"I notice things about you. Just like you notice things that don't add up at the Bureau."
The truth of his words settles in my chest like a stone.
His hand finds my hip, and my breath catches.
The gentle pressure of his fingers sends warmth cascading through my body, short-circuiting my professional resolve.
"What are you doing?" I whisper, but I don't move away.
Dom's other hand cups my cheek, his thumb tracing my jawline with deliberate slowness.
My skin burns beneath his touch.
The room narrows until there's nothing but his eyes, dark and intent on mine.
“This has nothing to do with Rocco or the FBI.”
"Why are you really here, Dom?" My voice trembles despite my efforts to sound firm. "I need to understand what this is."
His proximity clouds my judgment, makes it impossible to think with the clarity I desperately need.
Each point of contact between us sends pulses of electricity through my nervous system.
“It seems pretty obvious to me.”
I fight through the fog of desire. "Is this just a game? Another way to compromise me?”
The questions hang between us as my heart pounds against my ribs. I should step away, establish boundaries, remember who we are to each other.
Instead, I find myself leaning into his touch, my body betraying my better judgment with embarrassing eagerness.
"What do you want from me?" I ask, feeling desperate in my weakness.
"What do I want?" Dom's voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "Maybe I want to know if Agent Olivia Ricci tastes as fiery as she talks."
My breath catches.
"And I want answers too." His hand on my hip pulls me closer to him. "About Rocco. About why the FBI seems more interested in manufacturing evidence than finding it."
"I don't manufacture?—"
"I know you don't," he cuts me off. "That's what makes you interesting. You actually believe in justice." His eyes hold mine, searching for something I'm not sure I want him to find.
"You think it too. The inconsistencies. The missing pieces." His gaze drifts down to my lips. "More than that, there's something happening here that's bigger than both of us and I’m not just talking about a conspiracy. I’m talking about how we could power all of Manhattan with the sparks that fly between us.”
I should step away. I should remind him of the professional boundaries he's trampling. I should?—
His mouth captures mine in a sudden, all-consuming kiss.
My mind short-circuits.
This is Dom Vitale, mafia don, criminal, subject of my investigation, whose lips are on mine, hot and demanding.
I should push him away.
File a report.
End whatever this is before it destroys everything I've worked for.
