Her hair tickled my neck as she shifted to peer through the gap in the door. Her vanilla scent intensified, mixing with the herbs surrounding us. Every breath pulled her deeper into my lungs.
“Can you see the main prep area?” I asked.
“Yes. And the tea storage.” She adjusted herself, the movement pressing her against me in ways that made coherent thought nearly impossible. “We should be able to spot anyone who approaches either location.”
“Good. That’s…good.”
Professional. We were being professional. Just two people conducting surveillance in an incredibly small space that required full-body contact. Nothing unusual about that.
A jar clinked as Sasha reached to steady herself, her hand brushing mine on the shelf. That simple touch sent electricity up my arm.
“Sorry,” she said softly. “I’m trying not to jostle anything.”
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. Nothing about this was fine. “Just…stay still if you can.”
She froze, which made it worse. Now I was hyperaware of every small breath she took, the slight rise and fall of her shoulders, the warmth of her body against mine.
I tried to think about winter festivals. Our celebration for the spring equinox. Carts for produce deliveries. Anything except how perfectly she fit against me, or the way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat, or?—
“Dominic?” She turned her head, trying to look at me over her shoulder.
Big mistake.
Our faces were not far apart. Her eyes caught the dim light filtering through the door crack. Her lips parted, and I watched her gaze drop to my mouth.
The air between us charged with something inevitable.
If only I could step back. Create distance. Focus on the surveillance we were supposed to be conducting.
Instead, I shifted my grip on the shelf, bringing us even closer. “We should…”
“What?”
“I don’t remember.” My entire world had narrowed to her. “Sasha,” I groaned.
She turned in my arms, the movement making jars clink and herbs rustle. This put us chest to chest. Her hands landed on my shoulders, mine settling at her waist.
“This is a bad idea,” she said.
“Terrible.”
“We’re supposed to be watching for?—”
I kissed her.
Or she kissed me. Or we met somewhere in the middle,crashing together with all the pent-up need from days of careful distance.
Her hands slid into my hair as I pressed her against the wall behind her, jars of spices jingling with the movement. She made a small sound in the back of her throat. Heat shot through me.
This wasn’t the tentative kiss we’d shared outside our bedroom doors. This was desperate and hungry and absolutely consuming.
I explored her mouth, and she arched her body into mine. I cupped her face, then glided my hands down her sides, moving inward.
When I pressed my palm against her breast, she gasped into my mouth. The sound undid me.
I was bigger than her, stronger, but she met me with her own strength. Her fingers slid into my hair, pulling me closer even as I pressed her more firmly against the wall. The height difference meant I had to bend to kiss her properly, and she had to stretch up, and somehow, that imbalance felt perfect.
A larger jar rattled behind her as my hand slid beneath her tunic, finding warm skin. She shivered, breaking the kiss to gasp my name.
