The word echoed in Diego’s head. What a stupid fool he’d been. He’d seen the look of recognition in her wide-eyed gaze as soon as she’d spotted the chair with the cuffs. Her expression had turned to suspicion, which had evolved into panic. He didn’t have to ask her if the photos had clicked in her mind. It’d been apparent by the trembling rage that simmered below the surface for one brief moment. But somehow he’d convinced her of his innocence by a shrug and a few words that had seemed to hit the mark. From here on out, man, you either quit the game you’re playing, or don’t make it so damn obvious. A chair and handcuffs just like in the photo? Really? You idiot. But he couldn’t tell her. Not right now, anyway. She’d probably whack the chair over his head and leave him for dead floating in the hot tub. He’d tell her about the picture mix-up someday. Really, he would. But he’d only just gotten a taste of her, and he wasn’t going to risk never getting the full-course meal.
