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name is Remi, aka Rogue Angel, and I normally work for a security company testing client systems. But now a shadowy villain has tracked me down and given me an ultimatum. I have to hack Rivera Tech-the largest tech company in the world, owned by billionaire CEO Maverick Rivera. If I do this, I'll get paid and I'll be able to help my adoptive mother. If I don't, my family will be in danger. Hacking Rivera is no walk in the park, and I soon find myself in a tantalizing game of cat and mouse with the big, bad-tempered, sexy Maverick. What I never, ever expected was for him to make me feel safe, or threaten my closely guarded heart, or set every part of me on fire. I can't drag him into my mess. But Maverick has other ideas, and he's not a man who takes no for an answer. ANGEL DEROGUES TO Remi "Oh, you think you can keep me out? Not today." My fingers danced over my keyboard. It glowed, each keystroke barely making a sound. I'd paid a small fortune for the keyboard and laptop. They were my babies. I'd already mapped out the target system. Its cybersecurity was good, but not great. I knew I'd set off some alarm, so they knew I was snooping around. "But no one can stop Rogue Angel." With a grin, I stared at the glowing screen, scanning the code. I tapped a command. Woot. I was in. I shifted my ass in my chair. Time to finish this. I zoomed in on the system, found the file I needed, and made a copy. Time to go. I left my signature image behind-glowing blue angel wings made of computer code. Smiling, I leaned back and flexed my hands. Then I buffed my nails on my shirt and blew on them. I was a hacker, so I kept my nails short and manicured, but I loved painting them. Right now, they were a bright, blinding yellow. Then I opened a new window and made a call. My boss appeared on the screen. I took a second to take in the view-Killian Hawke was worth a second or two of appreciation. The man always made me think of a sharp blade, with precision. He was lean, with an aquiline face, black hair, black eyes. Those eyes were sharp and missed nothing. He wore a black suit, even though it was Sunday-I'd never seen him in anything else. Even on the computer screen, he radiated a predatory danger that made my hindbrain go very, very quiet. "Done," I said. "Check your inbox." The head of Sentinel Security glanced to his left and nodded. "Well done, Remi. Impressive, as always." Damn, the man had the sexiest voice. Like melted hot chocolate with a hint of spice. It didn't quite match his sleek, dangerous persona. "Our client will be very happy," Killian said. "Happy that I hacked them?" Happy that they know their vulnerabilities and how Sentinel Security can help eliminate them. And pay Killian a billion dollars for his work. Sentinel did all sorts of security. I knew Killian had a private army of ex-military badasses, but he also specialized in cybersecurity. I'd been working for Sentinel for several years. Companies hired me to test their systems and improve their security. It was a good business. I used

Chapter 1 industrial vibe

my special skills and got a paycheck at the end of each month. "I'll email you your next job, Remi." The slightest tilt of Killian's lips. "Or should I say, Rogue Angel?" I smiled. "You're not supposed to know my secret identity." "I work security, remember?" "Bye, Bossman." I ended the conversation, closed my laptop, and glanced at the clock. The kids would be home from school soon, and my stomach growled. Mmm, I could use some of Mama's cookies. I walked around my loft space. It wasn't big, but it was mine. It had an industrial vibe, with my bed in one corner, shrouded in sheer curtains.

A small kitchen that I barely used was in another corner, a door leading to my compact bathroom, and an open-plan living area where my desk sat in prime position against the opposite wall. My gaze settled on a photo above the desk. I got a little shiver every time I saw it.

It was of an angel warrior, coming in to land on the battlefield. I had a thing for angels. His huge white wings were spread, sword in hand, boots about to touch the ground. His body was mostly in shadow, but that didn't hide the power of his musculature, or the hint of a rugged face. Wrinkling my nose, I sighed. I wished they made men like that in real life. I walked down the stairs, my boots thumping on the metal steps. The noise assaulted me. There was some tool whirring nearby, and I also grabbed a supply of grease, gas, and exhaust. My loft was above my foster brother's auto shop. At the bottom of the stairs, I turned and saw three cars in various states of disrepair-one parked with the hood open, one hooked up to some machine, and another on a hoist with a mechanic underneath. I recognized Steve's thin frame and baggy, dingy jeans. He was busy, and the guy who worked for him was on vacation, so I guess that was why he was working on a Sunday. I walked out the open front doors. Brr. It was a cold, gloomy day in Brooklyn. I wrapped my arms around myself. I should have grabbed my jacket, but thankfully I wasn't going far. I walked to the house next to the two-story brick house and opened the gate. The metal creaked. The house had a basement apartment, where Steve lived with his four-year-old daughter, Kaylee. I ran up the steps to the main house and opened the door. "Hello!" "We're here," a female voice said

. I found Mama Alma in the kitchen. Of course, where else would she be? Kaylee was on the floor having a tea party with her dolls and bears. "Remi!" The little blonde princess jumped up and ran to me. I picked her up and she wrapped her arms and legs around me. I breathed in her apple-scented shampoo. "Hey, KayKay. Are you being good to Mama?" Kaylee smiled and nodded. Then she squirmed and I set her down on the floor to go back to her tea party guests. Mama smiled and I walked over to kiss her thin, dark cheek. She smelled like home. For the first eight years of my life, I didn't know what that word meant. Then the angels smiled on me and sent an angry little girl to a foster home run by Mama. She had owned this house in Sunset Park, Brooklyn for years. The small warehouse next door was her husband's. Unable to have children of their own, they became foster parents. Big Mike had died a year before I arrived, but Alma had never stopped opening her home. And some of us hadn't really left. I would be twenty-seven on my next birthday, and I hadn't gone very far. Steve had been one of Mama's first foster children. Kaylee was Steve's daughter, but Mama still had three children with her-two boys, ages nine and ten, and a teenage girl. "I'll pour us some tea," Mama said. I sank into the chair at the rickety table. The kitchen hadn't changed in decades.

"I'd rather have a shot of bourbon to celebrate. I just finished a job." Mama made a sound in her throat. "We don't have bourbon in this house." I picked up a cookie from the plate on the table. Mmm. Chocolate chip, my favorite. She set a teacup in front of me. Mama loved collecting the flowery, delicate teacups at outdoor markets. None of them matched. Like my family, Mama always told me. When I finished my cookie, I studied Mama-she looked tired and her face was drawn. I grimaced. Mama always said she was a mix of the best-African-American, a dash of Hispanic, and a bit of hardy Irish stock. I guess that's why I liked her at first sight-I was a mix, too. Mostly Hispanic, though I had no idea who my parents were. I probably had an African-American ancestor somewhere in the tree, too, and a few other things-who knows what-crept in. Mama had beautiful dark brown skin and curly black hair. She was also two inches taller than me. I sighed and sipped my tea. I was curvy and petite, aka short, at five foot-okay, almost five foot. And I had hips, an ass, and breasts. My dark brown hair got a few golden highlights in the summer, especially if I actually managed to get out in the sun. "You okay, Mama?" "Okay, kiddo, okay." - She didn't meet my gaze. My heart sank. She was lying.

Mama never lied. Sometimes she chose not to answer, but she never lied. "Mama?" I pressed my hand into hers. When had she gotten so fragile? She looked away, at Kaylee. That's when I noticed the paperwork on the table. I grabbed it. "Remina, no-" I did the scan. It was a letter from a doctor. I saw the words and my chest tightened. Looking up at the woman who had been my mother, father, friend, and savior, I shook my head. "Brain tumor?" My words were a harsh whisper. Mama pressed her lips together and nodded. No. No. Mama was the glue in our little world. I looked at Kaylee, swallowed hard, and met Mama's dark gaze. "So what's the treatment? Chemo?" My stomach churned at the thought, but whatever we had to do to cure her, we would do. "Yeah-" Mama cleared her throat. "The doctor said chemo won't help." "What?" Panic was slick and ugly in my throat. "So what, then?" "Nothing, my child. Nothing." I stared blankly at the letter and saw what it said. "Six months?" Mama shifted in her chair, her eyes covered with a sheen of tears. "No one can say for sure. The Lord always has a plan." "Screw that." I stood up and saw Kaylee flinch in surprise. "Sorry, Kaylee." I reached for another sheet of paper and Mama tried to grab it. I took a deep breath. "There's an operation." Mama straightened. "It's experimental, Remi. There's no guarantee it would work." A pause. "And it's very expensive." I looked down. When I saw the dollar amount, it felt like my feet had fallen through the floor. I gripped the edge of the table. "Mama-" The front door slammed, followed by the sound of running feet and young voices. "Mama! We're back from the park." Two boys ran in, dropping their backpacks on the floor. Charlie, who had a stocky build, a shock of red hair, and freckles. Jamal followed a step behind. He was thin, dark-skinned, and had a shy smile.

They were both thick as thieves. "Charlie. Jami," Kaylee called. The boys hugged Mama, me, and Kaylee. Naomi fell into step more slowly. At fifteen, she was too old to run and play like the kids, and she was surgically wired to the phone. She did well in school, stayed out of trouble, and loved to cook and bake. "Mama, I'm making cookies," Naomi said. "I already did, kiddo." "I see Remi likes them. We need more." I stuck out my tongue. Naomi was five foot seven-as tall as I'd ever dreamed of being. "I have to run." I hugged Mama, a little tighter than usual. "We'll talk later. Everything will be okay." "I love you, Remi Solano." "I love you, too." - I struggled to keep my shit together and walked back to my loft. I managed to avoid Steve. Dropping into my desk chair, I sat in front of my laptop, staring

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happy," Killian said. "Happy that I hacked them?" Happy that they know their vulnerabilities and how Sentinel Security can help eliminate them. And pay Killian a billion dollars for his work. Sentinel did all sorts of security. I knew Killian had a private army of ex-military badasses, but he also specialized in cybersecurity. I'd been working for Sentinel for several years. Companies hired me to test their systems and improve their security. It was a good business. I used my special skills and got a paycheck at the end of each month. "I'll email you your next job, Remi." The slightest tilt of Killian's lips. "Or should I say, Rogue Angel?" I smiled. "You're not supposed to know my secret identity." "I work security, remember?" "Bye, Bossman." I ended the conversation, closed my laptop, and glanced at the clock. The kids would be home from school soon, and my stomach growled. Mmm, I could use some of Mama's cookies. I walked around my loft space. It wasn't big, but it was mine. It had an industrial vibe, with my bed in one corner, shrouded in sheer curtains. A small kitchen that I barely used was in another corner, a door leading to my compact bathroom, and an open-plan living area where my desk sat in prime position against the opposite wall. My gaze settled on a photo above the desk. I got a little shiver every time I saw it. It was of an angel warrior, coming in to land on the battlefield. I had a thing for angels. His huge white wings were spread, sword in hand, boots about to touch the ground. His body was mostly in shadow, but that didn't hide the power of his musculature, or the hint of a rugged face. Wrinkling my nose, I sighed. I wished they made men like that in real life. I walked down the stairs, my boots thumping on the metal steps. The noise assaulted me. There was some tool whirring nearby, and I also grabbed a supply of grease, gas, and exhaust. My loft was above my foster brother's auto shop. At the bottom of the stairs, I turned and saw three cars in various states of disrepair-one parked with the hood open, one hooked up to some machine, and another on a hoist with a mechanic underneath. I recognized Steve's thin frame and baggy, dingy jeans. He was busy, and the guy who worked for him was on vacation, so I guess that was why he was working on a Sunday. I walked out the open front doors. Brr. It was a cold, gloomy day in Brooklyn. I wrapped my arms around myself. I should have grabbed my jacket, but thankfully I wasn't going far. I walked to the house next to the two-story brick house and opened the gate. The metal creaked. The house had a basement apartment, where Steve lived with his four-year-old daughter, Kaylee. I ran up the steps to the main house and opened the door. "Hello!" "We're here," a female voice said. I found Mama Alma in the kitchen. Of course, where else would she be? Kaylee was on the floor having a tea party with her dolls and bears. "Remi!" The little blonde princess jumped up and ran to me. I picked her up and she wrapped her arms and legs around me. I breathed in her apple-scented shampoo. "Hey, KayKay. Are you being good to Mama?" Kaylee smiled and nodded. Then she squirmed and I set her down on the floor to go back to her tea party guests. Mama smiled and I walked over to kiss her thin, dark cheek. She smelled like home. For the first eight years of my life, I didn't know what that word meant. Then the angels smiled on me and sent an angry little girl to a foster home run by Mama. She had owned this house in Sunset Park, Brooklyn for years. The small warehouse next door was her husband's. Unable to have children of their own, they became foster parents. Big Mike had died a year before I arrived, but Alma had never stopped opening her home. And some of us hadn't really left. I would be twenty-seven on my next birthday, and I hadn't gone very far. Steve had been one of Mama's first foster children. Kaylee was Steve's daughter, but Mama still had three children with her-two boys, ages nine and ten, and a teenage girl. "I'll pour us some tea," Mama said. I sank into the chair at the rickety table. The kitchen hadn't changed in decades. "I'd rather have a shot of bourbon to celebrate. I just finished a job." Mama made a sound in her throat. "We don't have bourbon in this house." I picked up a cookie from the plate on the table. Mmm. Chocolate chip, my favorite. She set a teacup in front of me. Mama loved collecting the flowery, delicate teacups at outdoor markets. None of them matched. Like my family, Mama always told me. When I finished my cookie, I studied Mama-she looked tired and her face was drawn. I grimaced. Mama always said she was a mix of the best-African-American, a dash of Hispanic, and a bit of hardy Irish stock. I guess that's why I liked her at first sight-I was a mix, too. Mostly Hispanic, though I had no idea who my parents were. I probably had an African-American ancestor somewhere in the tree, too, and a few other things-who knows what-crept in.

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solution to her problems lies in the hands of the man she swore to hate. Now graduated and a renowned professional, Dandara realizes that her awards are incapable of helping her realize her dream of producing a documentary. Meanwhile, Marcello will do everything he can to get a second chance with the woman he hurt by offering her an irresistible proposal: to produce the documentary exactly the way she wants. Amidst indecent provocations and conversations full of ulterior motives, will Dandara be able to resist the temptation to fulfill her wish? - Are you paying attention? - asks Cris, my secretary, in a tired voice. - Yes, I am - I confirm, forcing myself to take my eyes off my cell phone. I just received an intriguing message from a press officer who, in elaborate half-words, makes it clear how much she would like to sleep with me. My fingers itch to open the attachment and confirm whether the photo is nude, but I focus on keeping my attention on the woman sitting in front of the wooden desk covered in papers. Around us, the last rays of the late afternoon sun illuminate the huge office with floor-to-ceiling windows. Cris takes a deep breath, aware that I wasn't paying attention to anything he said. - The director of the morning newspaper is furious about the approval of the new commercials and wants to schedule a meeting. - Why? I don't see any reason for him to be furious - I comment. - To discuss whether the time is ideal for broadcasting the advertisement for penis enlargement capsules. He thinks it would be better during the commercials on the evening entertainment programs. I resist cracking a half smile. A few years ago, when she started working for me, Cris would blush like a ripe tomato at the mention of even the slightest word related to a sexual organ. Now, accustomed to what we convey here, she doesn't even flinch. "We don't need to schedule a meeting," I reply cheerfully. "The commercials are working, the board of directors is happy with the increase in profits, and I personally believe that any time is a good time to help poor men with small penises. If they're happy to buy the product during the morning news, it's during the morning news that it will be sold. Anything else?" "Yes, the department..." My phone rings. I quickly signal for it to hold and answer. Cris seems to need all her willpower not to roll her eyes. "Hi, son, how are you?" I recognize Dona Francisca's voice. "Everything. What's up?" I cover the phone and smile at the secretary. "Just a minute, it's my mother." She nods and begins to carefully examine the cuticles of her red-painted nails. "Are you coming to visit me on Sunday?" "Yes, I am. Why?" "Bring lunch ready. I'm too lazy to cook." I laugh out loud. It's only Friday and my mother is thinking about Sunday. By then, she'll call me two or three more times confirming the visit and changing her mind about cooking. I just hope the mysterious advisor doesn't want to schedule something on Sunday. I need to keep that in mind when I ask her out. "I'll take it, don't worry," I confirm. Cris taps her shoes on the floor impatiently. "Sorry, Mom, but I have to go. I'm in the middle of a meeting with my secretary." "You're not going out with her, are you? I'm not going out with Cris. She's married and has two children, but I can't say I've stopped dating other secretaries. Here, on this same table, in front of the glass wall that covers half the room, while the sunset over the city of SĆ£o Paulo covered us in orange tones. The helicopters from competing broadcasters would have been quite a sight if they had been passing near the building at that moment. "I'm not. I really have to go. See you on Sunday." "Okay. Kisses." "Another one," I reply. As soon as she puts her phone down, I hang up mine and turn to Cris. "I always ask her to call me at work only in case of emergency, but you know how it is. People over sixty think, rightly, that they can do whatever they want." I smile and focus my attention on the secretary. "What were you saying, Cris?" "The print media sector wants to know when the contract with the new printing company is signed.

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beautiful and dear, about to turn eighty-five. On the other side, my cousin Max tells one of his lame jokes to my parents. My mother rolls her eyes and shakes her head, probably finding the outcome ridiculous. My father, on the other hand, laughs out loud, his powerful voice drowning out the chatter. "Did you hear that one, Lorenzo?" he asks, gesturing in my direction. "Only about ten times." "You used to be less grumpy," Max says, biting off the end of a cannoli, but not before taking a piece of the flaky shell to throw at me. I dodge in time, and the piece of candy hits the cabinet door before falling to the floor. Maybe I was, I think, giving him the middle finger. Back when I had fewer worries. I cut a piece of tiramisu with the spoon and put it in my mouth. The mixture of cream, champagne biscuit and coffee melts on my tongue. My eyes meet Monalisa's, also my cousin. She returns my gray gaze and somehow I know she wants to interrupt the conversation to talk about business in the middle of Sunday lunch. But first, my mother needs to talk about my life. "He really is gone," she sighs. "Before he broke up with Ingrid." The only reason the table doesn't fall silent is because the family is too noisy for that. I don't have to try to remember my ex-girlfriend there, among them, trying to make herself heard with her soft voice amidst the chaos. Or her moaning softly against my ear while I held her tightly in my arms and with her legs around my waist. "I wasn't the one who broke up with Ingrid." My mother points a finger. "Still, you should try to win her back." I shift on the counter, the cold marble suddenly uncomfortable against my back. Maybe it's better to talk business after all. I never told them I tried. And how I tried. Ingrid and I had been dating for five years when she asked for a break. We got back together and broke up at least three more times, and I never saw any reason to break up for good. But she did. Ingrid said our relationship was settled, that I worked too much and paid her too little attention. I always thought her argument was unfair. I tried to do my best in both of them, but it wasn't enough. We broke up for good, and shortly after, she married someone else. Since then, I've closed my heart to serious relationships. Better than risk getting hurt again. Stopped at red lights on the streets of GoiĆ¢nia, I sometimes see her walking down the sidewalk holding hands with her three-year-old son. A slight wave of jealousy snakes through my body when she laughs at something her husband says. The sound reverberates inside my closed window, making every hair on my body stand on end, remembering that that laugh had once been mine. "Don't worry. Lorenzo and I are always active. One day he'll bring a nice girl for you to meet," Max scoffs. I narrow my eyes at him, daring him to continue, and he smiles crookedly. "He'll fill this house with grandchildren." "I hope so," Mom says cheerfully. "Because neither you nor your sister seem very worried about doing that." Max's face falls and I almost choke on my mouthful of candy, trying to hold back my laughter. He throws a new piece of cannoli at me, but this time I catch it in mid-air and throw it back at him. The crispy shell hits Monalisa's shoulder. She frowns and, with her fingertips, brushes away the place where the dough touched her clothes, then turns to my mother. "Sorry, auntie, but I'm not interested in babies." On the other hand, I have an important matter to discuss with all of you regarding the company. "Do we really need to talk about this here?" Max asks, serious for the first time since we arrived. We came to spend the weekend and, like me, he hates talking about business during family gatherings. I look at my cousin, trying to predict which bombshell

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Los Angeles, away from the watchful eyes of the office, the tension between them reaches a new level. In a universe where the professional mixes with the personal, Sebastian and Chloe discover that the limits are as thin as their own resistance. Between furtive encounters, dialogues full of ulterior motives and a passion that threatens to destroy all the rules, the line between pleasure and danger becomes increasingly blurred. In this game of seduction, who will emerge victorious? Get ready for a story full of chemistry, provocations and twists, where power and pleasure walk hand in hand, and desire is the only rule that matters. PROLOGUE Working at TechFin Corp in San Francisco was everything I had ever wanted. Located in the heart of the city, the office offered a breathtaking view of the San Francisco Bay. The glitter of the waters at dawn, combined with the silhouette of the bridges, created a scene that made me feel invincible. I loved walking to work, feeling the cool Pacific breeze caress my face, a constant reminder of the freedom and possibilities that this city has always offered me. My name is Chloe Carter, I am 28 years old and I was born and raised in the winding hills of San Francisco. Ever since I was a little girl, I have always been fascinated by the pulsating rhythm of this city. The cool wind that blows constantly around here never lets my wavy brown hair stay in place, and perhaps that's a reflection of the intensity I carry with me. My honey-colored eyes capture the nuances of this vibrant city, and my parents always said I had a daring soul, incapable of settling for the ordinary. I guess they were right. Working in the financial analysis department was not for the faint of heart; the routine was always hectic, each day a new challenge, a new mountain to climb. However, I loved it, it was rewarding. Perhaps it was my adventurous spirit, the same one that always drove me to seek more, to explore not only the numbers, but also the emotions and power games that ran silently through the halls of TechFin Corp. But it wasn't just the work that made me tick. I always had a soft spot for the unknown, for those romantic adventures that began with a furtive glance and ended with a racing heart. The adrenaline of a new conquest, the game of seduction-all of this was part of who I was, and I made no effort to hide it. After all, what would life be without a little excitement? My parents, Helen and John Carter, have always supported me, even when I made decisions that many would consider too bold. And my younger sister, Lily, was my greatest accomplice in life's small and big follies. The two of us have always been inseparable, two free souls sailing the same rough sea. That morning, as usual, I arrived at the office early. The sun had barely risen above the horizon, but the TechFin Corp building was already starting to come alive with the movement of the first employees. The air was fresh, and my mind, sharp as ever, ready for another day of challenges. When I walked into my office, it was no surprise to find Jenna at my desk, with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. Jenna is my best friend and coworker, and if there's one thing I've learned in the time we've spent together, it's that if you arrive before her, you better check your watch, because something is definitely wrong. She was always the first to arrive

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