Page 11 of The Assassin's Captive
"You have the look of someone who's seen violence. Who's been part of it."
"And what look is that?"
"The way you move. The way you watch people. The way you seem to take note of every exit in a room." She leans forward. "I've spent years studying criminals. I know what violence looks like."
For a moment, I consider telling her the truth. About my father, about Emilio, about the man I became in the service of the Costa family. But the moment passes, and I fall back on deflection.
"You have an active imagination," I say.
"Do I?"
Instead of answering, I reach up and touch her face, my fingers tracing the line of her jaw. She doesn't pull away, doesn't flinch. Instead, she leans into the touch, her eyes closing briefly.
"You're not going to answer me, are you?" she whispers.
"Not tonight."
"When?"
"When you're ready to hear the answer."
She opens her eyes, and in them I see curiosity warring with desire. The prosecutor in her wants to push, to demand answers. But the woman wants something else entirely.
I lean in slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. She doesn't move, doesn't speak, just watches me with those dark eyes until our lips meet.
The kiss is gentle at first, testing, exploring. But when she responds, when her hand comes up to touch the back of my neck, it deepens. There's heat in it, hunger, and something that feels dangerously close to need.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her lipstick is smudged, her hair mussed, and she looks more beautiful than I've ever seen her.
"This is complicated," she says.
"The best things usually are."
She laughs, a sound that's part amusement, part nervousness. "I should go home."
"Should you?"
"I should. But I don't want to."
"Then stay."
She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see her making the decision. When she leans in to kiss me again, I know she's chosen to stay. At least for now.
What happens next will change everything between us. But in this moment, with her mouth soft against mine and her hands tangled in my hair, I'm not thinking about assignments or consequences.
I'm thinking about how dangerous it is to want something you're not supposed to have.
And how impossible it is to stop.
6
SERENA
The kiss deepens, and I don't pull away. I don't second-guess it either. Everything about tonight—the wine, the conversation, the dim glow of his apartment—pushes me toward yes. The rational part of my brain, the part that analyzes evidence and weighs consequences, has gone quiet.
Lorenzo's hands frame my face, thumbs brushing along my cheekbones. I taste the wine on his lips, feel the heat radiating from his body as he pulls me closer. The couch beneath us creaks as he shifts, his mouth moving against mine with a hunger that makes my pulse quicken.
"Bedroom," he murmurs against my lips, and I nod before I can think better of it.
