Page 41 of Fastest Kill

"Say thank you," he said softly.

"For what?" Her voice came out lower than she intended, full of that same humming current. Such a bad idea.

"For saving your ass," he insisted. "Say 'Thank you, Dario, for saving my perfect ass.'"

Her chin went up. "I don't say thank you for things I could have done myself."

"You're right." He hummed in annoyance. "You don't ever say thank you for anything I do for you, like getting you out of jail. Or making you dinner multiple times. Or not telling your parents that you leave me bullet casings with love hearts carved into them."

They were three paces apart now. Two. She should step back. Turn away, break the line of sight, go into the bedroom, shut the door, lock it.

She swallowed. "You're an idiot," she said.

"True." His mouth tipped up, faint and lopsided. "But I'm an idiot who got you and your holy trinket out of there in one piece."

"Do you mean the reliquary or are we still talking about my ass?"

"Both."

Frederica should have laughed. That was the usual rhythm: barb, retort, smirk, retreat. Instead, she heard herself say, "You think that doing your job and creating a distraction tonight earns you something?"

"I would have settled for a thank you," he said slowly. "But now I want to know what's on the table?"

She reached over, looped a finger around his belt buckle, and yanked.

He came forward with a low, surprised sound. His chest bumped hers, solid heat through the thin fabric of the dress and his open shirt.

"What's on the table is that I fuck your brains out," she said, giving him her sniper's stare. "But don't for a second think that tonight is anything more than a hook-up. I don't do feelings. I need to burn off some of this post-job adrenaline, and I can do it with you, or I can find someone else if you can't handle being a one-time thing."

"Cute that you think it's going to be me that can't handle it being a one-off," he replied and pinched her chin gently. "I only have one question. Gentle or rough?"

"Rough," she said, grabbed him by his shirt, and yanked him down to her mouth. He made a startled sound against her lips that turned into a groan.

He tasted like adrenaline and the dregs of the whiskey he had drunk earlier, sweet and bitter and familiar. She bit his lower lip hard because she wanted to see if he'd flinch. If she was going to make this mistake, it would be on her terms, with eyes open, armor on, and teeth showing.

He didn't flinch. His hand slid to the curve of her jaw, thumb pressing just under her ear, angled her head, opened her mouth with his, and went all in.

He didn't kiss like a charming distraction. He kissed like he actually cared what she was feeling. It should have annoyed her, but instead it made her hotter and wetter. His tongue stroked against hers, and she shivered, furious at her own body for betraying her.

"Turn around," he murmured against her mouth.

She pulled back, breathing harder now, her lipstick smeared across both of them again. "Giving orders, Colleoni?"

"Trying to," he said, and there was that grin again, wrecked at the edges, making it even more perfect. "You don't listen very well."

"Fuck you." Frederica turned, presenting him with the zipper at the back of the dress.

The room felt smaller with her back to him. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, gathering her hair and lifting it away. He did it infuriatingly gently. As if she were something that could break.

"Don't do that," she said before she could stop herself.

"Don't what?" His breath was warm against the exposed skin of her neck.

"Be careful with me."

He laughed low and deep. "You want me to work on being more of an asshole?"

"It's not that."