Page 95 of In Shadows We Dance

“I told you. You don’t get to hide from me.” I watch as she pulls it over her head, breasts rising with every movement. It falls down her body, highlighting every curve she usually keeps hidden. She looks breathtaking, the blue a stark contrast against her flushed skin and the bites and bruises I’ve left on it.

“Spin.”

She obeys, her movements hesitant, uncertain. I take her in, every detail, every tremor, the memory of her body still fresh in my mind.

“Beautiful.” My hands find her waist so I can pull her back against me.

“Dance with me. It’s time to earn those truths.”

CHAPTER 49

Shattered Reflections

ILEANA

It terrifiesme how easily he reads me, how effortlessly he strips me bare until there’s nothing left but his will and my need. The way he touches me, the things he makes me feel, the intensity of it all. It’s like he’s unraveling me piece by piece. Shame, fear, and desire twist together inside me, leaving me breathless. I want to fight it. I want to fall headlong into it.

He reaches into his pocket and presses play on his cell phone. Music fills the room—dark, haunting, wrapping around us like a spell. Every inch of my body tenses, resisting him, but his hands are firm on my waist, guiding me into motion.

“Relax,” he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. “You know how to move. Let go.”

I hesitate, the instinct to fight still there, regardless of everything else. He pulls me closer, his hands sliding over my hips, his fingers pressing in just enough to remind me who’s in control.

“I have something else for you.” He lifts one hand. There’s a folded piece of paper between two of his fingers. “Take it.”

I do as he says, unfolding it. My breath catches.

Alias established for James Charleston. Disappearance linked to incident.

The words make no sense, but he doesn’t give me a chance to ask.

“Your father had another name once,” he says, his voice almost lost in the music. “Another life. Agent Charleston, deep undercover in the Rossi family.”

He spins me, his hands never leaving my body, his touch possessive, commanding.

“Dance, pretty Ballerina.” His hand smoothes up my back, each tremor of mine echoing through his touch. “Show me howdesperately you want to know the truth. Show me how much you want to know about the private plane that brought three people here. About the FBI operation that made careers and destroyed empires. About why Daddy’s so afraid of cameras and credit cards.”

My movements are awkward, stiff, caught between flight and need, confusion and desire. He guides me through each step, his hands never leaving me, his touch a constant reminder of who I belong to now.

But there’s a spark of rebellion in me, one he’s brought to life. And for one moment, I hate how easily he gets under my skin.

“Maybe it’s you who needs to prove something to me.”

His eyes flash, that wicked grin that heats my skin curling his lips. “Careful, Ileana.”

But I don’t stop. My movements grow smoother, until I’m not just following him, I’m matching him.Testinghim. His hands tighten on my hips, and then he’s kissing me, his lips stealing my breath. A sound escapes my throat, but instead of pulling away, I lean into it, meeting him halfway. When his hands move to guide me again, I push back, twisting in his hold just enough to force him to adjust to me.

“Every part of you is mine.” He pulls me back against his chest.

The music swells, the haunting melody filling the room as I let my body take over, surrendering to the dance, but not to him. Not entirely. His hands roam over me, claiming every inch of me. And I don’t stop him. I don’t pull away. I arch under his touch like a cat being petted.

My fingers find their way to his shirt, curling into the fabric, but instead of clutching it for support, I use it to pull him closer. Rising up onto my toes, my teeth graze his bottom lip, surprising us both.

“You’re playing with fire.” He breathes the words against my lips.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” I whisper back.

He spins me again, pulling me back so quickly that my breath catches. His forehead presses to mine, and for a moment, the intensity between us is almost too much. But I don’t break eye contact. I don’t look away.

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