"I already toured the house myself," I say, stumbling slightly in my heels as he leads me toward the side entrance. "Maria showed me everything on the first day, remember?"
"Not everything." There's something dark in his voice. Something that makes my pulse quicken. "There are parts of this house Maria doesn't have access to."
Uh… the dungeons? The cells? Is he going to kill me?
We're climbing stairs now. Not the main staircase but a narrower one, hidden behind a door I'd assumed was a closet. Up and up until my calves burn and I'm breathing hard.
He’s definitely going to kill me.
"Dante, where are we?—"
"You'll see."
One more flight. Then he pushes open a door, and we step out onto the roof.
He wants to push me off? How messy.
The city spreads in the distance, a galaxy of lights against the dark sky. But that's not what makes me stop breathing.
There's a pool. A full-sized infinity pool, heated if the steam rising from the surface is any indication. Lounge chairs. A bar area.
"This is..." I trail off, taking it in.
"My favorite place." He moves behind me, so close I can feel the heat of him. "No one comes up here without my permission. Not Maria. Not the guards. No one."
His hands find my waist, and I feel him start to work at the zipper of my dress.
"What are you doing?" I try to turn, but he holds me in place.
"Getting rid of this." The zipper slides down, exposing my back to the night air. "I hate this dress. Hate that you wore it to defy me. Hate that you looked so perfect in it I couldn't think straight all night."
"Dante—"
The fabric tears. Actually tears, the sound loud in the quiet night. He's ripping it off me, his hands rough and impatient, and I should be angry but all I feel is heat pooling low in my belly.
“Psychotic bastard.” I mutter under my breath, because talking and protesting won’t change anything at this point.
The dress falls in a puddle at my feet, leaving me in just my underwear and heels in the middle of his rooftop.
"Better," he murmurs.
I spin to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. He's already shrugging out of his jacket, loosening his tie.
"I'm not your toy." But my voice comes out breathless.
"Then stop acting like one." His eyes rake over me, dark and hungry. "Stop pushing me. Stop testing me. Stop making me want to do things I know I shouldn't."
"Like what?"
"Like this."
He closes the distance between us in two strides, his mouth crashing against mine. The kiss is all teeth and tongue and desperation, nothing gentle about it. His hands are everywhere—my hair, my waist, sliding down to cup my ass through my underwear.
I should push him away. Should slap him for tearing my dress and dragging me up here like I have no say in the matter.
Instead, I kiss him back just as hard, my nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
