"Danika."
"Danika?" I repeat, testing the name on my lips.
She nods.
"Hmm." I pull her tighter, my hand splayed across the small of her back. "Shame you're on the wrong side."
The music stops, and the room erupts into polite applause.
We stay holding each other for a moment longer than necessary. Her chest rises and falls against mine.
She's the first one to break and step back.
She stares at me, her expression unreadable, before turning and walking away.
I watch her disappear into the crowd, the red dress calling to me like a siren, urging me to follow even knowing she's the enemy.
But it doesn't matter. None of it matters.
And I realize something.
I have to have her. There is no other way.
I'll do what I'm here for, but I'm not leaving Italy without her.
And if she doesn't come willingly, I'll fucking make her.
12
DANIKA
I'm off balance. I'm shocked and almost disoriented that I'm in his arms. It's probably what he wants, so I need to stay relaxed. Tell myself I'm enjoying this instead of needing to fight.
His hand slides lower, tracing the lines of my dress with deliberate slowness.
I tell myself he's checking for weapons. That's all this is, tactical and predictable. Men like Victor always need to confirm the threat level before they make their next move.
But I feel the heat from his fingers, his palm. It's warm, too warm.
The heat of it seeps through my skin, spreading like a slow burn across my lower back. My body reacts before my brain can intervene, a sharp, unwanted flare of heat coiling low in my belly.
No.
I force my face to remain neutral, my expression bored, as if his touch means nothing. As if I'm not acutely aware of every single point of contact between us, his chest pressed against mine, his thigh brushing the slit of my dress, the faint scrape of his stubble near my temple.
I focus on his arrogance. The smug tilt of his mouth. The way he thinks he's in control of this moment.
It doesn't help.
His scent wraps around me like a trap. I first really noticed it the last time we met, but now, I dislike that it's almost intoxicating, and I hate how much I want to lean closer.
This is not who I am. I don't lose focus.
I don't let men distract me during a job. I certainly don't let them make my pulse race and my thighs clench while we're circling each other like two predators in the middle of a crowded room.
"You know my dress won't hide a gun," I say, forcing my voice to be calm. "So why are you looking for one?"
"Who says I'm looking for weapons?" His hand trails lower, dangerously close to the curve of my ass before sliding back up.
