Once Rosa finished gathering up all of her belongings, the two of them took the elevator down a few floors to Mr. Massera's room. He even offered to carry her luggage for her, and she let him. When they entered his room, bright, golden daylight was already bursting through the windows. It was close to nine o' clock in the morning.

How long had she been awake? Over twenty-four hours, probably?

She had lost count at this point.

Rosa felt as though she was now teetering between a perpetual state of sleep-deprived delirium and hyper-awareness. As her tired eyes scanned her new surroundings, Rosa was dismayed to find that it was a normal guest room, not a suite, with only one king-sized bed in sight. There wasn't another available bed. Not even a couch.

She wrinkled her nose with distaste.

Even as exhaustion pulled at her again, she didn't like this sleeping arrangement.

"I want the bed to myself," Rosa announced in a hurry.

"Then," Mr. Massera countered, "where am I supposed to sleep?"

She shrugged and supplied, "On the floor?"

Mr. Massera chuckled as though she was being ridiculous. "I do not fucking think so."

She challenged, "You want us to share the bed, then, mon beau?"

"I will stay on my side," he promised, "if you stay on your side."

This gave her pause.

Rosa wasn't inexperienced with men. If anything, she was far too experienced with the entire fucking gender as a whole. Sex didn't faze her. Sleeping next to a man didn't faze her.

Yet, something about the idea of sleeping next to this man, even in a non-sexual manner, sent strange flutters through her stomach.

She grunted in disapproval, "Hmm."

Rosa's disapproval, though, was aimed at herself rather than the situation.

He asserted in cool tones, "Go back to your suite if my room is not good enough for you."

Fuck that.

Rosa forced a smile on her face. "As long as you behave yourself, I guess I can learn to live with this arrangement."

Mr. Massera muttered drolly, "Can you, now?"

"Mm-hmm," she replied, pausing before asking, "can I jump in your shower real quick? I feel... disgusting."

Disgusting—from lugging around a dead man's body and dumping it into the ocean.

He nodded. "Be my guest."

Rosa wondered what he would be doing while she was washing up, helpless and naked, in his bathroom.

Suspicion prompted her to ask, "What are you going to be doing while I'm in the bathroom?"

"Nothing."

"Will you go to bed?"

He shook his head. "Not yet, I will wait for you."

Rosa smiled like an innocent angel. "You do not trust me?"

Mr. Massera grinned like a knowing devil. "I trust you as much as you trust me."

She murmured, "Touché."

He wasn't wrong there.

She didn't trust him very much.

Rosa already assumed that Mr. Massera knew how to pick a lock, so she had been planning to shower with her Beretta close by while barricading the bathroom door with a chair or something.

He informed her, "I will shower after you."

"Oh?"

With a fatigued-sounding sigh, Mr. Massera loosened the top two buttons of his dress shirt, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his bronzed, muscled chest.

He confessed, "I feel disgusting as well. And tired. Very tired."

A groggy gleam settled over his dark eyes just then. He stifled a yawn.

Rosa studied him curiously.

This was the first show of weakness, of humanness, that she had witnessed in the man.

"Poor baby. You do look worn out," she remarked softly. "You and I have had quite a night, non?"

"I might fall asleep," he joked, "if I close my eyes."

A small yawn escaped from Rosa as she mumbled, "Same."

Mr. Massera eyed her almost affectionately as he urged, "Go shower, Miss Lenoir. You look like you could use some rest, too."

"Yes," she hummed, "I cannot wait to pass out..."

Rosa left him, then, to grab a clean change of clothes. Mr. Massera's gaze followed her around the room as she retrieved a silky beige-colored nightdress and a pair of seamless nude panties from her luggage.

He let out a light cough. "No bra?"

She glanced over with a smirk, tsk-tsking at him, "No woman in her right mind would ever sleep with a bra on, mon beau."

"Ah," he noted wryly, "my mistake."

She offered sweetly, "I will try to shower quickly, so you can wash up, too."

Mr. Massera used his fist to suppress another yawn. "Grazie. That would be appreciated."

Now that Rosa felt pretty certain that he possessed neither the intention nor the energy to fuck her, something reckless unlocked inside her.

She grew bolder, brassier.

Like a fool who couldn't resist playing with fire.

Through lowered lashes, Rosa decided to test his resolve in an inviting, breathy voice, "Maybe... we should shower together? So we can get to bed... sooner?"

She wanted to see if he truly was a man of his word, a man who knew how to separate business from pleasure.

Rosa watched him intently.

For a moment, Mr. Massera's eyes darkened, his jaw clenched, as he beheld her with a look of pure unadulterated desire.

For a moment, his guard fell away, and he looked like a man completely and utterly in lust.

God, Rosa couldn't help wondering, what would it feel like to be fucked by such a man?

Instantly, Rosa's sex clenched with anticipation as her stomach tightened with anxiety.

Would Mr. Massera surrender to her?

Despite her attraction to him, Rosa sensed that she would be rather disappointed if he gave in so easily.

Because, then, there would be nothing all that special about him.

Mr. Massera would be like all of the other perverted, wicked males who had used and discarded her in the past.

In low, husky tones, he finally responded, "Your invitation is very tempting, Miss Lenoir..."

She purred encouragingly, "Is it, now?"

"But, sadly, I have to pass."

Rosa murmured under her breath, "How very sad."

With a sterner expression, Mr. Massera implored her, "From now on, if I am expected to behave, then you need to behave yourself as well. Use your charms on others, but they are unnecessary and unwelcome with me."

Rosa smiled beatifically at him.

Très bien.

The bastard didn't disappoint her, after all.

Perhaps, they could work together, after all.

"Suit yourself. But you are missing out!" she chirped before disappearing into the bathroom.

After Rosa came out of the shower, he went into the bathroom to wash up. She slid her Beretta beneath her pillow, got into bed, and waited for him to come out. Ten minutes later, Mr. Massera re-emerged with damp hair, no shirt, and only his boxer briefs. He was too beautiful for a man. Those broad shoulders. That tapered waist. Solid, chiseled muscle everywhere.

Rosa's gaze roamed up and down his glorious male form.

She drawled in a chiding manner, "What? No pants? No shirt?"

He rehashed a line from her script, "No man in his right mind would sleep with clothes on. I kept my underwear on... out of respect... for you."

"Ah, merci," Rosa hummed in approval. Then, she patted the empty spot beside her on the mattress and summoned him to bed, "Come! It is well past our bedtime, non?"

Like a large, stealthy panther, Mr. Massera strode over with surprisingly light footsteps and climbed into bed beside her. The mattress sank beneath his weight. For a few minutes, they shuffled around in silence under the covers—to get more comfortable, to get used to one another as bedmates. Rosa willed herself to relax beside him, but it was a bit awkward, a bit strange, to be thrown into such an intimate situation with this near-stranger.

Within the past twenty-four hours, they had disposed of a body together.

Now, they were sharing a bed.

Putain de merde, Rosa railed at herself silently, what was she doing with her life?

In time, though, her body's need for sleep soon overtook everything else, and her troubled thoughts gave way to exhaustion.

Rosa closed her eyes, to block out the daylight trickling through the closed curtains, and sighed at Mr. Massera, "Sweet dreams, mon beau. I hope you put your gun somewhere close by."

He returned, "Sleep well, Miss Lenoir. I hope you kept yours within reach as well."

From there, it didn't take long for both of them to fall into a deep, deep slumber.

For hours upon hours, she slept like the dead and awoke in total darkness. Rosa didn't know how long she had been passed out, but her mind and body felt rested and refreshed. She checked her phone for the time.

It was 3:23 am.

Mr. Massera stirred beside her. The man was clearly a light sleeper.

"You awake?" he mumbled in the deep, scratchy voice of a someone who had yet to awaken fully.

"I am."

"What time is it?"

She replied, "About three in the morning."

In the same second, Mr. Massera's phone dinged quietly beside them. He leaned over the edge of the bed to retrieve his phone and scan the message.

Afterwards, he sat up and said, "We need to get up."

Rosa's eyebrows rose with surprise. "What? Why?"

"We have somewhere to be in exactly eighteen hours."

"We?" she repeated indignantly. "I do not know about you, but the only plans I have for today is to sit on the beach with a few sangrias..."

"Cancel your plans. This is more important."

Rosa retorted, "No, I will not cancel anything. You are not the boss of me!"

From the shadows, Mr. Massera cast an exasperated look at her. "Did I not say that you will be working for me from now on?"

She fired back calmly, "I never agreed to anything other than the assignment with Mr. Lavigne."

"Well," he murmured, "I am hiring you for another assignment. Right fucking now. Get your pretty ass out of bed."

He swung his long legs over the edge of the mattress and reached for his trousers.

Like a naughty schoolgirl, Rosa's amber eyes gleamed with mischief as she watched him get dressed. "So, you think my ass is pretty?"

As Mr. Massera shrugged on his shirt, he snapped irritably, "Stop fishing for compliments, Miss Lenoir. You know you are perfect from head to toe. Now—per favore, get up and make yourself presentable. We need to be out the door as soon as possible."

Perfect, was she, from head to toe?

She bit back a delighted grin.

Rosa propped herself up on her elbows and stated in languid tones, "Again, you are getting ahead of yourself because I have not signed up for anything. I will need details and numbers in fine print, mon beau, if you want my pretty, perfect ass to work for you again, and, be warned, my expertise does not come cheap."

Mr. Massera offered in clipped tones, "I promise to answer all of your questions later and pay you an arm and leg for your expertise. There is no time to waste. We can talk on our way to the train."

The train?

Where the fuck were they going?

Curiosity prompted Rosa to get out of bed.

She remained undecided on whether or not to tag along with Mr. Massera, but her interest was definitely piqued. She was already awake, anyway. Might as well get dressed.

Right?

Thus, lifting the hem of her skirt over her head, Rosa slipped out her nightdress in one elegant motion.

Mr. Massera sucked in a harsh, audible breath as she headed towards her suitcase. His gaze locked onto her naked tits, drinking in the free show with riveted fascination.

Wearing nothing but panties, Rosa proceeded to prance around Mr. Massera, brazenly topless, with her dark bronzed skin beautifully bare, her full, rounded breasts on display, and her delicate, dusky copper tips for nipples puckering from the cool air.

"Sarai la mia morte," his eyes traced her everywhere as he muttered in distracted tones.

She glanced over to him. "What does that mean?"

Mr. Massera translated dryly, "You will be the death of me."

Rosa chuckled with the pride of a preening swan.

From her suitcase, she dug out a pair of white high-waisted tailored trousers and a fluttery, feminine cropped top made out of an airy saffron-dyed chiffon.

As Rosa started getting dressed, he took notice, yet again, when she decided to go au naturel under her top.

He noted with dark eyes, "No bra?"

She confirmed with a mischievous smile, "No bra."

Mr. Massera's gaze dipped down to the outline of Rosa's nipples under the fabric of her top, lingering there for a long moment before looking away. He swallowed, hard, but didn't offer anymore commentary.

In cheeky tones, Rosa inquired, "Do you still want me to tag along on your little train excursion?"

"Of course."

"Are you sure?" she teased, "my tits and I would not want to distract you from your very important task."

"You are distracting, that is for sure," he admitted with a sheepish laugh, "but I think you and your tits will be more of an asset than a liability for what I intend to... accomplish."

Did he want her to kill someone?

She frowned as curiosity took hold of her once more. "May I ask, where this train might be going?"

"Madrid."

"Why must we go to Madrid?"

A chilling smile then stretched across his handsome face, and, instantly, the sexy, playful mood between them all but vanished. It was replaced by a far more tense and somber vibe.

He answered quietly, "I am going to visit an old friend."

She quickly pieced the puzzle together.

If Mr. Massera wanted to hire her again for another job, if he wanted her to come along to Madrid, then this old friend of his wasn't much of a friend at all.

Because Mr. Massera clearly wanted this person—dead.

Rosa eyed him trepidation. His soulless expression sent an uneasy flutter through her chest.

But why? Why did he need her to kill for him?

To Rosa, it appeared Mr. Lavigne and this next target weren't the only hits on his list if he intended to hire her in the long run. Something didn't add up. Mr. Massera was, supposedly, only a hired gun, a grunt, a bodyguard. He wasn't in a position of power or leadership. He was a nobody. Like her.

So, she wanted to know, who was he really working for?

Who was calling the shots behind these kills?

Rosa had no idea what their end game might be, but she decided to find out simply because she had nothing better to do.