The footage rolled on, and at the exact point where Ash took the shot, she looked away. Her gaze traveled from Opal to Sophie. They were the people she could count on to understand when the others wouldn’t.
She really was just an accountant—but she was responsible for taking down a lot of high-profile people. She was the one who testified while powerful men glared at her across polished tables. She was the one who signed her name to reports that dismantledreputations and put handcuffs on wrists that thought themselves untouchable.
Al Capone hadn’t gone down because of bullets. He’d fallen because of taxes.
Money ended empires.
And she’d ended more than a few.
She listened to the rest of the meeting. Ash gave his report, and then Con dismissed them.
As the guys scraped their chairs back, and their boots thundered out of the room, Ellory hung back until everyone left.
Even Ash.
Con lingered at the door for a moment. “Do you have something more to add, Ellory?” His tone was gentler than she’d heard it before, something more in line with the way she imagined him speaking to Sophie.
“Just gathering my thoughts.”
He nodded. “Well, if you need to add anything more, my door’s always open.”
“I appreciate it, Con.” She offered him a smile that felt stiff on her face. But he dipped his head and ducked out of the room.
She stared at the surface of the table, letting everything that happened wash through her.
The op she never wanted to go on. Ash picking locks. The encrypted files and the door opening.
The dead man’s eyes, wide and staring, fixed on the ceiling.
Ash’s hard body holding her up. And his lips…
Warm and rough in ways that didn’t fit the moment at all, yet somehow felt most important.
Her own chair scraped quietly on the floor as she stood and walked out of the room. She only took two steps before Ash caught her by the arm.
She barely had time to issue a gasp as he swung her against him and crushed her to his chest.
“I can’t stop thinking about this,” he ground out as his mouth crashed over hers.
The kiss wasn’t tentative.
It wasn’t soft.
It was possession and relief and desire sharp enough to sting.
His hands were on her, one at her waist, the other at the back of her neck, teasing the sensitive skin of her nape. The scent of him—clean soap with a darker note—filled her senses. His body was as warm and unyielding as his kiss.
She sighed, and he took advantage of her parted lips, sweeping the tip of his tongue inside. The liquid heat of his tongue moving over hers spread through her whole body before sinking low in her belly.
Her hands found his shirt without permission from her brain, and twisted. He offered a rough sound into her mouth, and she let out a coo in response.
Backing her against the wall, he cupped her jaw and deepened the kiss. Her insides turned to molten lava, and she kissed him back with far more abandon than her brain told her was prudent.
When he pulled back, her lips felt swollen.
She should have stepped away.
Instead, she leaned up and kissed him again.
