsh for her, but I have to admit… she stands out beautifully.

That wicked gaze she left me with haunts my mind, a touch of darkness weaving through her soul, and I want to reach in and grab it by the throat. Squeeze it just enough that my dick wakes up at the slight tremor of fear that will no doubt shake her flesh.