Hot, steaming water continued to spray around them in the stall.

Rosa stared at Mr. Massera with a look of utter disbelief. His rejection stung like an insult. The feeling was foreign to her. She couldn't remember the last time any man had chosen to side with his brain over his cock during her advances.

This bastard.

This clever, observant bastard.

He always saw right through her plays.

Rosa's gaze also grew shrewd and sharp. She saw through him, too. His cool, calm demeanor seemed to mask a need to always be in control. This was a man with an iron-like will. He was controlling and calculating. Most men weren't born this way. They were made this way. A man with such qualities, Rosa reasoned, had to have survived some sort of tragedy and trauma. A man with such qualities had to possess some sort of ambitious agenda.

What was this supposed schoolteacher from Calabria hiding from her?

What did he seek to accomplish?

One way or another, Rosa intended to break down his walls and witness this man's true face with her own eyes.

Just to spite him.

She feigned a disappointed shrug. "Tant pis! If that is how you feel, mon beau, then I certainly will not stay where I am unwelcome."

Not wasting another breath on him, Rosa stepped out of the shower stall in a slow, leisurely manner.

Mr. Massera didn't try to stop her.

Bastard.

Still, Rosa felt his dark eyes boring into her as she grabbed a clean towel from a rack and started patting herself dry. She wielded the white terry cloth in a way that a burlesque dancer might use a feathered fan to captivate her audience, letting it play a subtle game of peekaboo with her curves.

With a soft, breathy sigh, Rosa dawdled around her chest, massaging the fullness of her breasts and rolling her nipples under the towel, before bending over to dry the length of her long, shapely legs. Down and up the right leg. Then, down and up the left leg.

Her knowing eyes never strayed far from his heated gaze.

She was punishing him, teasing him, and they both knew it.

Mr. Massera glowered at her movements as his shaft throbbed away like an angry steel rod. His jaw kept clenching and unclenching. Desire thrummed from him like a mounting storm. The muscles in his entire body were drawn rigid with the discomfort of unfulfilled lust.

She smirked and left the bathroom.

Outside, Rosa perched herself on the edge of the shabby mattress and waited for him to finish his shower. Minutes crept by. The man was taking a bit longer than expected.

She wondered if he might be himself jacking off right now?

Her thoughts took a turn towards wickedness and debauchery. The mental image of Mr. Massera fisting his cock in the throes of self-pleasure sent several hard, longing pulses of heat through her sex. Her senses burned with want. Rosa slipped into a pair of panties and climbed into bed, opting to go topless.

Absent-mindedly, Rosa's hands drifted towards her nipples and her clit. She began to play with herself while fantasizing about the beautiful bastard showering a few feet away. Rosa didn't want to fuck the man in real life, but she possessed no qualms about fucking him in her mind.

He dragged her into their five-star hotel room.

Fuck motels.

He threw her onto the bed and climbed on top of her, caging her smaller body beneath his larger frame.

Moaning softly, Rosa tweaked her nipples and rubbed her clit like a wanton woman.

Her thighs splayed for him, and he thrust into her—

Then, she heard the water shut off.

Damn it!

Mr. Massera was stepping out of the shower. She could hear him shuffling around the bathroom.

Rosa's hands stilled as she tried to calm her panting breaths. She was wet and aroused, but her climax had yet to come. Now, she was shit out of luck, feeling all worked up, extremely hot and bothered, with no way to find release.

A second later, Mr. Massera strode out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Her eyes dragged over his perfect masculine form. Lust spiked alongside annoyance.

He appeared to be in much better spirits than when she left him.

Calm.

At ease.

Relaxed.

She scowled irritably.

There was no doubt in Rosa's mind: Unlike her, this fucker definitely found release during his long-ass shower.

Rosa quipped in sulking tones, "Did you enjoy yourself? In there? Without me?"

Mr. Massera's eyes darted to her bare breasts and puckered nipples before shifting back to her face.

Without answering her question, he murmured gruffly, "You are determined to test me, Miss Lenoir."

"Am I?"

He glanced at her tits again before accusing her, "You know exactly what you are doing right now."

She scoffed, "I thought you were immune to my charms?"

Suddenly, he dropped his towel and joined her in bed. She gasped as real life began to echo her fantasies. In one swift motion, Mr. Massera rolled on top of Rosa, pinning her beneath his large, rock solid form.

"I am only a man," he growled, grinding his cock between against the crotch of her panties, "does this feel like I am immune to you?"

He was growing very hard very fast again.

Oh, shit.

Genuine panic flared across Rosa's face. A faint, almost inaudible yelp escaped her lips.

Was the bastard going to try and fuck her now?

Had she taken her teasing one step too far?

Placing her palms against his chest, Rosa shoved at him, hard, and tried to squirm out from underneath. Unwelcome, unwanted memories flooded her senses. The moment Mr. Massera noticed her unease, he flipped back to his side of the bed and let her go.

Rosa breathed out a sigh of relief.

He side-eyed her. "Are you alright?"

"Of course."

"You seem... frightened... of me."

She grimaced slightly.

Rosa wasn't frightened of Mr. Massera, per se. Her mind simply didn't want him to touch her even though her body protested otherwise. Any kind of sexual, intimate interactions tended to be triggering for her. Men from Rosa's past hadn't been gentle. Men like Mesrine. They had all used her. Roughly, selfishly, cruelly. Even after all these years, her time as a whore and prostitute still fucked with her head and her sex drive.

It was easier to push aside her demons when she was working on an assignment. With clear targets and obvious objectives placed before her, it became possible to distance herself from the mindless killing and the mindless fucking. She used the deadly femme fatale persona of 'Rosa Lenoir' as a shield to protect herself from the ugliness of the girl she had been and the woman she had become.

When she wasn't on duty, however, like now, it was far more difficult to ignore her inner turmoil.

Rosa forced a laugh from her lungs. "Do not be ridiculous. I fear no man."

A strained beat passed between them. He kept looking at her, studying her.

When Mr. Massera finally broke the silence, he surprised her by saying, "From now on, please stop pretending like you want to fuck me. I only want the truth from you. Otherwise, this partnership will not work."

"I am not pretending," she insisted with a grumble, "I do want to fuck you."

Rosa wasn't lying here. For some reason, despite all the psychological bullshit that haunted her, she was still wet and wanting for the bastard.

She turned towards him.

Frowning slightly, he murmured, "There is something you should know about me as a man..."

"What might that be?"

"No matter how much you bait me, no matter how hard my cock gets for you—I would never force myself on you."

"How reassuring," she muttered, unimpressed, "and here I thought chivalry was dead? I would probably blow out your brains, though, if you tried to touch me without my consent."

Mr. Massera laughed. "I do not doubt it."

She flashed him a begrudging smile.

He glanced away for a moment, adding in dark tones, "If I ever tried to harm you in such a way, you have my full permission to place a bullet in my brain. I have always despised men who took advantage of women's bodies. They deserve to die."

Rosa grew curious. She sensed there was more to his statement than he let on.

She demanded, "Are you speaking on a matter of principle, mon beau? Or from personal experience?"

He looked back at her. A flicker of sadness rose in Mr. Massera's eyes before reverting to his usual expression of nothingness. "Both."

Both?

Rosa couldn't help but wonder—

Perhaps, at some point during Mr. Massera's murky and mysterious past, some depraved fucker had tried to assault or rape a woman who had been close to Mr. Massera?

Softly, Rosa asked, "Who was she?"

He cast her a pointed look. His walls were up again. "Isn't it your job to dig out all of my dirty, little secrets?"

She frowned. "You will not tell me?"

"No."

"I was asking out of concern. As a fellow human being. Not as your associate."

"But we are not friends," he reminded her, "we are associates."

With a sigh, Rosa tried to scale his defenses one last time, "It is really in your best interest to let me in. The more I know, the more helpful I can be to your... cause."

Whatever the fuck that may be.

Mr. Massera didn't take the bait.

He simply rolled away, turning his back to her on the bed, and urged, "It is late. I am tired. You should get some rest as well, Miss Lenoir. We have busy days ahead of us. Men must die, and we must be ready..."

Rosa snuggled under her covers and rolled away from Mr. Massera as well. Sleep didn't come for her right away. Her mind was wide awake.

It seemed, to Rosa, that getting information out of her bedmate would be harder than pulling teeth.

She might be better off relying on Harry for more intel.

But what if Harry failed her?

A backup plan was always necessary. Her mind spun some more. Rosa's thoughts soon settled on her next target: Claude Moulin. The man was a lawyer for some of the most powerful criminals all across Europe. Surely, he would know a thing or two about the enigma that was Cristiano Massera?

Rosa decided, then, to personally interrogate Moulin.

Before she killed the fucker.