The Devil's Desire

DARIO MORATA

Making plans is a walk in the park, but the same cannot be said about executing them. I’ve planned my moves for years, making sure every pawn glides into its spot at the exact right moment, down to the last second.

Needless to say, getting close to the Vargas princess was nowhere on my packed itinerary—yet here I am. I don’t know if it’s the clarity in her eyes or the annoyance in them when she looks at me, but something keeps me glued to her side like a moth to a flame.

When I sat on that couch in her office earlier, I didn’t want to move an inch. A fire could have broken out, and escaping would have had to wait until I had my fill of staring at Luciana, which, I soon realized, might have resulted in a charred meal of grilled Dario Morata marinated with Luciana’s glare.

It’s a good thing, then, that I am not afraid of death. I have cheated it more times than I can count, starting from my childhood. The last thing that could kill me is her.

Her parents, on the other hand, wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet through my skull if they found out about my existence, but that’s not keeping me away.

VRE is on the edge of bankruptcy (thanks to me), and the only way out is to sell a property costing a dime—which is exactly what I am here to do. Am I turning into Santa Claus? Hell no. Like I said, chessboard. It’s all part of a plan, and it seems all the stars are in my favor. I wouldn’t be surprised. The Vargas family deserves everything coming their way.

I was joking—mostly—about her going out with me in exchange for answers, but I can’t complain about her compliance. Who would reject the company of such a beauty?

It’s not what she wants; she would prefer to throw the damn coffee in my face, but I’m too selfish to let her out of the deal. Besides, why let her off when my quest is not over yet? I am here to stay.

Speaking of lucky stars and whatnot, I’m thrilled to learn that the club she frequents is my latest property. I learned of the ‘coincidence’ this morning as I signed the property ownership papers, successfully purchasing yet another way of bumping into her.

In my defense, getting close to her is not the only reason I bought the club. It may have been the catalyst, but I am technically a businessman. Why would I say no to another cash cow?

Needless to say, Luciana is not in the slightest bit happy about finding me here. Her nostrils are flaring when she confronts me to give me that speech about affording her own drinks, which my men watch in silence. I catch them snickering discreetly, but I know Fidel will rim into me about it all night.

That’s not any of my concern right now. My focus is on the furious princess shoving money into my pockets because I won’t accept it. She has no clue what she might find in a man’s pockets, does she? Her hand brushes against my cock before she can move any further, letting her know exactly what can be felt from her angle.

Her eyes widen, her cheeks instantly flushing red. It’s so beautiful that I want to bite her cheek—I don’t know when I turned into a cannibal, either. The woman’s getting me all sorts of disoriented.

“What do you think you're doing?” Her tone is sharp and stern as she retracts her hand.

I don’t know whether she’s still talking about the drinks, or my getting hard at her simple touch. I pull her closer and whisper, “You were curious. I could show you more, in private.”

She glares at me, snarling for me to let go of her hand, but her flush deepens, and I catch a brief glimpse of reluctance in her eyes when I do as she says. She wasn’t opposed to touching me, was she?

Before she can stomp away, I grab her wrist again, trying to rein in the dirty thoughts. I battle against all the naughty thoughts, but as soon as those dazzling eyes meet mine, I lose the battle, and I know she sees it in my face.

“I could file charges,” she threatens, but her tone tells me it’s the roar of a paper tiger. She doesn’t want me to let go. I’m gripping her wrist, and I can feel her pulse accelerate. The goosebumps on her skin make me wish I could read her mind.

I summon a waiter and tell him to send more drinks to her previous table, where her friend will want to enjoy more drinks. Luciana is staying with me.

“Don’t you dare.” She tells the waiter, then turns to me with a glare. “I can pay for my own drinks, and so can my friend.”

The waiter, however, knows who calls the shots here. No one wants to offend the man whose name will be on their next paycheck. He takes my order, making Luciana gasp in shock.

“Why do they listen to you?”

“Because they still want their jobs,” I muse.

“If they want their job that badly, they should know better than to ignore a patron’s orders. I could file a complaint to his boss.”

Fidel, who has been quiet for all of two minutes, lets out a laugh that sounds almost like a snort.

“What’s funny?” she asks Fidel. I shoot him a warning look, and he, in turn, makes a show of pulling an imaginary zipper over his lips.

Luciana switches targets and returns her gaze to me with the kind of look that tells me if I don’t answer her, she will go sniffing for answers like a bloodhound. “Explain.”

I let go of her wrist as I say, “I happen to own this place. Sounds silly, right?”

She opens her mouth to say something, but changes her mind, replacing what I know was a round of scolding with “Asshole.”

In the next moment, she struts away, her hips swaying with every move. I may be barreling headfirst towards insanity, but I will certainly not complain about that phenomenal view.

When she’s out of sight, I glance back at my men to catch Rex with his jaw dropped open. My glare pulls him out of his stupor.

“Isn’t that Luciana Vargas?” He asks as a way of saving himself from my wrath.

I still want to kill him, but who would blame him? With a face and figure like that, it would be more surprising if men didn’t want to stare at her all day—that doesn’t mean I’m letting him off.

“That one is going to drive you nuts,” Fidel quips. “I just know it.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice, old man.” I tease. Fidel may only be two decades older than me, but you’d think he’s in his eighties with all his experience with women.

“Are you planning on telling her the truth?” asks Rex.

“And why on earth would I do that?” I glare at the brain-dead idiot. I still haven’t punished him for staring at Luciana like that.

Fidel rubs his chin, deep in thought, as he mumbles, “This is going to be fun.”

I picture the sight of Luciana walking out of the booth a moment ago, and I have to agree with the old fart. I down a shot of tequila at the thought. My quest for revenge just got interesting.