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He stares back like he’s been watching me this whole time.

My body catches fire. My heart thuds against my chest. My sex pangs.

He’s endlessly patient as he holds my gaze.

It’s like he sees into my soul. Like he knows I’m thinking of how I’ll kill him (an OD would be the kindest way, but a knife in the back is most honest).

I need a better plan. One that appeals to how badly he wants to see through me.

I put aside thoughts of his death. Instead, I focus on how badly I want to taste his lips.

Because I do. And I miss him. And it hurts to admit that. And he’ll see that. The real feelings I don’t want to admit.

I think of how much I wish I could fall asleep in his arms, and I reach for my drink. “Is that for me?”

“Who else?” he asks.

My fingers brush his as I take it.

My body buzzes. It misses him. It has no qualms about any of this. As long as it gets to have him again, it’s happy to risk death.

His pupils dilate.

His eyes dip to my chest.

But he snaps back to detective mode quickly. Finds his poker face. Studies me as a subject. Noting the potential for weapons under my flared jeans and in my leather handbag. The lack of room for anything under my crop top.

The regret in my eyes.

It doesn’t soften him. It only makes him frown.

Okay, I can work with that. I can play the mercenary he sees me as.

“I need that invitation, Matteo, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get it.” My tone gets a little more intense. Like I’m ready to threaten his life or drop to my knees. “This is a win/win. Or have you made real progress towards arresting my boss in the last two years?”

He looks me in the eyes, deciding how much to give me. “Tell me something true.”

I think about how badly I want his hands on my skin. My cheeks flush. My lips part. My eyes fill with lust. “I still think about you all the time.”

He isn’t moved. “That’s not what I meant.”

I continue anyway, “you were the best I ever had.”

“Jamie.” His voice is a warning. Stop. Now. “I’m not here for sex.”

“The video you sent fooled me.” There’s frustration in my voice. So I go with it. I want him. I can’t stand how much I want him. Yes, that isn’t working, but it’s believable. “Let’s go to the bathroom. You can have me there.”

He shakes his head. “You’re okay with that? Our reunion sec in a bathroom?”

My sex clenches.

My heart thuds against my chest.

He’s thinking about it too. Picturing us together too. Falling asleep to the thought of him inside me too.

I stay on topic. “How about go right here on the bar,” I offer.

His lips curl into the world’s smallest smile. He wants to. Or he misses my wit. Or he’s outplaying me. I’m not sure.