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A lazy smile dances across his handsome face as he holds the door open wide. "Come, bella."
I fight the urge to shiver, his quiet command recalling memories of us in his office earlier this week when he growled the same thing. The man has a way with words. Then again, doesn't the devil usually have a silver tongue?
"This is nice," I murmur, peering around in interest. His apartment takes up most of the top floor of the building. Unlike my place in Beverly, it screams hedonistic luxury. One entire wall is a bank of windows overlooking Lake Michigan. Masculine furniture rests on expensive rugs and hardwood floors, with tasteful artwork hanging on the walls.
"You look more than nice," he says, coming up behind me.
I fight the urge to lean back against him. Fight the urge to turn to him. I fight every instinct compelling me to entangle myself further with this man. If this were the animal kingdom, I'd be dead already. My sense of survival is clearly non-existent. It pushes me toward danger instead of away from it.
"Thank you."
His arms surround me, pulling me back against his chest. His head rests against mine as he pulls in a deep breath, groaning. "Fuck. You drive me crazy, bella."
I melt into him despite myself, heat coursing through me. What is it about him that is so fascinating to me? Why does he make me want to forsake everything I thought I knew? It's madness, and yet I feel it percolating in my blood anyway, growing stronger every time I see him.
"I thought we agreed you weren't going to touch me," I manage to say.
"Did we?" His hands skim up and down my sides, sending waves of desire washing through me. "I don't recall agreeing to this, goddess."
"I'm not going to prostitute myself for answers, Diego." I spin to face him, trying like hell to resist the ache deep in my belly. It only grows when his expression darkens with anger. "If you thought that's why I came, you were wrong."
"Taking what you want doesn't make you a puttana, Athena," he says, disapproval heavy in his voice. "Do you think I think so little of you?"
"I don't know what you think." I throw my hands up, frustrated. "What game are you playing, Diego? You really expect me to believe you're willing to spill secrets that could land you in prison, just to spend twenty-four hours with me?" I eye him sideways. "I'm not that naïve."
"Ah, I see." He strides across the living room as he speaks. "So it's not me you think so little of. It's yourself."
I gape after him. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?" He crosses into the kitchen, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he goes. "Anyone not willing to take a gamble for twenty-four hours of your time is a fucking idiot, bella."
"A little gamble?" I laugh in disbelief, stomping after him. "You're talking about giving me everything I need to send you to prison, Diego. That's not a little gamble. That's like betting the entire freaking far…Ahh!" I scream as he grabs hold of me as soon as I cross the threshold into the kitchen, pressing me up against the wall.
His lips come down on mine, his kiss skillful and demanding. He holds me prisoner, subduing me as if it's no trouble at all. I fight him, trying to throw him off me, but he's an implacable wall, refusing to budge. All my training is useless against him.
"Behave, little girl," he growls, his hand around my throat. "You can't beat me."
"Let me go, Diego. Now."
"Not until you kiss me back."
"Go to hell."
"I'm already there, bella. I've been burning every minute since I met you." The ragged confession is too honest to be a line. He means it.
"You think I haven't?" I swallow hard. "You're everything I shouldn't want, and yet I'm here anyway."
"Then stop fucking fighting me and kiss me. I won't say it a third time, Athena."
I stop fighting and tip my face back in frustrated submission. He grunts his approval, brushing his lips across mine again before his tongue dips into my mouth. I try like hell not to lose myself to his kiss, not to lose myself to him as he annihilates my self-control all over again, taking it to the breaking point.
Potent desire turns to something deeper, something darker. I have no name for it, but I feel it brewing like a storm in my soul. Calling out to him. Calling out for him, perhaps.
I want to hate him. I want to rage at him. Instead, I hand him a little piece of my soul.
"You're worth the risk," he groans, resting his forehead against mine when he finally breaks the kiss. "Don't ever fucking doubt that again."
I lick my lips, trying to collect my thoughts. He scattered them to the winds, leaving me reeling. I don't even remember what we were arguing about. That's how dangerous he is to me.
