Chapter 5
The fluorescent lights of my editing studio flicker to life, casting an unflattering glow across my carefully arranged workspace. Remy’s presence behind me feels like a physical weight against my spine.
“This is where you’ve been working?” His voice carries that familiar note of judgment.
“Not all of us need marble floors and crystal chandeliers.” I move to my desk, maintaining the casual demeanor I’ve practiced. My fingers brush against the worn edge of my desk, an anchor point as I turn to face him.
Remy stands in the doorway, his tailored suit a stark contrast to the utilitarian space. His dark eyes scan every corner, every shadow.
“No security cameras.” It’s not a question.
“The building has them in the halls.” I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “Besides, who’d want to steal outdated editing equipment?”
He moves further into the room, each step deliberate. “Someone who’s more interested in what’s being edited than the equipment itself.”
My heart rate picks up, but I keep my voice steady. “Paranoid much?”
“Realistic.” He pauses at my workstation, studying the three monitors arranged in a semicircle. “Ground floor location. Single entry point. Exposed windows.” His jaw tightens. “You might as well paint a target on your back.”
“I like natural light.”
“You like being reckless.” He turns, fixing me with that penetrating stare that used to make my knees weak. Still does, if I’m honest with myself. “Or perhaps that’s the point?”
I cross my arms, leaning against the desk. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re smart enough to know better than this setup.” He gestures to the space. “Which means either you’re trying to appear vulnerable…” His eyes narrow. “Or you’re baiting someone.”
The accusation hangs in the air between us. I force a laugh, though it sounds hollow even to my ears. “Not everyone lives in a fortress, Remy. Some of us just work for a living.”
“Work that’s gotten your apartment trashed and put you under my protection.” He steps closer, close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne. “So forgive me if I question your choice of workspace.”
My fingers curl against the edge of the desk. “Are we done with the security audit? Because I actually have work to do.”
“By all means.” He doesn’t move back. “Show me what’s so important it’s worth risking your life for.”
The tension crackles between us, thick enough to choke on.
I move toward my desk with practiced ease, each step measured despite my thundering pulse. The familiar mess of papers, sticky notes, and equipment provides cover for what I’m really after—the innocuous floral notepad where I’d hidden Mutini’s USB drive.
Remy blocks my path, his broad shoulders and crisp suit filling the narrow space between desks. I pause, calculating. To reach the notepad, I’ll need to brush past him.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, sliding sideways. His cologne hits me—sandalwood and warm skin. The same scent that used to linger on my skin eight years ago when I left that hotel room. I push the memory away, focusing on keeping my movements fluid as I gather random items from my desk.
“What exactly are you looking for?” His voice carries that dangerous edge I remember too well.
“Just some notes.” I rifle through papers, my fingers finding the notepad. “Not all of us keep everything digitally organized.”
He shifts closer, heat radiating from his body. “Interesting filing system.”
My hands want to shake as I slip the notepad into my bag, but I force them steady. Inside of the notebook, Roberto had probably left a USB key. “Some of us work in organized chaos.”
“Chaos.” He catches my wrist as I reach for another stack of papers. His touch sends electricity through my skin. “That’s one word for it.”
I meet his gaze, fighting to keep my expression neutral. “Problem?”
His thumb brushes my pulse point. “You’re being careful, Eve. Too careful.”
“Paranoid much?” I try to pull away, but his grip tightens fractionally.
“You forget.” His eyes bore into mine. “I know what people look like when they’re hiding something.”
My heart skips. He’s too close, reading too much. I need distance, but moving would only confirm his suspicions.
“You’re very invested in my filing system.” I keep my tone light, but my skin burns where his fingers circle my wrist. “Most people would take the hint and back off.”
“Most people aren’t responsible for keeping you alive. And most people can’t tell when you’re lying.”
I arch an eyebrow, ignoring how his touch sends sparks through my body. “Lying? About paperwork?”
“About everything.” He steps closer, forcing me back against the desk. “Your calm demeanor. Your casual dismissal of danger. This whole performance.”
“Performance?” I meet his gaze, refusing to be intimidated by his proximity. “I didn’t realize existing in my own workspace required an audience review.”
His free hand comes to rest on the desk beside my hip, caging me in. “Drop the act, Eve. You’re good, but not that good.”
“If you’re done with the interrogation—” I try to slide away, but he shifts, blocking my escape.
“We’re just getting started.” His voice drops lower, sending a shiver down my spine. “Tell me what you’re really looking for.”
I tilt my chin up, our faces inches apart. “I already told you. Notes.”
“Notes.” He leans closer, his breath warm against my cheek. “Important enough to risk coming back here?”
My heart pounds against my ribs. He’s too close, reading too much in my reactions. I force a smile. “Some of us actually need to work for a living.”
“Work.” His eyes drop to my lips before meeting mine again. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“What would you call it?”
His grip on my wrist loosens, but his fingers trail up my arm, leaving fire in their wake. “I’d call it a dangerous game.”
“Everything’s a game to you, isn’t it?” I press my palms against the desk behind me, needing stability.
“Only when my opponent is worth playing with.” His mouth hovers near my ear. “And you, Eve, are definitely worth playing with.”
The heat of his body seeps through my clothes, making it hard to think. “I’m not one of your puzzles to solve.”
“No.” His hand slides to my waist, firm and possessive. “You’re much more interesting than that.”
I should push him away. Should maintain distance. Instead, I find myself swaying closer, drawn into his orbit like a moth to a flame. “Interesting enough to make you forget why we’re here?”
“I never forget anything about you.” His fingers flex against my hip. “Including how good you are at deflection.”
His fingers dig into my hip, and my breath catches. The desk presses against my back, but all I can focus on is the heat of his body, the intensity in his dark eyes. Every survival instinct screams at me to pull away, to maintain distance, but my muscles won’t cooperate.
“Last chance to tell me what you’re hiding.” His voice drops lower, rougher.
I wet my lips, watching his gaze track the movement. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Liar.” The word comes out as a growl.
My pulse races. Whether it’s from fear or anticipation, I can’t tell anymore. “Prove it.”
His hand slides up my back, and suddenly, there’s no space between us. The expensive fabric of his suit brushes against me, and I can feel the tension in every muscle of his body.
“I don’t need to prove anything.” His breath fans across my lips. “Your body betrays you every time.”
“Does it?” I arch against him slightly, turning the tables. “Or are you seeing what you want to see?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Always pushing, aren’t you?”
“Always trying to control everything, aren’t you?”
His fingers thread through my hair, tightening just enough to tilt my head back. “Someone has to.”
The warning bells in my head fade under a wave of heat. This is dangerous—more dangerous than the threats lurking outside. But as his mouth hovers over mine, I can’t remember why I should care.
“Control this,” I whisper and close the distance between us.
His lips crash into mine, hungry and demanding. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer even as my mind screams about one piece of crucial evidence: the USB drive in my bag. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I moan, giving as good as I get.
This isn’t submission—it’s a battle. Each stroke of his tongue, each bite of his teeth is matched with equal fervor. I drag my nails down his chest, feeling him shudder. His grip tightens in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss.
The desk digs into my back as he presses closer, but the discomfort only adds to the fire burning through my veins. I hook my leg around his hip, using the leverage to grind against him. He groans into my mouth, his free hand sliding down to grip my thigh.
The kiss turns brutal, eight years of tension exploding between us. I bite his lower lip, and his hips buck against mine. The power struggle continues—each touch, each movement, a battle for dominance neither of us will concede.
The world narrows to the feel of Remy’s lips against mine, his tongue dominating every inch of my mouth. I drink him in, desperate for this addictive taste I’ve tried so hard to forget.
His grip tightens in my hair, sending electric shocks down my spine. I respond in kind, raking my nails across his scalp, pulling him impossibly closer. The parallels aren’t lost on me—the fierceness, the need to claim, to mark… it’s a dance we’ve always danced, whether we acknowledged it or not.
The kiss turns feral, teeth and tongues clashing in a battle neither of us intends to lose. My hands roam across the muscular planes of his back, relearning the contours I’ve spent eight years trying to erase from my mind. He matches me stroke for stroke, each movement driving us higher, faster.
My thigh presses against the growing bulge in his pants, and he curses into my mouth, grinding his hips in frustration that we’re still clothed, still standing. I mirror his motion, needing the friction even as it sends sparks of pleasure-pain through my core.