"But she won't find you," I said, making no move to release her. "Because you don't want to be found right now."
Her eyes met mine again, defiant.
"You don't know what I want."
"Tell me, then."
The challenge hung between us, charged with something more complex than mere attraction.
I'd built a career on reading people, on sensing weakness and opportunity in equal measure.
But this woman was a contradiction—vulnerable yet strong, hesitant yet brave, running from something yet standing perfectly still in my arms.
"I want," she said slowly, "to forget who I'm supposed to be. Just for tonight."
I lifted my hand to her face, letting my thumb brush along her cheekbone.
Her skin was impossibly soft—like warm cream touched by candlelight—and for a moment, I forgot every reason I was attempting to keep my distance.
"And who are you supposed to be?"
"Someone sensible. Cautious." Her eyes never left mine.
"Yet here you are."
"Here I am." She leaned into my touch, almost imperceptibly.
"Making another mistake."
"Is that what this is?"
"Isn't it?"
Instead of answering, I lowered my head and kissed her.
A question more than a demand.
A door pushed gently open rather than forced.
For one suspended moment, she remained still.
Then her lips softened beneath mine, her body melting against me as her arms slid around my neck.
The kiss deepened, her mouth opening to mine with a small mewling sound that caused my dick to jump with desire.
When we broke apart, her breathing was as uneven as mine.
In the dim light, her pupils had expanded, leaving only a thin ring of green.
"My room," I said, my voice rougher than intended.
"Or yours?"
She blinked, reality seeming to reassert itself.
"This is crazy. I don't do this."
"Neither do I." I kept my hands at her waist, unwilling to release her.
