Page 5

The door closes behind him.

I stand there staring at it for longer than I’d ever admit out loud before finally setting down my empty champagne glass and turning back to the mirror.

A few minutes later, my mascara is repaired, my smile is back in place, and I’m heading toward the ballroom again.

Toward Spencer and the cameras. Toward the life I’ve spent the last year insisting was exactly what I wanted.

Bane’s hand slides into my hair as he kisses me, which is how I know I’m dreaming. I’ve never been kissed like this before.

The thought barely has time to register before I’m kissing him back.

One of my hands is curled into the lapel of his suit, holding on as though he’s the only solid thing in the room. The dressing suite looks the same as it did earlier, only softer around the edges, with the vanity lights blurring beneath the music drifting through the walls from the gala beyond.

Bane draws back just enough for our foreheads to touch. “Emma.”

The way he says my name sends a shiver through me.

I laugh, breathless and embarrassed all at once. “This is probably a terrible idea.”

“Probably.”

His mouth brushes mine again. The agreement doesn’t seem to concern either of us.

I smile against his lips. “Your commitment to stopping me is inspiring.”

“I’m off duty. And right now, I want you.”

He doesn’t smile when he says it. Neither do I.

My stomach drops and twists at the same time, my body caught between arousal and alarm, though the answer has never really been in doubt.

Bane kisses me again, his hand cupping my jaw. Whiskey clings to him. When I part my lips, he draws in a breath that sounds almost surprised, but it only seems to push him further.

He crowds closer, backing me against the vanity before lifting me onto it as though the effort costs him nothing. I settle on the edge, my knees opening around his hips.

The mirror catches us from the side. My dress is gathered high over my thighs. His hands are knotted in the silk. My lips already look swollen, parted around each breath.

His shoulders curve around me, broad enough to block out half the room, the tailored jacket stretched over muscles that seem increasingly difficult to contain.

A thought cuts through everything else.

I’m kissing Spencer Stone’s bodyguard.

I should care. Maybe I did once. Right now, the idea barely registers. Desire has swallowed every objection I might’ve had.

Heat coils low in my abdomen, spreading farther each time he touches me.

My hands slide over his shoulders, hard muscle beneath expensive fabric. My thighs settle against his sides as though they belong there, his hips pressed close, the heat between us trapped and growing.

Stopping never crosses my mind.

If he pulled away now, if he let go and stepped back, I think I’d fall. I’d crash into the mirror behind me, send perfume bottles and makeup scattering across the floor, and still reach for him anyway.

Bane drags his mouth down my neck, his stubble scraping across the delicate skin beneath my jaw. He smells like expensive cologne and adrenaline, like he’s spent the entire night wanting this and using every ounce of restraint to convince himself otherwise.

One of his hands gathers my hair and pulls gently until my head tips back, exposing my throat. He goes straight for it. A lick. An exploratory nip. Then his teeth close hard enough to sting.

A moan slips out of me before I can stop it, and my back arches toward him. The vanity mirror rattles behind me as I grab for balance.