Shortly after Rosa ended her call with Harry, a quick series of metallic-sounding 'clicks' and 'clinks' rattled at the door. It was being unlocked from the other side. She glanced over as the door swung open, and Mr. Massera strode in with a grim expression on his handsome face.

Speak of the devil.

"Welcome home, mon beau," she greeted him in honeyed tones.

Mr. Massera looked at Rosa. Instantly, a faint smile softened the grimness of his mouth as their eyes locked. The man seemed pleased to see her. Then, his gaze did a quick sweep of their room. Her shit was already unpacked and scattered everywhere on the dressers and countertops and all over the mattress.

Wryly, he observed, "I see you have made yourself at home."

Her amber eyes hardened like bronzed metal. "Where have you been?"

The bastard had been gone for hours after they parted ways at the train station.

He shrugged and gave no answer. Although, a challenging gleam sparked in his dark eyes. It seemed as though he was withholding his reply on purpose to taunt her.

She tried again, cooing softly, "You have nothing to say to me?"

"Not really."

Rosa sniffed with indignation. "Non?"

Mr. Massera murmured, "As long as you get your job done, I will have no issue with you, and, therefore, nothing to say to you. You performed well on the train today, but we will have to wait and see if Favreau lives or dies over the next few days."

"Favreau will die. I know I gave him the right dosage," Rosa assured him in an off-handed manner as she quickly circled back to the heart of the matter, refusing to let him off the hook so easily. "At any rate, you never answered my question: Where the fuck have you been?"

"What I do in my own time is none of your business."

She lifted an eyebrow. "What if I want to make it my business?"

Suddenly, Mr. Massera started unbuttoning his dress shirt, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his bronzed, muscled chest, and brushed her off quite readily, "I am going to shower."

Rosa drawled, "A real man would stay and finish the conversation instead of running away."

Rolling his broad shoulders, he shrugged off his shirt and directed in huskier tones, "Are you questioning my manhood?"

She smirked at him. "But of course."

Mr. Massera smirked back as he continued to strip in front of her. His trousers soon dropped to his ankles, which was quickly followed by his boxer briefs.

Rosa's eyes went wide as he stood before her completely in the nude.

Her gaze dropped to his large, girthy, veiny cock and hefty, plum-sized balls. She couldn't help but stare. Even soft and unaroused, the man was a monster. Without a question, Mr. Massera's manhood was one of the most impressive specimens Rosa ever laid eyes on, and she had endured more than her fair share of dicks and penises when she had been "working" under Mesrine.

She gasped, "Mon dieu! If your teaching gig in Calabria does not pan out, you could become a porn star instead."

His eyes narrowed keenly at her intentional slip of the tongue. "My... teaching gig?"

Rosa fluttered her lashes with an air of innocence. "Oups! Was that supposed to be a secret or something?"

His nakedness didn't seem to bother him at all as he remarked in curious tones, "I see you have been... busy."

"And I am only getting started, mon beau," she crowed arrogantly, "you might as well confess everything now and save us both the time and energy so I can invest my full attention on Moulin."

His apathetic tone and expression masked all emotion as he retorted, "You have barely scratched the surface with me. I doubt you will get much further. You may keep trying, though, as long as your little side project does not distract you from Moulin."

Rosa shot back with a cheeky expression, "I do not like your tone of voice. It makes you sound like a condescending asshole."

He chuckled but offered no reply.

Then, just like a 'condescending asshole,' without even addressing her jab, Mr. Massera turned away and disappeared to the bathroom in all his naked glory. His backside was revealed to her in that instance. Her eyes drank in the sight.

Damn.

His ass was a chiseled work of art, too.

Her attraction to him was beginning to annoy Rosa. She wanted to rebel against it. As she heard the watery drizzle of the shower spray turning on, a wave of lunacy and inspiration overtook her.

If his naked body was having such a strong effect on her, then, surely, her naked body might have an equally strong effect on him as well, non?

The bastard's mind might be dedicated to all business and no pleasure, but his body clearly lusted after her. She would use it to her advantage. Quickly, Rosa stripped down to her birthday suit, tits out, ass out, and hurried into the bathroom to join him. Rosa wasn't above using her sexuality like a weapon even though she didn't like doing it.

As she entered the stall, Mr. Massera glanced up with astonishment and awe written all over his features.

"What are you doing, Miss Lenoir? You should not—"

"Hush, mon beau," Rosa whispered as she stepped towards him, pressing a finger to his lips, to silence him. "If you let me stay, I promise you will not regret your decision... I think you will enjoy yourself very, very much."

As the spray drenched her bare skin, the man's dark eyes began darting every which way as though he couldn't decide what to ogle first—her perfect, full breasts or her perfect, rounded derrière or the perfect, petal-like folds adorning her sex.

Within that same second, his cock sprung to attention so fast that Rosa nearly gasped aloud. The sight of his arousal was hard, thick, and more than a little intimidating.

His devil-black eyes found hers amidst the steam and spray, and her heart began to thud with an all too familiar beat of anxiety.

He growled, "I will give you three seconds to get the fuck out."

"I want to stay."

"Tre—"

"We need to finish our conversation."

"Due—"

Rosa didn't let him finish his countdown.

With one small step, she moved to close the gap between them, purposely pressing her tits into his chest and letting his cock rub up against her belly.

Mr. Massera cursed in Italian as his entire body grew rigid with restraint. Fists curled at his sides as though he was struggling to keep his hands to himself. His black hair clung to his head as rivulets of hot water ran down his naked body. He stared down at Rosa like a starved wolf hungering after a willing lamb.

Her pulse raced even faster.

Rosa had, of course, expected Mr. Massera to be aroused, she had planned to use his arousal to interrogate him for more answers, but the all-consuming way he was leering at her right this moment sent a trickle of discomfort down her spine. It had little to do with him, though, and everything to do with unwelcome memories from the past. They were always lurking on the outer edges of her consciousness. She didn't like to touch men. She didn't like it when men touched her, either. Rosa prayed that she wouldn't end up fucking Mr. Massera even though it was probably the fastest way to get answers out of him.

She struggled not to waver in her resolve.

She couldn't let her demons deter from her task.

"Have I captured your interest?" she forged on determinedly in forced, breathy tones.

"Fuck, yes," he rasped hoarsely, almost helplessly.

Through a hooded gaze, Rosa cooed in a siren's voice, "Will you let me stay?"

In response, Mr. Massera reached over, then, slowly, gently, to cup her cheek, to caress her lower lip with his thumb. Back and forth, back and forth, his thumbpad moved across the sensitive skin on her lip. Pleasure blended into her distress. Heat and desire mingled with her fear and trauma. She felt so confused. This man kept confusing the fuck out of her.

Rosa's eyes grew wide and large as his gaze flicked towards her mouth.

Tensions rose, thick and heavy, between them.

She thought he might kiss her and readied herself for the possibility. Her body grew taut and edgy with anticipation.

Yet, a second later, he made no move.

To Rosa's relief—or was it disappointment?—his hand fell away from her face. He didn't kiss her at all as he took a step back to sever the sensual, skin-to-skin contact between their naked bodies. He kept his eyes on her the entire time, though, appearing to take in her every breath, her every movement, her every thought and emotion.

Then, Mr. Massera knocked Rosa off her balance yet again by ordering in a stern but strained voice, "Please get out of my shower, Miss Lenoir, before you and I do something that we both regret."

"Wh-what?" she stammered in shock. "You... do not want me?"

"It is not a question of want."

Crossing her arms over her breasts, Rosa snapped at him to hide her embarrassment, her stupid sense of rejection, "What is your fucking problem, then? Why are you telling me to go away?"

He countered coolly, "The question we should be asking here is—why are you forcing yourself on me?"

Rosa's mouth fell open as she tried to defend herself, "I—"

But Mr. Massera didn't let her finish.

In low, harsh tones, he reprimanded her, "I can tell you do not want me like I want you. If we are to end up in bed together once our business arrangement is over, then you must have a change of heart. You must want me as much as I want you. Otherwise, I am not interested in letting you fuck your way into my head to steal all of my dirty, little secrets..."