"Probably. But I don't care. Do you?"
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "No. I don't care either."
"Good." I kissed him again. Softer this time. Almost gentle. "Get some sleep, Emilio. I'm not done with you yet."
He laughed breathlessly. "How can you possibly—"
"Give me an hour. Maybe two. Then I'll show you exactly how I can possibly." I pulled him closer. "You're mine now. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."
"I'm not—"
"You are. You gave yourself to me tonight. Everything else is just details." I felt him tense slightly. "Don't worry. I take care of what's mine. You'll learn that."
He relaxed again. Settled against me like he belonged there. "This is insane."
"Yes."
"We barely know each other."
"We know enough."
"Everyone's going to tell me this is a mistake."
"They're probably right." I ran my fingers through his hair. "But you're going to do it anyway. Because you want this. Want me. Want to see where it goes even if the destination is disaster."
"You're very sure of yourself."
"I'm very sure of you." I kissed the top of his head. "Sleep, Emilio. Tomorrow we'll deal with reality. Tonight, just let yourself have this."
I felt him drift off eventually. Breathing evening out, body going heavy with sleep. I should have slept too. Should have taken the rest while I could.
Instead I lay awake holding him and thinking about what I'd just done.
I'd crossed a line I couldn't uncross. Taken my attorney to bed. Compromised him in ways that could destroy both our careers if anyone found out. Mixed business and pleasure so thoroughly that untangling them would be impossible.
I should have felt guilty. Should have regretted the choice.
I didn't.
Emilio Rossi was mine now. I'd make sure he stayed that way.
Whatever it took.
I finally slept with him warm and pliant in my arms, already planning how to bind him to me so completely that leaving would never occur to him as an option.
This was just the beginning.
And I'd never been more certain of anything in my life.
CHAPTER 9: EMILIO
I WOKE TOsunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and the unfamiliar weight of an arm across my waist. For a disoriented moment I didn't know where I was. Then memory crashed back—Sandro's estate, the financial records, the bedroom with its obscene luxury, everything that had happened after we'd stopped pretending to work.
Oh God.
I'd slept with my client. My extremely dangerous, probably criminal, definitely manipulative client who was currently pressed against my back like he had every right to be there.
I should have panicked. Should have extracted myself carefully and gotten dressed and called a car and fled before he woke up. Should have done any number of things that would have been smart and professional and ethical.
