His father had believed two things about women: You could never trust them; and they would walk all over you if you gave them the upper hand. And as much as Vin didn’t want any legacy from that son of a bitch, he couldn’t shake the memories he had of his dad.

The guy had always been convinced his wife was cheating on him—which had been hard to believe. Vin’s old lady had bleached her hair only twice a year, sported circles under her eyes the color of thunderclouds, and had a wardrobe limited to a housecoat that she cleaned with the same frequency the Clairol box made it home. The woman never left the house, smoked like a bonfire, and had alcohol breath that could melt paint off a car.

Yet his father somehow thought men would be attracted to that. Or that she, who never lifted a finger unless there was a cigarette to light, regularly summoned the gumption to go out and find joes whose taste in chicks ran toward ashtrays and empties.

They’d both beaten him. At least until he’d gotten old enough to move faster than they could. And probably the kindest thing they did for him as parents was killing each other when he was seventeen—which was pretty fucking pathetic.

When Vin got to his study, he took a seat behind the marble-topped desk and faced off at his office away from the office. He had two computers, a phone with six lines on it, a fax, and a pair of bronze lamps. Chair was bloodred leather. Carpet was the color of the bird’s-eye maple paneling. Drapes were black and cream and red.

Tucking the ring between one of the lamps and the phone console, he swiveled away from business and resumed his watch over the city.

Be my wife, Devina.

“I’ve changed into something more comfortable.”

Vin looked over his shoulder and got a load of his woman, who was now draped in see-through black.

He swiveled his chair around. “You certainly did.”

As she came over to him, her breasts swayed back and forth beneath the sheer fabric and he could feel himself harden. He’d always loved her breasts. When she’d told him she wanted implants, he’d nixed that idea fast. She was perfect.

“I’m really sorry I wasn’t here when you wanted me,” she said, sweeping that translucent robe out and easing down onto her knees in front of him. “I truly am.”

Vin lifted his hand and ran his thumb back and forth over her full lower lip. “What happened to your lipstick?”

“I washed my face in the bathroom.”

“Then why is your eyeliner still on.”

“I reapplied it.” Her voice was smooth. “I had my phone with me the entire time. You told me you had a late meeting.”

“Yes, I did.”