“And I’m the one flirting.” His voice drops on the last word, amused enough to make the back of my neck heat. “The world really does change.”
I should let go of his throat; I know that. The smart move is distance, clothing, and at least the illusion of normal conversation before I do something more compromising than standing naked in front of the man whom I apparently loved enough to destroy us both.
Instead, I lean in closer. “What if I don’t want it to?” I ask.
That shuts him up for one glorious second.
The hand not holding the coffee cup shifts on the counter. His fingers flex once, as though resisting the urge to touch me somewhere he absolutely shouldn’t.
There’s the result I was looking for. There’s the old problem in him. There’s the same man who used to act untouchable until Igot close enough to remind him he was very, very human after all.
“Careful,” he murmurs.
“Why?” I tighten my grip just enough to feel the pulse jump in his throat. “You came into my house. You sat in my kitchen. You watched me come downstairs like this and still had the nerve to flirt. I should put you on your knees.”
His eyes dip again, absolutely shameless now. “Put me there, then,” he says finally, voice roughened by pressure and want.
The fact that he manages not to gasp when my fingers tighten proves he still practices the same discipline that made him lethal before he ever lifted a gun.
I loathe the effect it has on me. That some stupid, vicious part of me likes hearing him like this—stepping into danger with both hands open now while I’m the one trying and failing to keep a straight face.
My mouth betrays me first, curving despite every effort. “You’re talking a lot for a man under my hand.”
He tilts his head fractionally, enough to press a little more of his throat into my palm. The move is so calculated it nearly knocks the breath out of me.
“And you’re still not doing anything useful with it,” he says, and I watch his pupils swallow amber-whiskey brown.
He’s already breathing shallower than when I walked in. That’s the sight I missed more than I’ll ever confess aloud: a king on the verge of falling apart because I asked, not because the world forced him.
But I decide to step back fully, the absence feeling like skin peeled away. He lets his head fall forward, hair shadowing his eyes, breathing hard. I watch the tremor still rolling under his forearms.
My own heart pounds so loud the walls hum with it. “Coffee,” I rasp after a beat. “I have a feeling you came here to offer information disguised as caffeine. Start talking.”
He lifts his head slowly, eyes clearing enough to show me the ruthless strategist who commands nations in daylight.
“There’s a fissure in the Reyes line,” he says, voice rough but steadier. “Helena’s broker is arming both sides of a power grab. If they go to war in Madrid, the next Five Families summit will collapse before it’s inked.” He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I need your supply routes through Odessa open to move resources fast. That’s what I came to ask.”
I nod, forcing my body to remember how to stand without leaning toward him. “You came to bargain, not beg. Good.” I step to the island, pour the abandoned coffee into a fresh mug, and drink. It scalds my throat but helps pull me back into colder territory.
“I’ll move cargo tonight—just intel packages, maybe humanitarian cover so no one blinks. But you owe me rights on port fees in Valencia when this is over. And a body.” At his raised brow, I clarify, “The broker’s head, publicly.”
The faint curve of his lips returns. “Done,” he says, and straightens, adjusting his cuffs.
A beat of silence swells, heavy with the weight of choices neither of us can dodge forever. I sip coffee and admire the slight flush painted across his throat. “You really slipped past Kai?”
“Offered him a favor owed,” he admits. “He cares more about your happiness than your walls.”
I hum around the rim of the mug, both infuriated and fond. I close my eyes for one beat because murder is simpler than this.
When I open them again, he’s still looking at me with that same bright, unbearable mixture of affection, lust, and challenge. It feels too familiar. Too easy. Too dangerous.
It also feels like home in all the ways that word has never deserved.
twelve
Vincenzo
IknowIshouldhatemyself for acting like this.
