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His breath on my neck.
His hands on my hips.
And lower. The hard, thick length of him, and damn, he isn’t small.
My eyes close, and I have to bite down on my lower lip to keep from moaning because every cell in me wants what he is not even attempting to hide from me.
The gun lowers an inch.
"Eyes open," he says, his voice rough.
I forget I’m holding a gun and arch into him, my body aching for the closeness.
The side of his face brushes my cheek, and I feel his mouth close to my throat, not touching but close enough for his breath to skate across my skin.
Oh God, I want him to touch me.
I lower the gun and melt into him more.
His hand slides to my stomach, pulling me against him, and my head tips back as my eyes half close. I am one second from putting this gun on the counter, turning around, and taking what my body is begging me to take.
Until the door opens.
"Boss, I —"
We fly apart.
Or I fly apart. Dante steps back with the calm control of a man who has spent his entire life not flinching.
"Caruso," Dante says, his voice icy.
"Sorry, boss. Didn't realize you were… I'll come back."
"Wait outside."
"Yes, sir."
The door shuts, and silence rushes back in.
I stare at the target with my face on fire.
I raise the gun, line up the target, and fire six rapid shots. Each one punches through the silence, the tension, and the target.
I lower the gun, and Dante hits the button on the wall that brings the target gliding toward us.
The results are impressive. Two in the chest. One in the shoulder. One in the throat. Two in the face.
"Not bad," he says. "For a never."
I put the gun on the counter and turn to face him.
"I told you," I say. "I'm a fast learner."
His gaze drops to my mouth.
"Yes," he says. "You are."
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