Page 146 of In Shadows We Dance

Then his scent wraps around me—expensive cologne mixed with something darker. The kind of scent that sinks into your skin and stays there. A lot like the person who wears it. Memories come rushing back in a dizzying wave. The endless drive through the night, the pulse of the tires on the road, the desperate fatigue weighing down my bones. The motel felt like a mirage after days of hiding, of running. And the shower, that simple luxury of hot water and real soap had nearly made me weep.

And him. Always him.

His arm lies heavy over my waist, pinning me in place, his chest pressed against my back, burning through the layers of sleep that still cling to me. Every breath I take pulls his scent deeper into me. My muscles throb, soreness from the chase blending with something more. The weight of his arm, the heat of his skin against mine, the possessive curl of his fingers at my hip … it all ignites something buried beneath exhaustion and fear. An aching hunger that starts low and tightens with every beat of my heart.

I shift slightly, testing his hold. His arm tightens instantly, his fingers digging in, his warm breath against the back of my neck. His breathing changes. Becomes deeper, slower. He’s awake. My pulse jumps, awareness of the way his body is pressed againstmine, waking up every nerve ending.

"Be still." His voice is a growl, low and rough. There’s an edge to it that makes it clear he's been awake for a while, waiting. Listening to me breathe.Watching.

A thrill goes through me.

He was watching me.

The thought that he’s been lying there, his eyes on me while I slept, sets my veins on fire. I need to see him. I need to feel that gaze on me.

I shift again, twisting in his embrace until I’m facing him. The room is shrouded in shadows, only the soft gray of early dawn breaking through the curtains. His features are partially obscured, but his eyes catch the dim light, gleaming. There’s hunger there, dark, dangerous, ravenous.

"How long did I sleep?" My voice comes out breathless, my throat tight with the need to bridge the space between us.

"Six hours." His fingers trail along my jaw, deceptively soft. "You needed it. Three days of running would tire anyone out."

The lack of emotion in his tone snaps something inside me. Always so precise. So perfectly contained. Even when he claimed me, when he tore through every wall I’d built, every defense, he always held an iron grip on his own emotions.

But now ... now I’m not that frightened girl who spilled orange juice on him. I’m not just a ghost trying to fade away. I’m not even the desperate runaway seeking refuge.

I close the gap between us, and press my mouth to his.

His response is instant. His hand knots in my hair, the grip bruising, and his lips cover mine. He takes command of the kiss, dominating,consuming,but this time, I fight back.

This ismine.

My choice.

I need him to know that I’m not just submitting to him anymore. I want this. I wanthim.

My teeth catch his lower lip, biting hard enough to draw agrowl from deep within his chest. His fingers tighten, yanking my head back, but I push against his chest. He relents, rolling onto his back, pulling me over him.

I straddle his stomach, shuddering at the way he feels beneath me, bare skin against bare skin. I rock backward, loving the way his jaw tightens.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Ballerina." His voice is filled with the dark edge that once terrified me, but now it sends a different kind of shiver racing down my spine.

"No games." My hands press against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat under my palms. I rock against him again, slower this time, savoring the way his eyes darken. "No more manipulation. No more threats."

His grip on my hips tightens. There will be bruises there soon. His fingerprints. His ownership. "Careful what you wish for."

"Or what?" My fingers trace over his chest, following the lines of muscle. They tense beneath my touch. "What will you do, Wren? Will youpunishme? Make me dance to your tune? Document every surrender like you did in your ballroom?"

There’s a dangerous light in his eyes. His hold tightens, but he lies still.

Watching. Waiting.

“You've spent the past three days looking for me," I whisper, leaning closer, until my lips touch his ear. "Organizing distractions. Moving every piece into place." My voice drops, turns teasing. "I think it’s time you let me take the lead."

His laugh is dark. "You think you can handle me?"

I sit back, straighten my spine, and place my hands behind my back. The move lifts my breasts, spreads my legs wider. His gaze tracks over me, slow, devouring. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

"Do you know what I think ..." I trail my hands over my breasts, down my stomach, between my legs, watching the way his eyes narrow. "I think you like that I’m choosing this. That this isn’t part of your plan." I dip one finger inside myself, then pressit against his lips.

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