Her lips twitch at the name. “And when have you ever been one to follow ethics and morals?”
The room shrinks around us. Her scent, the rain, the faint hum of electricity in the air…it all coils tighter, until the only sound left is her breathing and the storm.
I move before I can think, closing the distance until the desk is the only thing separating us. My hands flatten against the wood.
“Careful,” I say, voice low enough that she has to lean in to hear it. “I’m not the type of man you want attention from. Because I will ruin you beyond comprehension. And it won’t be a pretty sight.”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Maybe you already have.”
That…that hits harder than it should.
Lighting flashes, washing her in white light for half a second, and for that moment, she doesn’t look like a threat. She looks like an angel tempting a devil.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I manage.
Her chin lifts. “Then explain it to me. Show me what you mean.”
“Don’t. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
She’s close enough now that I can feel the warmth of her skin, the slow drag of her breath. There’s no innocence in her eyes anymore, only desire.
“This isn’t a game, Mara.”
“Then stop playing it,” she whispers.
Something in me cracks. Not loudly. Just enough to let the doubt slither its way deeper. I drag a hand through my hair, step back, and force the space between us open again.
“Go back to your room,” I say, the words clipped. “Now.”
For a moment, she doesn’t move. The lightning flickers again, silvering her hair, painting her in a light too cruel for softness. Then she turns—slow, deliberate—and leaves without another word. The door shuts, soft but final.
I stand there, gaze burning a hole into the door, pulse still too fast. The storm outside rages harder, rain hammering the glass until it sounds like the Castello itself is coming apart.
I’ve dealt with death knocking on my door. Betrayals. Men with guns and grudges and more ambition than brains. I’ve buried threats that would have eaten lesser men alive.
But none of them—none—feel as dangerous as her walking into my office in the middle of a storm, hair a mess and in that almost see-through nightgown, looking at me like she already knows I won’t last long.
I grab my jacket from the chair, shove away from the desk, and head down the corridor before I do something I can’t take back.
Sleep. I need to sleep. I just need to sleep.
The marble floors echo under my steps, the sound too sharp in the quiet. Every inch of this place smells like her—faint perfume, rain, and something sweet that won’t wash off no matter how hard I try.
By the time I reach my room, my pulse hasn’t slowed. My tie feels like a noose. I rip it loose, yank it off, and toss it somewhere in the dark.
The storm outside flashes white against the windows, thunder rattling the glass. I press a hand to the dresser, breathing hard, trying to remember why restraint ever felt like control.
Then…the door creaks open behind me.
I freeze. The sound is soft, but it cuts through the thunder like a blade. I don’t turn. I don’t breathe. For a long, suspended heartbeat, the only sound left in the room is the rain…and the faint, deliberate click of the door closing again. Sealing us away from the rest of the world—and from reason.
33
MARA
The door clicks shut behind me like a final breath, and the silence it leaves in its wake is deafening.
He doesn’t move. Not at first.
