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‘I make it a point not to credit rumours, but it seems in this instance the rumours are true, Sasha Fleming.’

The way he said her name—slowly, with a hint of his Latin intonation—made goosebumps rise on her flesh. ‘What exactly do you think you know about me?’

‘Sex is your weapon of choice.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ she squeaked as the backs of her legs touched the side of the bed. ‘Did you just say—?’

‘You need to learn to finesse your art, though. No man likes to be bludgeoned over the head with sex. No matter how … enticing the package.’

‘You’re either loopy or you’ve got me confused with someone else. I don’t bludgeon and I don’t entice.’

He kept coming. She leaned back on the bed and felt the hem of her shirt riding up her thighs.

‘For goodness’ sake, stop!’

He stopped, but his gaze didn’t. It continued its destructive course over her, leaving no part of her untouched, until Sasha felt sure she was about to combust from the heat of it.

Desperate, she darted out her tongue to lick her lips. ‘Look, I’m not who … whatever you think I am.’

‘Even though I can see the evidence for myself?’ he rasped in a low voice.

The Price of Success

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