The air shrank to nothing. Collapsing in on itself like a dying star, pulling me into its gravity before I even had a chance to resist.
Heat licked up the back of my neck.
I felt it everywhere—the sheer force of him, the quiet dominance in the way he took up space as if even the walls bent to his presence. My stomach tightened. My fingers twitched at my sides, desperate for something to hold on to, something to keep me tethered.
Leather and spice— invaded my senses.
My knees locked.
But still—I didn’t move.
Didn’t step back.
Didn’t flinch.
Even as he raised his hand and his fingers brushed my chin, tilting it up with a touch that was both lazy and possessive, like he had all the time in the world to undo me.
Even as his thumb ghosted along my jaw, his skin was impossibly warm against mine.
Even as my body—traitorous, foolish—shivered beneath his touch.
“You've been restless today,” he mused, his thumb skimming along my jaw, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
I forced my features into something close to boredom. “Maybe I just don’t like being locked in a mansion with a man who refuses to use words when he has them,” I murmured.
His lips curled in a sharp real smile.
And it was the most dangerous thing I had seen all night. Or my life. It was the first time I’d seen him showing this kind of emotion.
“Careful.” His thumb traced the curve of my lower lip, lingering just enough to make my pulse slam against my ribs. “You're starting to sound brave.”
I met his gaze, refusing to look away. “And that would be a problem because…?”
His fingers flexed against my skin. Just slightly. Just enough to remind me who was in control here.
Then, just as suddenly, he let go.
Stepped back.
And smiled.
“Because, Dolcezza,” he murmured in sin and leather, “bravery is such a fragile thing in the wrong hands.”
Mine, or his.
I didn’t want to find out. Cause in the end, some women collect memories. Others collect scars. And I was about to collect both.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Devil’s Gift
Some men use words as weapons. He used silence—and it was far deadlier.
The intensity of his gaze pinned me to the chair. It wasn’t just a look; it was a goddamn assertion of his dominance like he was sizing me up, deciding whether I was worth breaking or keeping.
I curled my fingers against my lap, pressing my nails deeper into my palm. Anything to keep my expression blank. To keep my pulse from betraying me.
He was now sitting behind his desk, and I was sitting just opposite him. I didn’t know why he called me here, but whatever the reason was, I wanted to leave. A lion studying an outsmarted mouse.
