THE WOMAN HE HIRED

13

Dominic’s hands slid from her back to her hips, firm, deliberate, drawing her closer like distance itself offended him. Ramsi’s breath caught, fingers digging into his shoulders, careful of the wound but not careful enough to hide how much she wanted this.

He kissed her again, harder, teeth grazing just enough to make her inhale sharply.

“Careful,” she murmured, more warning than plea.

His mouth traced along her jaw, down the line of her throat, lingering where her pulse raced. “You didn’t tell me to be.”

Her control frayed—not shattered, but strained. She tilted her head back despite herself, giving him access she didn’t give easily. His touch followed, unhurried, possessive in a way that made heat coil low in her spine.

Ramsi’s hands slid into his hair, tugging just enough to pull him back to her mouth. Their kisses turned breathless, messy, charged with adrenaline and restraint snapping all at once.

When his teeth marked her skin—subtle, deliberate—she gasped, fingers tightening instinctively, grounding herself in him.

“Dominic—”

He stilled for a fraction of a second, forehead resting against hers, breath uneven. “Tell me if I cross a line.”

Her answer was immediate. She kissed him again, slower this time, deeper—permission in every movement.

The kiss deepened, pulling them closer, each movement charged with everything they hadn’t allowed themselves to say. Dominic’s hands traced the line of her back, steadying her as though holding her in place made the world stop. Ramsi’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and for a long moment, nothing else existed.

They moved together instinctively, bodies pressed, sharing the intensity of desire that had been simmering since Chicago began unraveling around them. Every brush, every press of skin, every heartbeat between them felt magnified, a storm contained in the space of a single room.

Breath mingled, pulses racing, and the tension that had built over days of danger, adrenaline, and unspoken attraction finally released. It was a release that left them trembling, anchored in each other, aware of the warmth, closeness, and trust in the simplest of touches.

Dominic’s hands left faint marks across her shoulders and collarbone—proof of the heat they shared, a silent reminder of the passion simmering just beneath their control. Ramsi leaned against him, exhaling slowly, letting herself rest for the first time in hours, letting the world fade away.

For a moment, the city outside didn’t exist. Hall’s hunt, the danger, the chaos—it could wait. All that mattered was that they were together, bodies and hearts aligned, finding a quiet intensity in each other that neither had dared indulge before.

Eventually, they pulled back slightly, foreheads resting together, eyes meeting in a charged, unspoken acknowledgment: this moment was theirs.

And though the world would intrude again soon, they had found something more powerful than strategy, more dangerous than any threat—connection, intensity, and mutual release that left them grounded, yet hungry for what came next.

The penthouse settled into a softer quiet, the kind that came after everything sharp had passed.

Ramsi remained close, her body still angled toward Dominic, one hand resting lightly against his chest as if confirming he was really there. The bandage at his shoulder was clean, secure—done. No urgency left in it now.

Dominic shifted just enough to pull her with him, not possessive, not rushed. She went willingly, settling against his side, her head resting beneath his jaw. His arm came around her slowly, careful of the wound, holding her like the world wasn’t pressing in for once.

Neither of them spoke.

The city lights spilled across the room, distant and muted, and Ramsi let herself breathe—really breathe—for the first time that night. Dominic pressed a kiss to her temple, unhurried, lingering. She tilted her face up and returned it, soft this time, exploratory in a different way than before.

His thumb traced idle patterns along her arm. Her fingers rested at his waist, grounding, familiar already.

“This,” he murmured quietly, more observation than statement.

She nodded slightly. “This.”

They shared another kiss—slow, unguarded—then another, the kind that lingered because there was no reason to rush it away. Ramsi’s forehead rested against his collarbone, her breath warm against his skin.

For once, there was no plan unfolding in her head. No exits counted. No angles measured.

Just the quiet weight of him.

The warmth.

The connection.

Dominic’s hand slid up her back, stopping there, content to simply hold her. Ramsi closed her eyes, allowing herself the rare indulgence of stillness.

Whatever waited outside these walls could wait a few minutes longer.

Here, for now, there was only the aftermath—soft touches, shared warmth, and the understanding that something had shifted, not explosively, but deeply.

And neither of them pulled away.

Ramsi’s phone buzzed against the coffee table, the sudden vibration cutting through the quiet.

She glanced at the screen and sighed, already knowing.

“Sage,” she answered.

Sage’s voice came through immediately, loud and dramatic. “Are you almost back yet?”

Ramsi closed her eyes briefly. “Define ‘almost.’”

“In the sense that I am currently plotting at least six different ways to take out Enzo,” Sage said. “Non-lethal. Mostly. He’s annoying.”

In the background, Tate’s laughter carried easily. “For the record, I’m encouraging none of this—and all of it.”

Ramsi pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re plotting murder already?”

“Strategic hypotheticals,” Sage corrected. “He reorganized the snacks. Alphabetically.”

“That’s a crime,” Tate added cheerfully.

Ramsi shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her mouth. “We’re on our way down. Do not antagonize Enzo.”

“No promises,” Sage replied. “But hurry. Tate’s been laughing for five straight minutes and it’s unsettling.”

The call ended.

Ramsi looked up to find Dominic watching her, amusement softening his expression. “Sounds urgent.”

“She’s bored,” Ramsi said. “Which makes her dangerous.”

Dominic stood, rolling his shoulder carefully, then reached for his jacket. “Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

They moved together easily—unhurried but coordinated—collecting gear, straightening clothes, reassembling composure without fully shedding the closeness. Dominic adjusted his collar. Ramsi smoothed her jacket, then paused, tugging it just enough to sit right.

His gaze lingered on her for a second longer than necessary.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

She met his eyes, steady. “Yeah.”

They didn’t say more.

The elevator ride down was quiet, but not distant—shoulders brushing, presence unmistakable. When the doors opened, the noise and motion of the lower level came back into focus.

Sage immediately looked up from the screens. “There you are! Took you long enough.”

Her eyes flicked between them once—then twice.

“Oh,” she said slowly. “Interesting.”

Tate grinned, not even trying to hide it.

Ramsi walked past them, expression neutral. “Focus.”

Sage leaned back in her chair, smirk widening. “Oh, I am very focused.”

Enzo, standing off to the side, glanced up. “What did I miss?”

Sage pointed at him. “Nothing. Yet.”

Dominic took his place beside Ramsi, calm, composed—except for the faintest shift in how close he stood.

Outside, the city continued its restless hum.

Inside, the team reset—plans forming, tension sharpening again.

But something lingered beneath it all.

And everyone felt it.