The moment Rosa and Mr. Massera stepped back into her suite, the sting of bleach immediately hit her nostrils, cutting through her fog of exhaustion.

Rosa's senses were, all of a sudden, wide awake again as a flurry of unpleasant memories shot through her mind.

Before carting Hugo outside on the wheelchair, she had disinfected all of the surfaces in the bathroom while Mr. Massera wrapped the body in plastic trash bags, to prevent the corpse's piss, feces, and blood from leaking or tainting anything else in the vicinity.

Her stomach churned with disgust.

It seemed, hours later, the pungent chlorine-like smell was still lingering in the air. Annoyance pricked at her as well. Rosa hated it whenever her professional life crept into her personal life.

She was supposed to be on vacation.

She was supposed to be resting and relaxing over the next few days.

How the fuck was she expected to get a relaxing, restful night's sleep, now, with the ghost of Hugo haunting her suite?

Pouah!

Just the thought of bathing or showering in the same space where Hugo's corpse had been decomposing sent a wave of nausea rolling through Rosa.

She shot a glare in Mr. Massera's direction.

Technically, this was all his fault.

Right away, the bastard seemed to sense her eyes digging into him.

He turned towards her, arching an eyebrow, "Yes?"

Without acknowledging him, Rosa strode towards the safe tucked in one of the built-in closets and removed his Beretta from its hiding place.

Mr. Massera held out his palm. "Give it to me, and I will be on my way."

But Rosa didn't hand over his firearm. She purposely withheld it from him. She intended to use it as a bargaining chip.

In cranky, bitchy tones, Rosa demanded, "If you want your gun back, first, tell me where you are staying in Lisbon."

"I am staying... here... in the same hotel as you."

Ah, of course the bastard would be staying here as well.

How convenient.

She urged, "Switch rooms with me."

"Why?"

"I do not want to share a suite with Hugo's ghost."

"I find it hard to believe," he drawled, "that a woman like you would be afraid of such things."

Rosa insisted, "You killed Hugo. You should be the one to sleep with his ghost."

Mr. Massera smiled faintly. "No."

"Then," Rosa murmured as she raised his gun to her lips, placing a light, taunting kiss on the top of his barrel, "I will be holding your friend hostage a while longer..."

"I could just take it from you, you know. You are smaller and weaker than me."

He was right.

She would never fight him again like before.

From now on, she would need to attack him in a different way.

Softly, Rosa breathed, "But where would the fun be in that?"

Not breaking eye contact, she stared him down while tracing the swells of her breasts with his Beretta. Rosa let the tip of the barrel glide between the V of her cleavage, down her stomach, down towards her sex, grazing her mound for a mere second, before taking a few coy steps back, back, back—

Away from him.

Out of his reach.

"If you give me what I want," she offered in sultry tones, "maybe, later, I will give you something that you want..."

His dark eyes grew darker still as she teased him. He observed, "You seem to be in a bargaining mood."

Rosa had no intention of fucking him, but he didn't need to know that right now.

She purred, "I am, indeed."

To her surprise, he admitted, "I have been wanting to fuck you since you showed up in that Marseille nightclub with your little gold locket—"

Before Rosa could bask in her triumph, however, Mr. Massera shot her down very bluntly, "But know this—I am not the kind of man who mixes business with pleasure."

Rosa frowned. "Is that so?"

He nodded. "And I am very interested in doing business with you. You possess a special set of skills that are valuable to me. I will not compromise our partnership with sex."

"You are no fun," she grumbled.

Mr. Massera chuckled at her sour expression and continued, "Do not look so unhappy, Miss Lenoir. I may not be willing to switch rooms with you, but, if you give me back my Beretta, I might consider sharing my room with you."

She repeated in disbelief, "You want us to... share... a room?"

"Sì."

Rosa scoffed, "Are you not afraid that I will murder you in your sleep?"

"No," he murmured, "because I will kill you first—if you try."

She snorted. "You are a confident man. Too confident, I think!"

Mr. Massera smiled at her, then.

It set her on edge.

Rightfully so.

In the blink of an eye, Mr. Massera sprinted towards Rosa in a blinding burst of speed. She scrambled to get away, but his hand closed around her wrist all too quickly, knocking his gun out of her hand, as he flipped her around, pinning her arm behind her back as he held her flush against his body. His grip didn't hurt her, but the message was clear: The fucker could hurt her—if he wanted to.

Rosa set her jaw with indignation.

Two could play this game. Through brute strength alone, he could overpower her, but, little did he know, she still had a trick or two tucked up her sleeve.

Instead of fighting back or struggling against Mr. Massera, Rosa chose to grind the firm, rounded curves of her ass against his crotch, purposely melding her softer, smaller body against his harder, larger frame with every intention to seduce her way out of this literal bind.

Rosa smiled when she sensed his cock harden against her backside. Suddenly, his sizable shaft felt very alert and very interested in fucking her.

She cooed at him, "Perhaps, you are right, mon beau..."

"Right—about what?" he ground out suspiciously.

Rosa sighed as though gravely disappointed, "I suppose I should not let you fuck me. You already feel too big for my little body. I worry the fit between us might be too tight, too snug, even if I am already hot and wet and ready for your cock..."

She heard him draw in a sharp breath.

Rosa also felt his hold on her waver slightly.

Smirking, she took advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration to flip herself back around. Rosa then leapt back onto the beautiful, dangerous bastard—forcing him to catch her with both arms—as her legs wrapped around his waist and her palms snaked around his shoulders.

A second later, in direct contrast with her wicked words, she planted a chaste, innocent peck upon the tip of his nose.

His eyes rounded out with genuine shock.

The corners of Rosa's full, pouty mouth tilted upwards with smug satisfaction as Mr. Massera eyed her with renewed interest.

Her message rang out loud and clear as well: She had caught him completely off guard, and, in a world as treacherous as theirs, one small fuck up, one tiny lapse in focus, even for a split second, could mean the difference between life and death.

If she had used her nails to gouge out his eyes right then, he would be blind right now.

Their eyes locked, then, recognizing one another as equals.

Confidence surged in her, followed by an unexpected sense of fulfillment. In a way, Rosa felt as though she had finally met her match in this enigmatic Mr. Massera. The discovery was rather refreshing. It was also kind of terrifying. Either way, this was the most alive she had felt in years.

Now, hovering at eye level with him, she declared boldly, "I think I will take you up on your offer, Mr. Massera, to share your room."

It was strange, Rosa mused, that she would rather sleep beside a killer than a ghost.

He reminded her, "Not so fast. I still need my gun back."

She patted his chest with her palm. "Set me down, and I will get it for you."

He gave in to her request right away, lowering her back onto the ground carefully, gently, as though she was fragile. Breakable. It was a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by Rosa. Mr. Massera's behavior and attitude was so full of contradictions. One second, he was flinging her across the room over a stupid gun. The next second, he was handling her like his lover.

She went to retrieve his Beretta from the ground and, finally, handed it back to him.

Unloaded, of course.

Rosa sniffed. "There. Happy now?"

He took it from her and muttered, "Grazie."

So polite.

So accommodating.

The complex layers to the bastard were really starting to stir up her curiosity: He was a gentleman. He was also deadly and unpredictable. He was capable of killing a man and dumping the body without batting an eye. His true motives were hidden. Yet, it didn't seem like he was going to harm her anytime soon. He already had plenty of opportunities to kill her in the past few hours.

Mr. Massera claimed he valued her skill set.

He claimed he wished to initiate a business partnership of sorts with her.

Rosa hadn't agreed to any of his proposals yet, but, if Mr. Massera was going to become her employer in a long-term sense, then she definitely needed to get to know the real Cristiano Massera. To analyze him. To learn him. It would be foolish not to understand the way his mind worked, the way his heart ticked, or the way his cock liked to fuck, for that matter, before agreeing to work together.

Knowing men—in all of these ways was how Rosa had managed to survive her harrowing past. It was how she managed to claw and coax her way to a freedom of sorts, to become her own woman, when so many other girls in her position had either perished before their time or withered away to empty shells of their former selves.

Giving nothing away about her dark thoughts, Rosa smiled at him pleasantly. "Give me a minute, mon beau. I need to pack my bags. Then, you can take me to your room."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "Take your time."

As Rosa strolled away to grab her things, she tossed him a sly wink over her shoulder. "Just so you know, I plan to sleep with my gun under my pillow. I suggest you do the same."

This drew a look of amusement from him. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."