Before.The word hung between us. Before two days of closets and cover stories and catching me in the dark. Before he held my hand in a parked car and saidyou're not alone in this anymore— and meant it.
"What's rule number one?" I asked.
"Don't touch the client."
I looked down at his hands on my waist. Looked back up.
His face shifted. Cracked. Like a wall that had been holding back a flood and just felt the first fracture.
He kissed me.
Not soft. Not tentative. His mouth came down on mine like he'd been thinking about it for days and had run out of reasons not to. One hand slid up my back, pressing me closer. The other went into my hair — the wig, technically, but he gripped it like he'd forgotten it wasn't real — and tilted my head back so he could kiss me deeper.
I gasped against his lips and he took advantage, his tongue sliding into mine, and my brain went blank. Just — white noise. Static. Nothing but his mouth and the grip of his fingers and the heat of him everywhere.
I grabbed his tie — the one he'd put on in the car, dark silk, perfectly knotted — and pulled. Dragged him closer until there was no space left between us, until his chest was flush against mine and I could feel exactly how affected he was.
He groaned into my mouth. Low, rough, barely audible. The sound shot through me like electricity.
He pulled back first. Neither of us could catch our breath. Forehead into mine.
"We should stop," he said.
"We should."
Neither of us moved.
His thumb traced my jaw. "Charlie..."
I grabbed his tie again. "I don't care about your seven rules."
"I'm starting not to either."
"Then shut up and kiss me."
He kissed me again — slower this time, deeper, thorough. His tongue swept against mine and I made a sound that would have embarrassed me in any other context. His hand pressed flat to my lower back, pulling my hips into his, and I rocked forward instinctively. His breath caught.
"SUV," I managed between kisses. "Now."
"We need to —"
"Now, Dominic."
He looked at me. I watched him run through his seven rules, weigh them, and set them on fire.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the exit.
We barely made it across the parking lot.
His SUV was parked at the far edge, away from the lights and the valets and the elegant couples who didn't know what it felt like to want someone so badly your hands shook. He unlocked it remotely, yanked open the back door, and I climbed in without a single thought about consequences.
He followed, pulling the door shut behind him, and the world narrowed to dark leather and tinted windows and the sound of both of us breathing too fast.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Just looked at each other in the dim glow from the parking lot lights filtering through the glass. His tux was disheveled — tie loosened where I'd pulled it, hair messed where my fingers had been. My lipstick was smeared across his mouth. We looked exactly like what we were.
"Last chance," he said. His voice was rough, strained, like the words cost him something. "Once we do this, I can't undo it."
"I don't want to undo it."
