Chapter 2
Kara
I told myself I was staying for the view.
That was the lie I picked first. It was clean, elegant, and easy to swallow, the kind of lie ARCHEON would approve of.
It kept the mission at the forefront of my mind and my pulse under control, but it was hard to think about anything else with Roman Markov standing half a room away, loosening his collar and rolling up his sleeves, never taking his eyes off me.
Because fuck me.
He crossed to a small console table and pressed his finger to the touch screen built into the glass. A low hum filled the space, followed by the quiet crackle of vinyl. Then jazz music.
Ella Fitzgerald, if I wasn’t mistaken.
He poured another two fingers of scotch into my glass and handed it back to me. “You’re quiet now,” he said.
“Just observing you.”
“And what do you see?”
I took the glass, letting my fingers graze his and my eyes meet his. “A man who likes control just as much as I do,” I answered.
He smiled, but it wasn’t the smooth one from before. It was darker and my heart skipped a beat in my chest. “You’re not wrong.”
He moved closer, close enough that the faint heat of his body brushed my skin through the thin lace of my dress.
I didn’t step back.
“Control is overrated sometimes,” I said, my voice lower than I meant it to be.
“Only if you’re afraid of losing it,” he countered.
I laughed softly, because that was exactly the sort of thing men like him said when they thought they were winning. “And are you afraid?” I asked.
He set his glass down, eyes never leaving mine. “No. I’m curious.”
His hand came up, fingertips grazing my upper arm, light as static. He didn’t push. Just tested the space between us, waiting for me to flinch.
I didn’t.
He took that as permission.
His hand slid smoothly around my waist, the cautious drag of skin against lace. My breath caught despite myself. He was careful. The way he touched me wasn’t just lust, it was simply that he was in command of the situation: practiced, confident, and patient.
I swallowed heavily and lifted my chin.
He pulled me closer until my glass brushed his chest. I could feel his chest rising and falling through the crisp white of his shirt, steady and unhurried.
His palm rested on the small of my back, low enough to make my skin prickle, high enough to pretend it was innocent. A masterclass in seductive suggestion.
“This doesn’t seem very complicated,” I murmured, trying to sound amused even as the room tilted slightly around him.
He smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You think I’m simple?”
“I think you want to be seen that way.”
“Maybe I want to see what happens when you stop pretending that you’re the one in control.”
My pulse stuttered. For a man who’d spent the entire night indulging my wit, he was suddenly the one setting the rules.
“That’s quite an assumption,” I retorted, stepping back just enough to force him to move with me or lose contact. He followed.
Of course he did.
He traced a line down my spine with his fingertip. It wasn’t overtly sexual. It was worse. It was curious. Like he was testing a theory he already knew the answer to.
“You’re trembling,” he spoke softly.
I gulped, the sound too loud in the room. “I’m not.”
He tilted his head, blue eyes catching the dim light. “Then why are you holding your breath?”
I hadn’t realized I was. I quickly exhaled through my nose. “Occupational hazard,” I said, forcing a smile.
“Of what?”
I hesitated, hating how my body betrayed me, my heart beating too fast, mouth too dry. The part of me that belonged to ARCHEON screamed for distance. This was fieldwork. Data collection. He was just an assignment, not a man I could have any aspirations with.
But Roman looked at me like he already knew I was lying.
I set my drink down beside his, the ice clinking softly against crystal. “Of getting too close,” I said finally.
“And yet, here you are.”
He brushed a thumb under my chin, lifting my gaze until the rest of the room disappeared. He didn’t kiss me yet. He just stood there, the weight of his stare heavy enough to make me forget what I was supposed to say next.
I told myself it was all part of the game. That I was only letting him pull me closer because proximity made people talk.
Because ARCHEON wanted results.
That was the truth. This mission demanded intimacy. Everything else—the way my stomach flipped when his breath brushed my skin, the way his accent curled around my name—was all just noise.
And I was very, very good at ignoring noise.
Or, at least, I was before him.
He leaned closer, his mouth a whisper from mine. “Still think I’m pretending?”
“I think we both are,” I replied, my voice coming out quieter than I intended.
His smile deepened, his thumb tracing the edge of my lower lip. “Maybe. But one of us is better at it.”
“Then I guess we’ll find out who.”
“Indeed,” he murmured.
Still no kiss. Instead, he reached behind me and switched the lights to low, until the room was nothing but the shimmer of the city bleeding through glass and the hush of that old jazz song looping quietly through the room with us.
“This is the part,” he said, his voice rougher now, “where you decide how much truth you can handle.”
I smiled the kind of smile that hid more than it revealed. “You should know that I don’t scare easily.”
“Good.”
He held out his hand again. “Then dance with me, Kara-with-a-K.”
And I did.
Not because I wanted to.
Not because of the soft way his thumb stroked the small of my back or how the rhythm of the song matched the beat of my heart.
Not because my body was already betraying me in a dozen small ways.
I did it because it was part of the job.
Because ARCHEON needed me to get close.
Because sometimes, the only way to learn a man’s secrets was to let him believe he’d already learned yours.
“Relax,” he dictated, his voice soft enough that it felt like it wanted to make a home inside my skin.
“I am relaxed.”
He smiled against my temple. “No, you’re waiting to run.”
I forced a laugh that sounded too light. “You think too much.”
“It’s my occupational hazard,” he returned. “I learned to read people long before I learned to trust them.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“Efficient,” he corrected. Then quieter, “You understand efficiency, don’t you?”
My throat tightened. He didn’t know how close he was.
I dropped my gaze to the open collar of his shirt, to the smooth column of his throat. A pulse beat there, slow and strong. My fingers twitched with the urge to trace it, to see if his heartbeat would quicken the way mine had.
Don’t.
Don’t blur the line, Kara.
ARCHEON’s voice whispered like static in the back of my mind, all clipped consonants and discipline. Never let emotional entanglement compromise operational integrity. It was practically tattooed behind my eyelids.
Roman’s thumb drew small circles against my spine, each one erasing another inch of training.
“You’re somewhere else,” he said quietly.
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how you like to win.”
He chuckled softly. “And you don’t?”
“I prefer knowing the odds.”
“Then what are they tonight?”
“Terrible.” I grinned up at him.
He laughed, a genuine sound that vibrated through my ribs. “At least you’re honest.”
The silence stretched between us, taut as wire. Outside, lightning flared faintly over the gulf, and for a moment the reflection of it lit the room, the two of us caught mid-motion, bodies too close, eyes locked together.
His fingers brushed my jaw, coaxing my face upward until I had no choice but to meet his eyes. The city’s light fractured there, twin shards of blue and silver. He looked at me like he could see through every lie I’d ever told and a flare of electricity spun right through me.
“What is it you want from me, Kara?”
The question hit like a blade. It wasn’t what he said, it was how. Quiet. Certain. As if he already suspected there was more beneath the surface.
“Does it matter?” I demurred.
“It does if it’s real.”
“Maybe nothing about me is.”
He smiled faintly. “Then I’ll enjoy finding out what is and what isn’t.”
His mouth brushed my cheek, not a kiss, just a test, a feather-light promise of one.
My skin burned anyway. The breath caught in my throat wasn’t part of the act; it was self-betrayal, pure and simple.
My hand found his shoulder for balance, and he took that as invitation, sliding his palm from my back to the curve of my hip.
The movement was slow enough to give me time to stop him if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
Control slipped through my fingers like water.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was meant to steer him, guide the conversation, keep him curious enough to talk. Instead, I was caught between the press of his hand and the seductive rhythm of his breath.
He leaned in, lips near my ear. “You’re shaking again.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted.
“No,” he retorted. “You’re lying.”
The words ghosted over my skin, and a part of me cracked open—a quiet, electric thing. He wasn’t wrong, and that made it worse.
I closed my eyes for a heartbeat too long. When I opened them, the room seemed smaller, the city farther away. He looked down at me like he’d already figured out which of us had just lost the game.
“Still think this is just a dance?” he asked.
“It is only a dance,” I lied.
“Then why are you holding on so tight?”
I glanced at my hands. They were fisted in the fabric of his shirt. I released him quickly, stepping back, but he followed, erasing the space again. I hit the edge of the piano, the cool lacquer pressing against my backside. His hand lifted, palm open, not touching—just waiting.
He was giving me a choice.
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
I should have walked away. I should have remembered why I was here, who had sent me, what depended on this. Instead, I tilted my chin, a challenge disguised as permission.
Roman’s smile was gradual and confident. He moved closer until his breath mingled with my own. His hand rose to the side of my neck, thumb brushing the frantic beat there. He didn’t kiss me. He just looked at me, and somehow that was worse.
Because in that knowing gaze, I saw every rule I was about to break.