His chuckle was darker this time. "I'm evaluating many things about you, Simone Parker. Your competence with the café is merely one of them."
"And the others?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
His hand at my waist slid up further, not quite cupping my breast but close enough that my nipple tightened in anticipation. "How you respond to direction," he murmured. "How you yield to pressure." His hips shifted slightly, pressing that impressive hardness more firmly against me. "How your body answers questions your mouth won't."
The cleaning brush clattered to the counter, forgotten as my hands gripped the edge for support. My knees felt weak, my body liquid and pliant under his touch.
"You should be afraid of me," he said, his voice rougher now, edged with something hungry and barely contained.
"I know." And I did know. He was dangerous in ways that went beyond supernatural power. He could destroy more than just my career, he could shatter the careful walls I'd built around my heart, around my desires, the parts of myself I kept hidden from everyone else.
"But you're not." It wasn't a question.
I shook my head slightly, curls brushing against his chest. "No."
The jazz from the speakers had shifted to something slower, more sensual, bass notes that seemed to sync with my pulse. Outside, snow fell in silent curtains, visible through the frosted windows, cocooning the café in a world of white. Inside, there was only heat, his body burning against mine, the flush spreading across my skin, the ache building between my thighs.
His clawed finger traced the line of my throat, feather-light, coming to rest at the rapid flutter of my pulse. "Your heart races like prey," he observed. "But you don't run."
"Maybe I don't want to escape," I whispered, honesty slipping through cracks in my usual defenses.
The admission hung between us, charged with possibilities. His grip on my waist tightened fractionally, possessive and thrilling. The hand that had been guiding mine over the espresso machine moved to brush a curl from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear.
"Good girl," he rumbled, the praise sending an unexpected thrill through me.
Heat bloomed across my skin, a flush that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with how those two simple words made something deep inside me unfurl with pleasure.
He sensed my reaction and I could feel his satisfied smile against my hair. "Interesting," he murmured.
We stood frozen in that moment, my back to his chest, his arms creating a cage of heat and muscle around me, possibility crackling between us like static electricity before a storm. The espresso machine gleamed, forgotten before us, my reflection distorted in its polished surface. Behind me, golden eyes watched my every reaction, seeing far more than I'd ever intended to reveal.
Time stopped existing, measured only in heartbeats and shared breath. I gathered what remained of my courage and turned within the circle of his arms. My head tilted back to meet his gaze, neck exposed in what felt like both surrender and challenge.
"I should go," I whispered, making no move to do so.
His mouth curved into a smile. "Should you?"
A single claw lifted to my face, the deadly tip gentle as it traced the line of my jaw. His touch left trails of fire along my skin, not burning but awakening, as if parts of me had been asleep until his claw coaxed them to life. He tilted my chin up, forcingmy gaze to remain locked with his, preventing me from hiding behind lowered lashes or averted eyes.
"Do you know what I see when I look at you, Simone?" He asked. "I see a woman who gives and gives andgivesuntil there's nothing left. Who smiles when she wants to scream. Who puts everyone else's needs before her own."
His claw traced the curve of my lower lip, the barest pressure making my breath catch. "When was the last time you were selfish? When was the last time you took what you wanted without considering everyone else first?"
The question struck something deep inside me, a truth I'd avoided acknowledging. When had I last done something purely for myself? Something that didn't involve making others comfortable or happy? I couldn't remember.
"It's okay to be naughty," he murmured, his claw now sliding down the column of my throat to rest at the hollow where my pulse hammered visibly. "It's okay to want things for yourself. To be selfish. To take."
His words slipped beneath my skin, finding cracks in armor I'd worn for so long I'd forgotten it wasn't part of me. The good girl. The responsible one. The sunshine who solved everyone's problems and never, ever put her own desires first.
"What if I don't know how?" The confession emerged in a whisper.
His eyes softened fractionally, though the hunger in them remained undiminished. "Then let me teach you."
The moment stretched between us, taut as a bowstring. He waited, his massive body completely still save for the rise and fall of his chest. Waiting for me to decide. To choose. To take that first selfish step.
I could still back away. Could still straighten my dress, thank him for his help with the espresso machine, and maintain the distance that was the only safe option. I could still be good,responsible Simone who never took risks, who kept her wants and needs locked safely away where they couldn't hurt her.
Instead, I rose on tiptoes and pressed my lips to his.
