"You kissed me back in that closet," I say, my voice low. "Or are you going to pretend that didn't happen?"
Her eyes flash. "That was survival. Adrenaline."
"Bullshit."
I move closer, and we're inches apart now, close enough that I can see the faint flush creeping up her neck.
"You wanted it just as much as I did," I continue, my voice dropping lower. "And you still do."
"Don't flatter yourself." But her voice wavers, just slightly.
She backs up, but I match her steps, keeping us close. She backs up into the glass and gasps softly, her hands bracing against the glass on either side of her hips.
I place my hand on the window beside her head.
"I told you," I say, my gaze dropping to her lips. "You're not leaving without me having it."
She tilts her head back, meeting my eyes with that infuriating, defiant stare.
"Then take it from me."
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and electric.
That's all the invitation I need.
I crash my mouth down on hers. She responds immediately, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling at the buttons. One pops free, then another, scattering across the floor.
The professional truce is gone. The careful negotiation, the tactical sparring, it all shatters.
This isn't about the intel anymore, and in a way, since we arrived, it never was. This is about dominance, control, and my raw, uncontrollable need to claim her.
She tears my shirt open and runs her nails firmly down my chest. I groan against her mouth, her touch only fueling the fire burning through me.
I grab her wrist, the one with the ring, and pin it above her head against the glass. She bites my lower lip in retaliation.
Fuck.
I spin her around, pressing her front against the window. The cool glass contrasts with the heat radiating off her body. My free hand slides down her side, finding the tear in her dress, and I yank it.
The fabric gives way easily, exposing smooth, toned skin underneath.
She gasps, arching back against me.
"You're such an asshole," she breathes, but there's nothing in her words but raw desire.
I lean in, my lips brushing her ear.
"You love it."
She twists in my grip, breaking free, and shoves me hard. I stumble back, catching myself against the arm of the sofa.
She comes at me, her movements fluid and predatory. We crash together, grappling, fighting for dominance even as we tear at each other's clothes.
The end table with all the large picture books of Italy falls over, sending them skidding across the floor. Neither of us cares.
I grab her waist and lift her, pinning her down onto the dining table. She wraps her legs around my hips, pulling me closer, her hands tangling in my hair.
The kiss deepens, turning feral, our tongues infused with desperation.
