Page 53 of Cat and Mouse

Why the hell can't I get him out of my head?

I climb into my car, slam the door shut, and lean my forehead against the steering wheel. Leonardo. His name flashes in my mind, and it's like a punch to the gut. Fuck.

I shouldn't be thinking about him, not like this, not with the job I have to do. But I can still feel his hands on my skin, the way he took me, the roughness, the hunger. My body aches from the way he used me, every muscle screaming in soreness. But… even thinking about it has me wet again.

Damn it, Elizabeth.

I slam my fist on the steering wheel, angry at myself for being this weak, for letting myself get so fucking entangled with him. I wasn't supposed to fall this deep. This was supposed to be a job. Just a job. Gather intel, take down the bastards, and walk away.

But here I am, soaked just thinking about how he fucked me.

I drive home in silence as I try to focus on anything but him. But he's there, in every corner of my mind, refusing to leave—the way he looked at me like I was his, the way he fucked me like I belonged to him.

I hate it. I hate how much I want him.

When I finally get home, I'm more confused than ever. I throw my keys on the counter, peel off my dress, and step into the shower. The hot water scalds my skin, but it doesn't wash away the mess of thoughts swirling in my head. I can still feel him, the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin. It's like I'm branded by him, and no matter how much I scrub, I can't erase it.

"What is it about you, Leonardo?" I mutter under my breath, pressing my palms against the shower wall, water streaming down my back. "What the fuck have you done to me?"

The worst part? I'm not even sure I want to get rid of it. I know I should. I know I should walk away from him, from this whole damn mess. But I can't. I'm too far gone.

I dry off, wrap myself in a towel, and crawl into bed, my mind still buzzing. The sheets are cool against my skin, but they do nothing to calm the fire burning inside me. I roll over, pulling the blankets up to my chin, staring at the ceiling.

I can't stop thinking about him.

His eyes, the way they burned into mine like he could see straight through me, the way his hands gripped my waist, pulling me against him like I was his lifeline, the way he growled my name when he came.

I squeeze my thighs together, a low curse slipping from my lips. My body is betraying me.

This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to let him get under my skin like this. But here I am, soaked and aching for a man I shouldn't even trust, for a man who's on the opposite side of everything I stand for.

I flip onto my stomach, pressing my face into the pillow. "Fuck!" The muffled word is harsh against the soft fabric, but it does nothing to quiet the storm raging inside me.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? How do I separate what's real from what's just… this fucked up game we're playing?

I lie there for what feels like hours, my mind spinning, my body restless. Sleep doesn't come easy, not when I know I'll seehim again, not when I know the next time I do, I won't be able to stop myself from wanting him.

***

My phone rings.

I glance at the screen, and it's Harris. It's also 4 a.m.

What the hell could he want at this hour?

I sit up, rubbing the back of my neck, and swipe to answer.

"Captain Harris?"

"Open the door," he says, voice rough, like he's been through hell and back.

I freeze. "What?"

"Now, Kane. Open the door."

Without another word, I throw the blankets off and pad barefoot across the floor, heart racing, mind blank. I reach the door and open it slowly. Harris is standing there, looking like he's aged ten years in the last ten minutes. His face is pale, eyes dark with something I can't quite place. Dread? Guilt? It's bad—whatever this is, it's bad.

"What happened?" I ask, barely able to get the words out.

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