"There was a time," he continued, voice dropping lower, "when I knew exactly how to make you tremble. When I knew every sound you made. Every place that made you gasp."
Oh God. He was talking about Miami. Testing me.
"I don't know what you mean," I whispered, but the lie was weak.
"Don't you?" His hand came up, fingers ghosting along my jaw. "I've been trying to place it since you walked into my office. The way you move. The way you smell. The way your breath catches—" His thumb brushed my lower lip. "—right here. When I touch you."
I should push him away. Should maintain the lie.
Instead, I stood frozen, my body betraying me with every rapid breath, every flutter of my pulse.
"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenged, his mouth so close to mine I could feel his breath. "Tell me we've never met before that interview."
The words wouldn't come. Couldn't come.
His lips brushed against my jaw, not quite a kiss—a question asked with his mouth against my skin.
"Cassian," I breathed, and it came out like a plea.
For what, I wasn't sure anymore.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with want and frustration. "This isn't over, Isla. Whatever game you're playing—whatever you're hiding—I will find out."
"I know," I whispered.
"And for what it's worth?" His hand dropped away, creating space between us. "I've already started looking. You might be surprised by what I've found."
Before I could respond, voices echoed from the main hallway. Other guests wandering toward the restrooms or coat check.
Cassian stepped back, smoothing his jacket, his expression shifting back to controlled neutrality. "We should return. Separately."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He paused before turning away. "That dress." His eyes traveled over me once more. "It suits you. But the woman wearing it? She's the real mystery."
Then he was gone, disappearing back toward the ballroom, leaving me trembling against the wall.
I gave myself thirty seconds to compose myself. Smoothed my dress, checked my reflection in a decorative mirror on the wall, forced my breathing to steady.
When I returned to the ballroom, the space had filled with guests. The low murmur of conversation mixed with soft classical music from the string quartet. Everything looked perfect, professional, exactly as it should.
I spotted Cassian across the room, already deep in conversation with a group of investors. He looked completely at ease, as if our hallway encounter had never happened. As if he hadn't just cornered me and all but accused me of lying about our past.
As if he hadn't made my entire body ache with want.
"Ms. Quinn?" Sarah appeared at my elbow with her clipboard. "We're ready to begin seating for dinner in fifteen minutes. Should I make the announcement?"
"Yes, please." I pulled my focus back to the task at hand. "I'll position myself near the entrance to help direct people to their tables."
For the next hour, I buried myself in logistics. Greeting guests, answering questions, solving small crises—a dietary restriction the kitchen hadn't been informed of, a seating dispute between rivalcompanies, a technical glitch with the presentation equipment. By the time dinner service began, I'd almost managed to stop thinking about Cassian's mouth against my jaw.
Almost.
The ballroom glittered with wealth and power now that it was full. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over the crowd—men in tuxedos, women in designer gowns, everyone wearing the same mask of polite ambition. I recognized most of the faces from my research into Barone Industries' major investors and partners.
I spotted Cassian across the room, commanding attention without effort. His tuxedo fit him perfectly, emphasizing broad shoulders and narrow hips. Several women hovered nearby, hoping to catch his eye, but his attention was elsewhere—scanning the room with calculated precision.
Then his gaze found mine, and everything else faded away.
