CHAPTER 8 THE FIRST HEAT #3
The back of her knees hit the edge, and they tumbled down in a tangle of limbs. His hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back to expose her throat. She arched against him, nails digging into his biceps.
“You want to fight?” His voice was a dark scrape against her ear. “Fine. But you don’t get to walk away after.”
Her breath came in ragged bursts. Outside, the distant wail of a siren cut through the silence, a reminder of the city beyond these walls—of the subpoena sitting on her desk, of the line she’d crossed when she stepped into his world.
Dario’s teeth grazed her collarbone, and she gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. The tension between them hadn’t released—it had just found a new shape.
Then the landline rang.
The shrill sound sliced through the moment like a blade. Dario stilled, his breath hot against her skin.
She could feel the shift in him—the way his body tensed, the way his grip on her hair loosened just slightly. Business. Always business.
He pulled back, eyes locked on hers. “Don’t move.”
The order hung between them, another line drawn.
The phone kept ringing.
The phone kept ringing. Dario didn’t move, his hand still tangled in Evelyn’s hair, his body rigid against hers. She could feel the shift in his breathing, the way his ribs expanded against her back—controlled, deliberate.
“You’re going to answer that,” she said, not a question.
His thumb brushed the nape of her neck, slow, considering. “Not yet.”
The sound cut off. Silence pooled between them, thick with the weight of whatever call he’d just ignored. Evelyn turned in his grip, forcing him to meet her eyes. His expression gave nothing away, but the way his fingers flexed against her skin told her enough.
“Who was it?”
“Business.”
She arched a brow. “The kind that gets people killed?”
A flicker of something dark crossed his face. “The kind that keeps them alive.”
She didn’t look away. The air between them crackled, charged with the unspoken—his secrets, her defiance, the dangerous game they’d been playing since the moment they met. His free hand came up, tracing the line of her jaw, and she leaned into the touch before she could stop herself.
“You’re trouble,” he murmured.
“You like trouble.”
His mouth curved, just slightly. “I like winning.”
She pressed closer, until there was no space left between them, until the heat of his body seared through her clothes. “Then take what you want.”
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then his grip tightened, pulling her flush against him, and his mouth crashed down on hers.
This wasn’t like before—no testing, no hesitation. His kiss was relentless, demanding, and she matched him, biting his lip hard enough to draw a low growl from his throat. His hands slid under her shirt, rough palms skimming her ribs, and she shivered at the contact.
“Tell me to stop,” he said against her mouth.
She laughed, breathless. “Fuck you.”
His teeth grazed her throat. “Later.”
He backed her toward the bed, his movements deliberate, unhurried. Every touch was a claim, every breath a challenge. When her knees hit the mattress, he pushed her down, following without breaking contact.
The weight of him pinned her, solid and unyielding, and for the first time since she’d walked into his world, she didn’t think about escape. Didn’t think about the danger, the lies, the bodies that might already be piling up because of whatever call he’d ignored.
All she thought about was the way his hands felt on her skin, the way his body moved against hers, the way he looked at her—like she was something worth ruining.
Their clothes came off in impatient tugs, fabric tearing where it resisted. He didn’t ask permission, and she didn’t give it. The first thrust stole her breath, left her gasping, nails digging into his shoulders. He watched her, eyes dark, mouth set in a hard line, as if memorizing every reaction.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
She did.
The connection between them deepened with every movement, every shared breath, every unspoken truth neither of them would voice. It wasn’t just physical—it was something sharper, something that cut deeper.
When she came, it was with his name on her lips and his fingers tangled in her hair. He followed a heartbeat later, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then his phone buzzed again, insistent, and the spell shattered.
Dario rolled off her, reaching for the device without a word. Evelyn watched as he scanned the screen, his expression going cold.
“Problem?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Just stood, pulling his pants on with quick, efficient motions.
She sat up, sheets pooling around her waist. “Dario.”
He paused at the door, glancing back at her. “Stay here.”
“Or what?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Or don’t.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the wreckage of whatever the hell they’d just done.
The phone lay discarded on the nightstand, screen still lit. She reached for it, thumb brushing the surface—and froze.
One new message, unread.
The deal’s off. They know.