Love in the Dark

By Isabel Pietri

In the sordid, shimmering streets of New York City, Millie has made a name for herself working the elite TARU unit of the New York Police Department as the go-to girl for surveillance and tracking. However, when a tragedy occurs, she finds herself casting about for a new chapter. That all falls into place when she lands a job at a private company, which dispatches her to the West Coast to work for Adrian Zaragosa, a blind, and strikingly handsome owner of a winery estate in the Napa Valley. As the plot thickens and their passion sparks, Millie finds herself in the throes of both extreme danger and overpowering desire. Millie’s talents seem to be just what Adrian needs. Or is he simply manipulating a situation to have her near?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Isabel Pietri
• Release date: Apr 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9780615774251

Isabel Pietri

I was born and raised in New York City and retired as President of a labor union in NYC. Today I dedicate myself to creative writing. In November 2013, I published my first novel, "LOVE in the DARK." Recently I finished the second book, "The Black Calla Lily," which is the second book in the trilogy.I currently live in NE Pa. with my husband, a retired forensic investigator, Sheba the wonder dog and two kitties, Shadow and Missy.

Book preview

Love in the Dark

By

Isabel Pietri

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 Isabel Pietri

All rights reserved.

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN: 0615774253

ISBN-13: 9780615774251

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013934897

Isabel Pietri, Saylorsburg, PA

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

This book is dedicated to my husband, Juan, for his love, support, and for always believing in me. Baby, thank you for being the inspiration for Adrian.

To my sister, Jenny, who was the first to instill in me the love of books and after reading the first draft in a weekend encouraged me to continue writing.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 1

I was washing my hands in the ladies' room of Rachel's luncheonette on Twenty-Third Street when Danny stepped in, locking the door behind him.

What the hell are you doing in here?

Danny, my partner of six years on the force, was devilishly handsome. His olive complexion, jet-black hair, and eyes to match were the finishing touches on a superb physique. To say he was tall, dark, and handsome was an understatement.

Grabbing my arm, he dragged me into one of the stalls, pinning me to one of the walls with his body.

I came to get something that belongs to me, he said urgently as he lifted my skirt and slipped one hand down my panties, tugging them to my thighs. His other hand was controlling a remote in his pocket. His fingers gently massaged the outer parts of my privates while his thumb played with my clitoris, and the vibrator inside me pulsated. It didn't take long for my body to join in the pulsating as I reached a climax. Once Danny detected my climax, he turned off the vibrator and gently pulled it out by its string. He straightened up, releasing me from his hold, and gave me a chaste kiss on the lips.

This, Millie, is my toy, he said, grinning at me. He wiped it clean with bathroom tissue and placed it in his jacket pocket with the remote. He grabbed more tissue and gently wiped me, adjusted my panties, pulled down my skirt smoothing it out. He then grabbed my hand and pressed it to his crotch where I felt his erection.

This is for later. Oh girl, what you do to me.

What I do to you? I was finally able to speak after the assault. You leave me breathless.

That's good to know. Now hurry up. We have to get back to work.

And with that he unlocked the door, leaving me weak at the knees and heated all over.

Although we had been partners for six years, we had only been sexually involved for the last year. It was against department regulations for married couples to work in the same unit. That also applied for the unmarried but nevertheless involved. Danny and I both decided to keep our relationship quiet until we were certain of where we were headed. That went for family members as well. No one knew of our involvement. We never attended each other's family functions, holidays included. We kept separate apartments, me in the Bronx, he in Brooklyn. We would have sleepovers as often as we could.

Life with Danny was perfect. We knew each other well. We had no baggage to speak of. No exes or children. Our respective mothers were our only issue. They were constantly whining about the lack of grandchildren. The old ticking clock was my mother's mantra, as if it were a bomb about to explode. Mrs. Gonzalez never failed to remind Danny that he was her only child not married and without children, and how he must give her a grandchild before she was too old to hold it in her arms.

Danny came from a very large Hispanic family, the touchy-feely type, with a very strong Roman Catholic upbringing. By contrast, my family was very small. It was just my mother and I. Dad had passed some years back of a sudden heart attack. He and Mom had been only children. And I was an only child. Thankfully, Mom was not the needy type. She had her career as a high school teacher, lots of friends, membership to the New York Philharmonic, and civic activities.

I took one last look in the mirror, decided I was presentable, and left the bathroom. There were loud voices coming from the front of the luncheonette. I recognized one as Danny's. All my senses went into hyper alert, and I quickened my pace to a jog, placing my right hand on my firearm, which was neatly tucked under my grey suit jacket. I heard a shot and then another. I had my Glock 19 already out of its holster when I saw Danny lying on the floor, his firearm still in his hand. He had been shot twice. He took one shot in the right shoulder, and the second to his abdomen. The shooter was looking at him with a smile. When he saw me, he grinned, exhibiting a gold tooth. I fell to one knee, pointed dead straight at his head, and fired. His grin turned into a look of shock. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.

I leaned over Danny whose breath was now labored. I pressed my hand to his abdomen in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding, yelling at him to stay with me. I took my cell phone and dialed 911 with the all too familiar officer-down call.

Danny, stay with me, I sobbed, tears steadily streaming down my cheeks. Baby, please, stay with me. I love you.

Danny slowly opened his eyes and smiled. I love you too, sweetie. Please take the chain around my neck. It's for you. Keep it safe. And with that, he exhaled for the last time.

Chapter 2

It was a gorgeous April Sunday. The morning had been wet from early April showers, but they only made way for a glorious sun that helped to warm the outside temperature. I was sitting on a lounge chair in my mother's back yard, which faced the Long Island Sound. I had spent the night in her Throggs Neck home, where I had grown up. The anniversary of Danny's death was approaching, and I felt the need to be with someone who loved me. I had since confessed to Mom the relationship between us. She was very loving and understanding, giving me space when I needed it and fussing over me when she thought I needed that as well. I was very grateful not to be alone.

Here, Millie, I fixed us a cocktail. I'm sure it's five o'clock somewhere, my mother chimed happily as she approached.

Hey, vodka martinis, á la James Bond. Thanks. We toasted each other and took a sip. Gee, Mom, this is great. You make the best martinis ever.

Thank you, darling. Enjoy.

We sipped in silence for a short time, enjoying the view and the libation.

Millie, I don't want to pry into your personal life. She started every sentence this way when she had every intention of prying. But I hate to see you so sad. You must move on. Danny would not want to see you sad all the time.

I knew she meant well, but I was not ready for this conversation, and yet she had been so wonderful, I was not going to be my bitchy self.

I'm OK, Mom, really, I said, convincing no one within earshot.

Maybe you should find another job. You have a degree. Maybe go for your master's. Clearly she was not listening to me.

Ma, I AM OK, I repeated in staccato fashion.

We sat in silence until dinner. We shared small talk, mostly about her, her job, her students, her friends, and her looking forward to the new concert year. And yes, she was thinking of taking an art class. It seems there was a Mr. Jones, widower, who was teaching oil painting in a nearby studio. I laughed. Mother and Mr. Jones oil painting, my ass. This was her way of letting me know there might soon be a significant other.

Well, you go, girl. Get your groove on, Mom.

After dinner, I helped with the dishes and kissed Mom good night.

Why don't you stay the night, Millie? It was fun having you here last night.

"Thanks, Mom. It was great. I needed it, but I do have to get ready for work tomorrow. Can I take the New York Times with me?"

Sure Millie. Go right ahead.

The apartment always felt lonely. That was why the first order of business was to put on the television for noise and uncork one of the many Cabernets on hand.

I took a shower, dried my hair, and put on a pair of lounge pants with a T-shirt. It was my favorite attire in the world. Pouring myself a glass of wine, I sat with the New York Times. I read the book reviews, the art section, and the weekly news in exactly that order. Then, turning to the real estate section, I focused on the luxury rentals in Manhattan, as if I could ever afford anything of that type. Not finding anything to fit the pocketbook, I turned to the want ads. Not that I was looking for a job, but I was always curious about what kind of situations were out there, and what kind of money accompanied said situations.

Then something caught my eye, a situation worth a lot of money. The ad read, Wanted: Director of security for a private enterprise. A minimum of ten years' experience is required. Candidate must be able to direct a staff, be able to recommend high tech security measures, and be willing to be on call 24/7. Candidate must be willing to relocate whenever necessary and travel at a moment's notice. A six-figure salary can be negotiated. References are a must. Please reply via e-mail to: [e-mail].

Ha, I said out loud and to no one in particular. Let's have some fun. This job was a perfect fit for me. I went to my desk and fired up my laptop. Searching my documents, I found a resume that I had, for shits and giggles, recently updated. I then wrote an impressive cover letter stating that references would follow, and that my employment history not only served as a reference, but could also easily be verified. Attaching both documents to the e-mail, I pressed send.

Now that the documents were sent, I wondered what it was about the ad that made me respond. It's not like I was willing to relocate or travel at a moment's notice. Quite frankly, the only thing appealing was the negotiable six-figure salary. I was up on high-tech equipment. After all, I worked—as had Danny—for TARU at NYPD. The Technical Assistance Response Unit provided investigative technical equipment and tactical support to all bureaus within the department. They also provided assistance to other city, state and federal agencies. The unit also dealt with several forms of computer forensics. That was my specialty. So I felt confident of my qualifications. Besides, didn't my mother suggest a change of careers?

I went back to my BFF, the Cabernet, with a chuckle. Twenty minutes later there was a ping on my Android smartphone indicating I had an e-mail. Rather than retrieving it from the cell, I went to the computer instead. There it was, from A. Rubio, Esq.

To: Ms. M. Angeles

From: A. Rubio, Esq.

Subject: Director of Security

Ms. Angeles, your application has been accepted for review.

A private flight has been arranged for you to travel tomorrow at 6:00 A.M. from LaGuardia Airport to San Francisco. A limousine will be waiting.

Please confirm.

Rubio, Esq.

No address, no other information. What kind of a security director would I be to go to another city with very little information?

Here went nothing. I hit reply.

To: Mr. A. Rubio

From: Ms. M. Angeles

Subject: Director of Security

Mr. Rubio, thank you for your consideration. However, before I travel, I require knowing the name of my prospective employer, and my ultimate destination.

M. Angeles

To: Ms. M. Angeles

From: A. Rubio, Esq.

Subject: Director of Security

Ms. Angeles, you will be interviewing with me and Mr. Adrian Zaragosa, proprietor of Luna Llena Vineyards, located at 500 Luna Llena Rd., Napa, CA.

Please confirm.

Rubio, Esq.

I performed a quick internet check on Mr. Zaragosa and Luna Llena, to verify the legitimacy of the job offer. Sure enough, Mr. Zaragosa did exist, and Luna Llena was an estate in the Napa Valley. It was also well known as a very successful producer of wines.

To: Mr. A. Rubio, Esq.

From: M. Angeles

Subject: Director of Security

I will be there.

M. Angeles

I'll call in sick tomorrow. What the heck. I've been on desk duty for some time now. Let's see what adventure awaits me. I don't think this is what Mom had in mind, so I won't tell her.

I packed my computer, charged my cell, and went to bed.

After a few hours of sleep, I got up to wash, straighten out the mess from the night before, dress, and then I was out the door. Outside my apartment building, a limousine and a driver were waiting.

A black-suited man approached.

Ms. Angeles, good morning. I am here to drive you to LaGuardia. Mr. Zaragosa has arranged for your flight.

Good morning. Thank you, I replied. He held the door open, and I got into the car. Then we were off. Since I lived on the west side of the Bronx, he took the dreaded Cross Bronx Expressway, which by a miracle of God was empty, to the Hutch to the Whitestone Bridge to the Whitestone Expressway into LaGuardia.

It was another fine day in New York. The sun was still not up, but I could tell it would be a nice day. The air was dry and crisp. There was not a cloud in the sky. Perfect weather for flying, I hoped.

Charles, as I learned was my driver's name, drove me straight through to a private airplane. I boarded a Gulfstream G650 that had no markings on the outside to give away the identity of its owner. Inside, it was luxurious, with tan leather seats, plush beige rugs and a spiffy looking crew.

Good morning, Ms. Angeles, the flight attendant greeted me. My name is Cara. I will be your attendant for the flight. You are our only passenger, so you can pick anywhere to sit.

I picked a seat in a group of four with a table in between. The seats were all arranged in groupings. Toward the back, there were two long sofas in what appeared to be a lounge area. Beyond that was a locked door.

Good morning, Ms. Angeles, said a fine looking man dressed in a pilot's uniform. I am your pilot this morning, and this is Jack, he said, pointing to another fine hunk of a man, He is the co-pilot.

Good morning, Jack chimed, flashing a sexy, white-toothed smile.

Good morning, I replied feeling hot and bothered all of a sudden.

The flight will take approximately five hours depending on the headwinds, but so far everything looks good. Please relax and enjoy the ride.

I thanked him and was relieved when they all left. I buckled up and waited for takeoff.

I really should have called my mother and let her know where I was going on the off chance that this guy was a lunatic. Well, at least Bill, my supervisor, knew where I was headed. I'm glad I decided to take some vacation time due me instead of lying about being sick. Such is the clarity that comes from being sober.

A note to self: Self, cut out the drinking.

Chapter 3

The flight was smooth, as promised. I managed a nap but not before I read the notes that I had downloaded the previous night regarding Mr. Zaragosa and Luna Llena Vineyards. There was no mystery here. He was, like me, in his thirties and single. He was blind, the result of a head trauma from an accident in his early twenties. Mr. Zaragosa was the sole heir to the vineyard, which had been in his family for several generations. The old Mr. Zaragosa was deceased, and the old Mrs. Zaragosa was living in Los Angeles. Apparently, she had tired of her husband's family business and yearned for a more stimulating life. Nothing I read indicated there was a fiancée or a girlfriend. There was no negative press on him or his wines. All of it was quite boring.

All in all, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, nothing that would require this guy to have high-tech security. Sure he had money, but it wasn't otherworldly money—although in today's economy, with growing home invasions, anything was possible.

The limo ride out to Mr. Zaragosa's house was picturesque and relaxing. I almost forgot I was going to a job interview. Of course, I didn't care if I got the job. I was more curious than anything. And yet, I loved what I saw of the West Coast. It was worlds apart from life in New York. Suddenly, I felt myself wanting a change.

We traveled on a two-lane road for a short time before turning into another small road, this one without lane markings. The road was flanked on either side by trees forming a canopy. It was lovely. I soon realized it was a private driveway. We came to an ornate iron fence with huge, light beige-colored cement pillars on either side. The driver, Hector, did not stop by the intercom located on the left pillar but hit a button over the visor and the gates gracefully slid open. Hector must be Mr. Zaragosa's private driver, I observed. We proceeded up to a circular driveway before a gorgeous, Mediterranean-style home. It was absolutely lovely. It was beige stucco with red Spanish tiles on the roof. The windows opened out from the middle. Each window facing the front was adorned with matching red tiles, forming a slight canopy. The front door was a double door, hand-carved of mahogany wood. The grounds were immaculate and beautiful. Beds of red roses adorned the front of the house on both sides.

Hector held the door open for me and led me to the front door. A gentleman who looked like he could be the butler opened the door.

Good afternoon, Ms. Angeles. My name is Roger. Please come in. Mr. Zaragosa will join you shortly out on the patio.

I thanked him, and he led me out onto the most beautiful patio I had ever seen. The view from the patio was exquisite. The sky was cerulean and crystal clear, not one cloud. The air was warm and smelled of earth and greenery. There was a table set for two, with the chairs positioned next to each other looking out onto a beautiful rose garden. Directly beyond the rose garden was a huge lawn.

Ms. Angeles, a voice came from behind startling me. I thought we would have a lunch interview. We don't have much time, and I don't want to delay your return flight. And I do not want you to miss lunch, since no doubt you had no breakfast and chose not to eat anything on the airplane.

The voice belonged to a tall, slender man. He had jet-black hair and wore a navy blue suit, crisp white shirt, and no tie. I did not get a look at his face since he did not stop to greet me or shake my hand. It was straight to business for this guy. I noticed that he stopped slowly by the table and slowly reached to touch the chair in front of him. Then he reached to touch the chair beside that one. He pulled it out, stepping behind it and asked me to sit. This was Mr. Zaragosa. I would never have known he was blind had it not been for his slow approach to the table and his touching of the chairs.

Excuse my poor manners, he said while sitting. I am Adrian Zaragosa. He extended his hand over for me to shake.

It's a pleasure to meet you, I said, shaking his hand. He had a firm grip, with long, slender fingers. The tops of his hands were lightly covered with silky, black hair. His skin was olive. He had the dreamiest blue eyes, framed by long, black lashes. He also sported a well-trimmed goatee. This man was quite the specimen.

Note to self: Self, really you need to get laid quickly. It's been a long time. Every man you meet is looking good.

I thought Mr. Rubio was joining us, I asked, snapping out of the trance that had momentarily rendered me senseless.

Andrew, Mr. Rubio, had something come up at the last minute. But no bother. We can do this without him.

The housekeeper came toward us and informed Mr. Zaragosa that there was a choice of rack of lamb or salmon for lunch.

I think Ms. Angeles would like the rack of lamb. I would like the salmon. How was that, Ms. Angeles? Did I guess correctly?

How the heck did he guess?

Yes, that would be perfect.

Ms. Angeles, I know you work in an elite department for the NYPD. I respect that very much. I know that you lost your partner a year ago in a tragic but justified shooting. You've had a distinguished thirteen-year service with the department. I also respect that. I know you are single and without attachments other than your mother, who is self-sufficient and independent. And by the way, I think she has a boyfriend. He gave me a big smile with that last remark. And it was a beautiful smile.

What the fuck? How does he know about my mom?

I thoroughly investigate all 'prospective' employees. I'll make this quick, Ms. Angeles. I like you, your work ethics, and your credentials. If you accept this employment, I am prepared to pay you one year's salary of $200,000 in advance, plus expenses. I do have some other requirements of you. Do you have any questions at this point?

Yes, I do. I also did some research on you and your businesses. Why do you feel you need specialized security? You know what I do for a living. The type of security I have been involved with has been more in the realm of what a government needs.

Ms. Angeles, I appreciate the work you do very much. That is precisely what I am looking for. I stay out of the public eye. That is why you will not find too much on me. But I am not without enemies. I assure you, this job could be dangerous.

Who does your security now? I observed only an intercom at the gate. I have not thoroughly looked through the house, but judging by the lonely intercom out front, I suspect you lack the most fundamental security. So why now? I pressed.

You will receive all that information upon acceptance of employment and of course, after signing a confidentiality agreement. I do have security, lame as you may think it is. Why now? The reason is because I need to change it. Revamp it as it were. Get more high-tech. As we progress in our employee/employer relationship, you will know more.

Mr. Zaragosa, I meant no disrespect with regards to your present security. But understand this, if I were to accept employment with you, information regarding the how and the whys would have to be forthcoming immediately if I am to do my job correctly. I will not wait for an employee/employer relationship to progress. I will require all of your cooperation from the jump. Is that understood?

Yes, ma'am, it is, he replied smiling. You can call me Mr. Z. Everyone else does.

Lord, he sure was cute, and what a smile.

There is another thing, I continued.

Ask away, Ms. Angeles. You are on a roll.

What else will you be requiring of me?

I require you to live here. You will have your own suite. You can see it before you leave. You will be required to wear a dress or skirt at all times. I do not like ladies in pants.

Really? As if he could see.

Ms. Angeles, he continued turning his eyes down at my skirt, I can tell you are wearing a skirt, a jacket, and a blouse. I heard your stockings as you crossed your legs. The collar of your blouse makes a slight sound when it brushes your dangling earrings. Not a good choice of jewelry for someone in law enforcement. Your firearm is concealed by your jacket. I felt it when I held the chair for you to sit. HR218 allows you to legally carry it in the state of California. I like your scent.

Wow, a sudden change of direction.

Cashmere Mist, if I am not mistaken. Do you object to the clothing requirement?

No, I don't. That was great observation on your part.

Would he expect me to change my perfume had he not liked it?

Hilda was his personal cook. And a good cook at that. The lamb was superb. She was also in charge of managing the entire household.

I would work here for free just to eat her food.

You will also eat here. I suspect you might consider working for free just to eat her food, he said with a chuckle.

Is this guy a mind reader?

I know I would, he continued. He turned his head slightly in my direction and gave me a huge smile. He was endearing. But something about him made me uneasy. This was too good to be true, and too easy.

Danger, what danger?

We finished our lunch in silence. I was mesmerized by the view of rolling hills, and I could see where the vineyards began but not where they ended. It was magnificent.

Mr. Z, I said to break the silence. The view here is spectacular.

What do you like the best, Ms. Angeles?

It's hard to say. The rose garden is breathtaking. I've never seen anything quite like it. I see you have English tea roses. I favor the yellows. The floribundas are magnificent. The climbers on the trellises are artfully displayed in the garden. The immaculate lawn beyond the garden is inviting. It leaves me breathless.

Your description leaves me breathless. He was gazing in my direction with a serious look on his face. I hadn't noticed but he had placed one arm around my chair.

You look serious. I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?

Not at all, your words painted a picture that I have not seen for many years. I was enjoying the experience of seeing the garden in my mind. The expression on his face softened, and he smiled. Then he continued, I hired a gardener to maintain the grounds as I remembered them before my accident. Your description tells me he is doing a fine job. I hope you stay on. I will enjoy listening as you describe what you see.

Mr. Z, you are a sensitive man, and you leave me breathless.

Ms. Angeles, do you have any other questions? he asked as he drank the last of the wine in his glass. I drank only water.

Now, it's back to business.

I would rather know more of the troubles that require you to revamp security. It's only fair to me, you know. I need to know what I am getting myself into.

Fair enough, Ms. Angeles. His smile faded and was replaced by a scowl.

That was great, you idiot. You spoiled his mood.

Please follow me. We stood and walked into the house.

He led the way to the right side of the house. There was a long hallway with many doors. He stopped in front of the third door to his right and waited for me to catch up. When I reached his side, he opened the door to let me in. It was a huge office, beautifully decorated in hues of beige, off-white, and light rose. There was a beautiful Louis XVI desk in the center and behind it was seated another hunk of a man, tall and slender like Mr. Z. He had a rosy complexion and light auburn hair. Green eyes and full lips completed the package. Both men shared the same physique. Mr. Z introduced me; it turned out Tom Grant was his administrative assistant.

Mr. Z then led the way into another office, his office. It too was huge. His desk was definitely Chippendale, a soft mahogany. The paneled walls were also of mahogany. To the far left, there was a burgundy, diamond-tufted Chesterfield couch. The room was masculine. There was no particular smell that I could discern, only that the air was clean. The light shining through the window was devoid of dust particles. My allergies to dust made me an expert on such things.

Please have a seat, Ms. Angeles. Mr. Z directed me to one of two chairs in front of his desk. Tom joined us, sitting in the other chair.

Tom, do you have the documents for Ms. Angeles?

Yes. They are in this envelope. This he handed to Mr. Z. I also have the cards for her to sign for direct deposit to the First Nation Bank in town. He gave the cards to Mr. Z also. I could not get over the efficiency of this duo, and the confidence Mr. Z had that I would be joining them.

Tom, please give Ms. Angeles a list of all my employees. Separate them by job site. Give her a list of all friends, family, and business associates who visit the estate.

Tom took a quick look at me with raised eyebrows, then looked at his employer and asked, Sir, are you sure?

Yes, Tom. Could you do that immediately? I want her to have that before she leaves. Mr. Z looked a little irritated with Tom, but he didn't sound any different. Only his knitted eyebrows and pursed lips gave him away.

God, is he cute.

Very well, sir. Tom stood and excused himself.

Mr. Z stood and asked me to follow. He led the way to another door at the far end of his office. This door led back into the hallway. We ascended a flight of stairs. There were three doors on one side and three on the other. He led me into the closest door to his left. Inside was another office, nicely done in pastels. There was another Louis XVI desk, this one finished in antique white. There was a computer on the desk and behind the desk, a wall of TV screens.

This will be your office, Ms. Angeles. He continued through an adjoining door that led to an equally beautiful bath, complete with roomy shower stall, an oval porcelain claw-foot tub, a vanity with seat, and a double sink.

Why a double sink?

This is your private bath. He continued walking through yet another door that led to a dressing room. It was bigger than my bedroom back home. This room was also nicely done in blond-colored wood. A full-length mirror covered the wall nearest the next door. I noticed other, narrower mirrors strategically placed so that I could see my back. In the center of the room was an island of short cabinets with drawers. They were joined by a solid wood top finished in oak, a nice contrast to all the blond wood. There was a wall just for shoes. Imelda Marcus would be proud. I was embarrassed thinking of how empty this room would look after I brought my clothes.

Maybe this room was intended for a couple and not a single director of security.

Ms. Angeles, please, come through here. Mr. Z led me into a final room. This room was as big as my whole apartment. There was a beautiful king-size bed in the same blond finish with matching nightstands. There was a bench at the foot of the bed upholstered in beige and gold. There were French doors leading out onto a private terrace. This room was complete with its own sitting area. Beside two comfortable couches and a cocktail table, there was another, simpler desk. Behind the desk, there was a long French-style table. Above, on the wall, was a beautiful oil painting of what looked like a French or Italian village overlooking the Mediterranean.

Ms. Angeles, this would be your bedroom. Do you like it?

Mr. Z, all four rooms are exquisite. But you have not answered my original question regarding your security.

I like that Ms. Angeles. You will not be distracted. You remind me of a rabid dog latched onto an ankle.

I'll take that as a compliment, I said indignantly.

It is, Ms. Angeles. Follow me. There is one more thing I want to show you. He indicated that his suite

Reviews for Love in the Dark

[obsessed7by7books · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

* I received a copy of this ebook in exchange for an honest review. *

This book is definitely for you If you love sizzling sex scenes.

There is suspense humour and romance in this book.
I found it to be engrossing and the plot and characters were good.

It's a definite must read.