Page 99 of Auctioned Innocence
With their overwatch eliminated, the remaining attackers become more cautious, less coordinated. I can feel the momentum shifting.
Sofia and I fire simultaneously at the last two figures trying to breach through the front door. They both go down hard, their weapons skittering across the blood-slicked floor.
Then, suddenly, silence.
I count heartbeats, listening for any sign of movement. Nothing but the crackle of flames where the breaching charge hit the wall, the ringing in my ears, and the sound of our own ragged breathing.
I count heartbeats, listening for any sign of movement. Nothing but the crackle of flames where the breaching charge hit the wall and the ringing in my ears.
“Clear,” Sofia calls softly from her position.
“Clear,” I confirm, but I keep my weapon raised as I move to check the bodies. Professional gear, no identification. Exactly what I expected.
I turn to find Sofia watching me, her chest heaving. There’s a small cut on her cheek where debris caught her, blood trickling down to her jaw. Her eyes are bright, fierce, alive. Beautiful and deadly in ways that steal my breath.
“You hurt?” I ask, moving toward her, my own breathing still uneven.
“I’m fine.” Her voice is steady despite everything we just survived, despite the bodies scattered around us. “You?”
“Never better.” I reach out, cupping her face to examine the cut. My thumb traces just below the wound, and I feel her sharp intake of breath. The touch is meant to be clinical, checking for injury.
It isn’t.
The moment my skin meets hers, everything changes. The relief of survival, the way she’s looking at me with those dark eyes—it all crashes together into something I can’t resist.
“Dante…” My name is barely a breath on her lips, but I hear everything she’s not saying.
The want.
The need.
The acknowledgment that we almost died, that life is too short for the games we’ve been playing.
I should step back.
Should check the perimeter for more threats, start planning our next move.
We’re standing in a cabin full of corpses, and all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss her.
I find myself leaning closer, drawn in by the fire in her eyes, the slight part of her lips, the way her free hand reaches up to fist in my blood-stained shirt.
“We should…” But I can’t remember what we should do. Not with her looking at me like that. Like she wants me just as much as I want her.
“Should what?” She tilts her face up, challenging me even now.
Always challenging me.
Her other hand drops her weapon to the floor with a soft thud, then it comes up to rest against my chest, right over my heart.
My self-control breaks away.
I back her against the wall, one hand tangling in her hair as the other pulls her flush against me.
Her sharp intake of breath turns into a soft sound that nearly destroys what’s left of my restraint.
She’s all heat and curves pressed against me, and, when her arms wind around my neck, I forget how to breathe.
This is what I’ve been craving since that night in the motel—her body against mine, her hands in my hair, the way she fits perfectly in my arms like she was made for me.
