The room still smelled like heat and skin.
Nina sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers curled into the sheets, her pulse loud in her ears. Dante stood a few steps away, jacket discarded, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show skin she had already memorized without touching again.
Neither of them spoke.
They didn’t need to.
“You’re thinking too much,” Dante finally said, his voice lower than before.
Nina let out a shaky breath. “You don’t get to tell me what I’m thinking.”
A slow smile tugged at his mouth. Dangerous. Knowing.
“I do,” he replied. “Your body gives you away.”
She looked up at him sharply. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
He moved closer, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. “Like what?”
“Like you already own me.”
He stopped inches a
