Page 8 of The Boss
Her hand twitched. Instinctively, she curled it into a fist and pressed it against her side, hiding. Hiding the glow. His eyes narrowed. Fury lit like afuse.
“Show me,” he ordered.
“There’s nothing to—”
He moved faster than thought. His hand clamped around her wrist, steel and heat. His other pried her fingers open, one by one, ignoring her resistance until her palm lay bare betweenthem.
The Dante Brand stared back. Lion’s head. Dark, alive, burning in tandem withhis.
Leif’s breath cut sharp. For one long second, his iron control trembled. He hauled her hand higher, forcing her to look. “Explain. Now.”
Her eyes flashed, but her voice stayed steady. “I can’t.”
“You will.” His grip tightened, dragging her closer. His mouth brushed the air near hers, not a kiss, but a weapon. “You don’t get to brand me like a Dante, vanish, then stand in front of me as though you belong here. You don’t get to lie.”
“I never lied,” she whispered. “I never promised you anything. And I’m not a Dante.”
He caged her against the desk, their locked hands burning between them. Her defiant claim that she wasn’t a Dante echoed in his head, making him hesitate for the briefest second. If she truly wasn’t, then why had the Brand chosen them when they weren’t Dantes? The thought cut across his fury, sharpand unsettling. He shoved it down, unwilling to let uncertainty weaken his stance, and his voice dropped. “You lied the moment you called yourself Mary.”
Her lips parted, breath unsteady. “Mariah. My name is Mariah.”
“Mariah what?” he pressed.
“Jones,” she said, mask slipping back into place.
He knew a lie when he heard one. Felt it in her pulse, in the tremor she tried to hide. “That’s what you want me to believe?”
With a sudden twist she freed her hand. The loss of contact seared more than the Brand itself. She smoothed her skirt, chin high. “Believe what you like. My references are clean. My record is spotless. I’m here because I want this job. Because you need someone who won’t crumble under pressure.”
Leif circled her slowly, apredator savoring the kill. “You expect me to believe you came here for a paycheck? For résumé padding?” His laugh was harsh. “Bullshit.”
Her gaze tracked him, unblinking. “Maybe I don’t run. Maybe some things you face head-on.”
The words landed with a force that unsettled him. Most people bent under his scrutiny, scrambled to appease or retreat. She didn’t. And for a heartbeat he wondered if that defiance, coupled with her denial of being a Dante, meant she truly belonged to some other legacy. Could the Brand cross bloodlines? Could destiny reach beyond the rules he’d always assumed? The thought scraped at him, dangerous, before he shoved it back down, unwilling to show so much as a flicker of doubt.
“Like what?” he asked, his tone sharp. Commanding.
Her lips curved faintly, but her gaze didn’t waver. “Like the truth of who I am. Like the power I carry that has nothing to do with being a Dante, because I’m not one. Like the kind of danger you can’t leash with rules or threats.”
The words struck. He heard the truth coiled in them, though not the whole truth. Never the whole truth. He stepped in again, overwhelming her space, close enough that her breath warmed his jaw. “You knew me at The Alabaster. You knew who I was when you came to my bed. And you knew what it meant to walk into this office today.”
She didn’t deny it. Her silence was an admission more damning than words.
His mouth curved, dangerous. He reached up, grabbed the back of her neck, and pulled her mouth to his. Not tender. Not sweet. Abrutal, punishing kiss that demanded and took. Her lips parted in shock, then anger, then heat, and when she kissed him back, it was with fire. Teeth clashed. Tongues warred. Her nails dug into his shoulders. For a moment, the office was nothing but heat and possession and the sound of ragged breathing.
He broke the kiss, his breath harsh against her lips. “This isn’t yours or mine—it’s the Brand binding us both. You can call yourself anything you want, deny being a Dante, deny me—but the mark doesn’t lie. It’s proof we’re connected. You react to it every time it burns, same as I do. Don’t forget that.”
The words weren’t just a taunt. They were a confession, one that unsettled him as much as it threatened her. Because if she wasn’t a Dante, then the Brand had broken every rule he thought he understood. And that meant whatever force had marked them didn’t care about bloodlines or family. It cared about the two of them. That truth carved through his certainty, dangerous and undeniable.
She glared, lips swollen, chest heaving. “You can’t own me.”
He smiled, dangerous and dark. “Watch me.”
Then he pressed her harder against the desk, his hand spanning her throat, not choking, just reminding. His thumb stroked the frantic beat of her pulse. He bent low, his voice a harsh whisper. “I will know why you’re here. I’ll strip every layer of your lies until there’s nothing left but truth. And when I have it, you’ll beg me for what comes next.”
Her breath hitched, but she met his stare. “You’ll break yourself before you break me.”
That defiance only sharpened his hunger. He released her throat slowly, then smoothed a strand of hair back behind her ear with a touch that contradicted the violence of the moment. “You think survival makes you strong. You’re wrong. Strength is choosing to stay when every impulse screams to run.”
