Something inside her, something long-held and brittle, finally snapped. "I haven’t been given my due," she retorted, her voice rising with a fury that was both new and liberating. "I have been carrying my load and yours since we were assigned here. I worked my tail off, and I never complained about you dumping all your work on me and taking credit for everything. I was anxious that you would do something as despicable as you did to get the post, but this is a new low, even for you."
"Are we going to rehash that all over again?" he scoffed, looking away.
"No. There’s no need for that," she said, her voice shaking with the force of her emotion. "I’m well aware that I was nothing but a stepping-stone for you. You used and manipulated me for your own gain, all the while pretending that you loved me. I was a fool and you broke my heart. I got past it. But you can't get past the need to hold me down or suppress me."
"That's because he’s afraid of you."
Breakneck’s deep voice filled the space, a low, resonant thrum that seemed to push back the shadows in the hall. It wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable weight, warming her body with its sheer sound. He stepped into the hall, still glistening from the shower, a low-slung towel his only covering. Water trailed in slow, hypnotic rivulets over the hard planes of his chest and down his abdomen. As he passed her, the radiant heat from his skin brushed her arm, a grounding, electric touch that stole her breath.
Darrow’s jaw clenched. "What a surprise that you’re shacking up with the compound’s pretty boy. You panting over his pictures, too? I wonder what the chief superintendent would say if he knew you’re fucking a subordinate."
Breakneck laughed, a low, soft sound that was utterly devoid of humor. "Nice way to try to deflect the conversation away from you and your insecurity. That’s one thing I know about bullies. They posture and attack so they can cover up their own fears."
"I’m not afraid of her," Darrow spat.
"Sure you are," Breakneck countered, his tone infuriatingly reasonable. "That’s why you came barging into her home first thing in the morning, to catch her off guard and away from the office so you could threaten her." He took a deliberate step toward Darrow, and for the first time, Blair saw her former lover flinch. Matthew actually stepped back.
Something primal and profound settled inside her, a warmth that spread through her chest, chasing away the lingering chill of Darrow’s presence. This was a man protecting her while standing beside her. He was a man she was falling in love with…maybe, she realized with a jolt, was already gone. How strange that she should have that earth-shattering realization while Darrow was trying to intimidate her again.
"You don't like that I'm here," Breakneck continued, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "Is it because deep down where your ego can't reach, you realized you fucked up and ruined the best thing you ever had for ambition?" He took another deliberate step forward, his dripping body a silent threat. "That hollow feeling is eating you alive now, and no socialite or her political daddy is filling that fucking gap. I know men like you. I used to think I was you. But now I'm realizing, I'm not that man. I never was."
He inhaled, a slow, deep breath that seemed to draw all the oxygen from the room. His impossibly wide shoulders tightened, coiling with a restrained power that made the hairs on Blair’s arms stand on end. “Let me clarify for you. You did fuck up. She is the best thing that you could have hoped for. I’m so fucking glad you did. I’m not that blind.”
"This isn’t over," Darrow growled.
"It is," Breakneck stated, his voice flat and final. "You just haven’t realized it yet."
"Report to my office when you get into work," Darrow snarled, his last desperate grasp at authority before he turned and slammed out of the house, making the pictures on the wall rattle.
"Drive safely," Breakneck called after him with a derisive snicker, the sound cutting through the tense silence he left behind.
He turned, and Blair was already moving, closing the small distance between them. Her hands rose, trembling slightly, and came to rest on his chest. His skin was slick and hot, the firm planes of his pectoral muscles yielding under her touch. She could feel the steady, reassuring thrum of his heartbeat against her palms.
He stilled, his dark eyes locking with hers.
"Wha—" He started, and she answered him by rising onto her toes and pressing her lips to his.
The kiss was a slow, deliberate exploration. Her lips moved against his, soft and seeking, tasting the clean mint of his toothpaste and the unique flavor that was just him. His response was immediate, a low groan rumbling in his chest as one of his powerful arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His other hand came up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, holding her gently but firmly in place.
The vulnerability of the morning, the sting of her boss's attack, all of it dissolved in the heat of this connection. Kissing him felt like breathing after being underwater for too long. It was right. It was everything.
When she broke the kiss, she stared up at him, her breath coming in shallow pants. His jaw worked, a muscle twitching as he fought for words. "Oh, mister intimidating Tier 1 badass has no comment?" she whispered, her voice a little shaky, a little teasing.
His eyes, which had been hard as flint just moments before, softened into a dove gray, the unguarded look on his face disarming her completely.
"Last night…I…I’ve never experienced a true connection like that with a woman," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "You make me weak, you make me strong, you make me want to twist that bastard into a pretzel. But most of all, you see me…I’ve never been seen before."
"What I see is magnificent," she breathed, her hands still resting on the slick, warm skin of his chest.
His head dipped, and he took her mouth with a groan, those full lips brushing hers with a gentleness that brought tears to her eyes. "With the way I worked you over last night, I bet you need some breakfast," she murmured against his mouth.
"I'm starving," he replied, his mouth taking hers again, deeper this time, a slow, thorough possession that stole the air from her lungs.
"I am, too," she whispered, the admission a surrender.
With a single, decisive tug, she pulled the towel from around his waist. It fell to the floor with a soft whisper, and the last barrier between them was gone. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated need.
Her cell vibrated and she swore softly. She glanced at the screen and saw it was work. She reached for the phone and barked impatiently, “Yes.”
