This time, he doesn’t cough to cover up his groan when I rub against the long, hard proof of his arousal.
Heat coils in my stomach. We’re no longer being careful or calculated. We’re just two people who’ve spent too long holding everything we felt inside.
And this?
This is what it feels like to finally let it all go.
Maximo lifts me up onto the edge of the table, settling himself between my legs, mouth still on mine. I tug at his shirt, wanting it off, needing to feel his skin on mine, to see his massive chest again, scars and all. He growls softly in approval, hands skating up my bare thighs.
“Did you wear this dress just to taunt me all day?” he asks as his lips move down my neck.
“Yes,” I answer truthfully. I gave up wearing jeans in the afternoons days ago because I enjoy his reaction to seeing them.
“I fucking knew it,” he replies. “Take it off. Now.”
I’m debating grabbing the hem or telling him to take it off himself when there’s knock at the library door.
One that shatters the heated moment and my temporary insanity.
I jerk back as if I’ve been stung. Maximo fists the bottom of my dress and turns toward the door like he’s ready to shoot whoever is on the other side.
“What?” he snaps.
“We found Pellegrini,” Enzo’s voice replies.
My heart slams into my chest. The reality of my situation crashes back into me at the mention of one man’s name.
What the hell was I thinking?
Maximo doesn’t look at me as he removes his hands from me and walks over to the door. “Stay here.”
I slide off the table, my legs still trembling just to defy him. “That was a mistake,” I manage, breathless. “One that won’t happen again.”
Maximo pauses and looks over his shoulder. There’s nothing but cool confidence on his face when he says, “You’re a terrible liar, firefly,” repeating his earlier assessment and easily calling my bluff.
It is stupid to even try to deny the heat that’s still building between the two of us, and the hunger, even when he’s all the way across the room. I can still taste him on my lips, and all I can think about is how I crave more.
We crossed a line, one we can’t uncross, and we both felt it.
And I don’t think either of us is ready for what comes next.
I don’t wait like Maximo told me to. He probably knew I wouldn’t.
I immediately leave the library and walk the halls until I find a window overlooking the courtyard where a black SUV is idling. I see Enzo in the driver’s seat. There are two more men in the back. Maximo climbs into the passenger seat without hesitation.
A part of me wants to follow him, because distance doesn’t cool what just happened between us. It makes it worse, sharper, brighter, and impossible to ignore.
Whatever that kiss was, it’s not gone. It’s lingering and burning on my lips, unfurling into something I don’t even have a name for. My body hasn’t forgotten a single place he touched me. Not one. I can still feel the weight of him against my breasts, between my legs, his fingertips gliding over my face.
I walk back to his office with my book intending to read it this time, but I still can’t focus on a single word on the page. So, I stand up and pace. I finally pour myself a glass of water, hoping it will cool the flush still lingering in my cheeks. I try to rationalize my actions by telling myself I was caught up in the heat of the moment. That grief makes people do reckless things. That wanting someone dangerous is just another symptom of losing everything.
But my pulse doesn’t slow. My thoughts don’t settle. None of those lies hold.
Maximo was right. I do want him. Not for protection, not for answers. Just for him.
I’ve started to want him in a dark, aching, soul-deep way that terrifies me because it feels like the beginning of a downfall I’d walk into with open arms.
Ever since he handed me a gun for the first time, I’ve wanted to kiss him.
