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Something dark and knowing flashes in Nico's eyes, there and gone too quickly to decipher. "Idle hands are the devil's playthings, is that it?"
I blink, wrong-footed by the sudden shift in his tone. "What? No, that's not what I-"
"Relax, Sunshine," Nico drawls, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a ghost of a smile. "I'm just fucking with you."
He prowls closer, reaching past me to snag a cookie off the rack. I freeze, caught between the heat of his body and the cool granite of the countertop. He's so close, the crisp cotton of his shirt brushing my arm, the spicy scent of his cologne invading my senses.
"Careful," I rasp, my voice coming out all breathy and wrong. "They're still hot."
Nico ignores me, biting into the cookie with a crunch. His eyes flutter shut, a low hum of pleasure rumbling up from his chest. The sound shoots straight to my groin, desire unfurling hotly in my gut.
"Damn," he says, licking a stray crumb from the corner of his mouth. "That's fucking delicious. Who knew you had hidden talents, Sunshine?"
I feel my cheeks heat, a giddy thrill zipping through me at the unexpected praise. "Oh, I'm full of surprises," I say lightly, trying for a teasing smile.
Something hot and intent sparks in Nico's gaze, his eyes dropping to my mouth. "Is that so?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. "Maybe you'll have to show me some of these...surprises, one of these days."
My breath catches, my pulse stumbling drunkenly in my throat. Is he...flirting with me? No, impossible. This is Nico Caruso, stone-cold killer and unrepentant bastard. He doesn't flirt, he doesn't banter, and he certainly doesn't get all up in his hostage's personal space, close enough to kiss.
Except...he is. And goddamn it, I'm responding, my body betraying me with a flush of heat and a hitch in my breathing.
This is insane. Suicidal. I can't let myself fall for Nico's dark magnetism, no matter how much my treacherous heart might race at his proximity. He's dangerous, a lit match in a powder keg that could destroy us both.
I need to push him away. I need to re-establish some boundaries, remind both of us that he's here as my jailer, not my lover.
I open my mouth to do just that, to tell Nico to back the hell off and stop looking at me like he wants to devour me whole. But what comes out instead is a breathy, idiotic, "You've, um. You've got flour. On your cheek."
Nico blinks, the heat in his gaze cooling a degree. "What?"
I swallow, my hand rising of its own accord. "Just there," I murmur, my fingers grazing the sharp cut of his cheekbone. His skin is warm, the hint of stubble prickling my fingertips. "Let me just..."
I brush the smudge of white away, my touch lingering a beat too long. Nico goes utterly still, his eyes locked on mine, his breath a hot gust against my wrist. The air between us crackles with tension, the kind of breathless anticipation that comes before a storm.
"Eli," he says, his voice rough and low. A warning. A plea.
I drop my hand like I've been scalded, taking a stumbling step back. "Sorry," I rasp, my face burning. "I don't...I didn't mean..."
Nico's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He looks away, his hands flexing at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from reaching out. "It's fine," he grits out, the words clipped and cold. "Forget it."
A leaden weight sinks into my stomach, disappointment curdling on my tongue. Of course he's shutting me out, his walls slamming back up at the first sign of vulnerability. What the hell was I thinking, touching him like that? Like we were something more than reluctant allies, like I had any right to breach his impenetrable defenses.
"Right," I mutter, my throat tight and achy. "I'll just...I have some arrangements to finish up downstairs."
I push past him, my shoulder brushing his in the narrow confines of the kitchen. I feel the contact like an electric shock, a jolt of heat and wanting that makes me stumble.
Nico's hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping around my bicep to steady me. "Careful," he says, his voice low and gravelly.
I look up at him, my heart in my throat. His eyes are dark, turbulent, a maelstrom of emotions I can't even begin to decipher. But there's something else there too, something raw and almost...vulnerable. Like a crack in the impenetrable fortress of his control.
"Nico," I whisper, my voice cracking on the syllables. "I..."
The jangle of the shop bell shatters the moment, the sound as jarring as a gunshot in the charged silence. Nico's head snaps towards the stairs, his hand tightening on my arm.
"Stay here," he orders, his voice brooking no argument. And then he's gone, a whisper of silk and a creak of leather as he disappears down the stairs.
I stand frozen for a long moment, my heart rabbiting against my ribs. And then I hear it - the muffled thump of a body hitting the floor, the clatter of overturned furniture. A cry of pain, abruptly cut off.
Fear cinches tight around my lungs, icy talons sinking into my chest. Oh god. It's happening again, the violence and brutality of Nico's world spilling over into mine like a noxious tide.
