“Un peu. Enough that I want to talk to you instead of letting you fuck me,” she said.

“Oh,” he said, and weighed his words. “But we are still going to fuck, right?”

Juliette smiled again. And in her flawless elegant French she purred two beautiful words.

“Bien sûr.”

Of course.

She went silent after she made another turn. The road was long and treacherous and wound up the side of a high, heavily forested hill. He could only imagine how Elle would tackle a similar driving challenge. They’d either have made it to their destination in half the time or died a fiery death rolling over a cliff in the attempt. He’d convinced Elle to let his driver take her everywhere she wanted to go. She thought he was being kind and generous. Little did he know he was simply trying to keep her alive. She was alive, wasn’t she? Twenty-six years old, smarter than any other woman he’d ever met. Street-smart, too. She’d be fine without him, fine without Søren. Wouldn’t she?

“What’s wrong?” Juliette asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re quiet.”

“You were driving.”

“I’ve spent thirty minutes in your company, and I already know quiet isn’t your standard mode of operation,” she said.

“Are you saying I talk too much?” Kingsley asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you shouldn’t complain when I’m quiet.”

“It made me nervous.” She gave him a smile and he was glad to see she was kidding. Hopefully anyway.

“I was thinking about someone.”

“Your priest?”

“And his lover.”

“You have unusual friends,” Juliette said.

He smiled back at her. “Not nearly enough of them. Would you like to be my friend?”

“Do you sleep with your friends?”

Kingsley turned his head and grinned at her. “I’m very friendly. And terrible at monogamy.”

She didn’t seem to mind that answer. A good sign. So far he’d made her laugh and hadn’t scared her off yet by confessing to A) being trained to kill people, B) being bisexual and C) fucking anyone and everyone who would let him.

Beautiful and brave. His type of woman.

Of course, he’d had that thought before. A brave woman would be his perfect woman. Last year he’d fallen madly in love with a girl he’d met at one of his clubs. She’d been a fire breather and she’d come home with him after five minutes of conversation. Unlike with Juliette, he’d known everything about Charlie before he’d gone to bed with her—her full name, her age, her background, her income, her family, everything. Everything except the one thing a file couldn’t tell him. He hadn’t known her dreams for the future. Turns out children weren’t a part of her dreams as they were a part of his. She’d raised her gay younger brother after her mother died and her father kicked them out. Kingsley thought that was a sign she had a strong maternal instinct. But no. She’d already given up college to raise one child. She had no interest in raising another. Kingsley asked her if she’d ever have his children someday. Her “no” had broken his heart.

Juliette was altogether a different woman than Charlie. Juliette was mysterious, dangerous. He was pursuing her for no other reason than she intrigued him. This wasn’t about love, wasn’t about settling down and having children. A woman who threw rocks at little boys was not the future mother of his children. But she was the woman he was going to fuck tonight and that made her far more important to him than some dream girl he’d likely never find.

When at last they arrived at their destination, Kingsley couldn’t see a house, only trees and a gate. She typed a number into a keypad, waited for the wrought iron gates to yawn open and drove through them at a glacial pace. On either side of the car, great trees loomed and cast long shadows. Far ahead he saw white light, and when they reached the end of the driveway, a house like a mountain loomed before them. Gleaming white. Four stories. Endless lines of balconies. Juliette parked the car in front of the stairs that led to the front door.

“Do you live here?” Kingsley asked as he got out of the car.

“Yes,” she said.

“But it’s not your house.”

“No.”

“Do you work here?”

“I wouldn’t call it work,” she said as she lifted the skirt of her dress and walked up the steps. She walked lightly, gracefully and without fear or hesitation. She said she didn’t own the house, but she walked into it as if she did. He followed her with less confidence. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so nervous around a woman. Why was that? He was out of his element, definitely. He had no idea where he was other than in the mountains outside Petionville. And he was with a woman who wore a dagger on her thigh as casually as most women carried a purse. She was in control of this situation, not him.

Once inside the house, Juliette switched on a single light in the entryway.

“This is the house,” was all she said. Apparently there would be no tour.

Kingsley glanced around. Even in the low light he could see the interior looked like a Caribbean palace. White furniture and polished wood floors.

“It’s magnificent.”

“It’s a house. That’s all.”

“You aren’t impressed?”

“I’ve lived here all my life.”