"You ask too many questions," I say finally.
She inhales through her nostrils. "And you don't ask enough."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She stands. Moves toward my desk with the kind of deliberate grace that tells me she knows exactly what she's doing to me. Her hips sway slightly with each step, the denim of her jeans pulling tight across her thighs, and I have to grip the arms of my chair to keep from reaching for her.
"It means you've spent the last twenty-some-odd hours treating me like a witness in protection or like some intelligence asset." She stops in front of my desk, close enough that I can smell the soap from her shower mingling with something warmer underneath, something honeyed and musky that's purely her. "You know everything about my family. My investigation. My uncle's crimes. But you haven't asked me a single personal question since I got here."
"What would be the point?"
"The point would be getting to know the woman you paid millions of dollars for so you can dig into her wealth of knowledge and take down your enemy. I know how this life works."
I push back from the desk and stand, using my height to my advantage, letting her feel the full weight of my presence. Most people flinch when I do this. Step back. Cower.
She lifts her chin and holds her ground.
"What do you want me to ask?"
"I don't know." She shrugs, that sweater slipping further down her shoulder, revealing the strap of something black and lacy underneath that makes my mouth go dry. "What's my favorite color? What music I listen to. Whether I prefer sunrise or sunset. Normal human things." She waves a hand. "Or we could discuss the weather. I hear it's going to rain. See? Normal."
"I'm not normal. And neither are you."
"Maybe not. But we're stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, so maybe we should try."
The plan was controlled. Professional. Strategic. Give her twenty-four hours to settle in before we started dismantling her family.
The plan is falling apart. "Sunrise or sunset?"
Surprise flickers across her face, followed by a smile so genuine it actually hurts to look at.
"Sunset. The colors are better, and I've never been a morning person." She tilts her head, studying me with those sharp blue eyes. "What about you?"
"Sunrise. The world is quieter. Fewer people to deal with."
"That sounds about right."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don’t know your deepest, darkest secrets, Kon, But even I can tell you're not exactly a people person."
The way she says my name, casual and familiar like we've known each other for years instead of hours, does something to my composure I don't like. I round the desk, closing the distance between us until we're standing close enough that I can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat, and count the faint freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.
"I'm a very specific kind of people person," I say, my voice dropping low. "I deal with people who need dealing with. I handle problems. I eliminate threats."
"AKA you work best with dead people. Got it. And is that what I am? A problem to be handled, I mean?"
"You're something else entirely."
Her breath catches, her chest rising sharply beneath that loose sweater. Her pupils dilate, swallowing the blue until only a thin ring remains. The heat of her body reaches me through the scant inches between us, and her arousal mixes with the lingering scent of my soap on her skin. My cock throbs. My control frays at the edges.
"What am I, then?" The question comes out breathless, barely a whisper.
I don't answer with words.
My hand finds the back of her neck and I pull her to me, crushing my mouth against hers in a kiss that has nothing gentle about it. She gasps against my lips and I swallow the sound, tasting coffee and surprise and underneath it all, the sweetness I've been craving since the moment I first saw her on that auction stage.
She doesn't hesitate nor does she pull away. Her hands fist in the front of my shirt and she drags me closer, kissing me back with a ferocity that matches my own. Her tongue tangles with mine, hungry and demanding, and a groan rumbles up from somewhere deep in my chest.
