"I know."
"I broke into your building." He takes a slow step toward me, towering over me. "I hacked your cameras. I commandeered your life. I’m not a good man. I’m a soldier who’s forgotten how to be anything else."
"I’m aware." I hold my ground. I do not take a single step back.
He stops mere inches from me. The heat radiating off his large body is a physical weight. "Then run. The door is right there. Go up to your apartment. Lock the door. Pretend you never met me."
He is offering me an out. But the tight clench of his jaw tells a different story. If I walk out that door, he will simply stand guard outside it for the rest of his life. He is giving me the illusion of choice, while already having decided that I belong to him.
I press my palm flat against the center of his chest, over his ink.
The slab of muscle jumps beneath my touch.
"I'm not running." My chin tilts up. I meet his stare head-on. "I rebuilt my life once after your enemies burned it down. I'm not giving up my peace. And I'm definitely not giving up my clinic."
"Your clinic is currently a target."
"Then you’ll just have to kill anyone who walks through the front door."
The shock that flashes across his face is priceless. Nico Costa, the terrifying mafia killer, is momentarily rendered speechless by a curvy woman in torn lace and nothing else.
I step fully into his space. My scent drifts upward, tangling with his harsh, tactical scent. "You tore my blouse. You ruined my schedule. You left me frustrated on a metal table. You owe me."
A deep, primal sound builds in the back of his throat. A sound of surrender and total possession.
"You are out of your mind," he says.
"Probably." I slide my hands up his torso, avoiding his injured shoulder, and wrap my arms around his neck. "Are you going to kiss me, or do we need to schedule an appointment?"
His restraint snaps.
It is a violent, beautiful destruction.
His hands grip my waist. He lifts me off the floor with no effort. The world spins in a blur of glowing monitors and shadows. He plunks me down hard onto the edge of the metal surveillance desk.
Keyboards clatter to the floor. Hard drives slide off the edge. He doesn't care. He steps between my spread thighs, his body pressing me back against the unyielding metal.
His mouth crashes down on mine.
There is nothing gentle about it. His lips are rough, demanding, hungry. He parts my lips with bruising force, his tongue sweeping inside. He devours me like a starving man offered a feast. I taste the salt of his sweat, the coffee he drank hours ago, the undeniable dominance of his entire existence.
My hands rake through the short hair at his nape. I pull him closer, matching his desperate energy. I have always been the composed one. The calm professional. The woman who suppresses emotion into organized boxes.
Right now, I want to shatter every box.
He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against mine. "You chose this. You chose me. There is no going back. You understand?"
"I chose you." I nip at his lower lip. "Now do something about it."
He yanks me close, his hands diving beneath the hem of his shirt. His calloused palms drag up my bare thighs, scorching my skin. He grips the torn edges of my ruined lace panties and rips them the rest of the way off. The fabric gives way with a sharp tear. He tosses the shreds into the darkness.
I am exposed to him.
He grips the edge of the metal desk. He drops to his knees.
The sudden change in height leaves me gasping. He is kneeling on the cold floor, his face perfectly level with my center. The pale blue light from the security monitors washes over his bare back.
He spreads my thighs wider, opening me up to his scrutiny.
