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He steps into the room. The door swings shut behind him and the small space shrinks by half. Spicy sandalwood and the sharp clean scent underneath wrap around me in the enclosed air, and my traitorous body responds before my brain can override it. Heat blooms low in my belly and I shove it down.

Not now.

"Sit down, Neve."

"I'll stand, thanks."

His nostrils flare. A muscle jumps in his jaw. He leans against the edge of the desk and crosses his arms, mirroring my posture, and when he speaks his voice is stripped of pretense.

"I solve problems for dangerous people. The kind of problems that don't have legal solutions. I've been doing it for over twenty years and I'm very good at it."

"Problems." I let the word sit between us. "You mean people. You solve people problems and the people are the problem." Yeah, that was a jumble of words even to me. I try again. “I mean, you kill the people and solve the problem.”

His chin dips a fraction and that one gesture is all it takes for me to know without a doubt that I've fallen for a killer.

Fallen. When the hell did that happen? I shove aside that bothersome thought and anchor my energy on another.

"And the money?"

"Payments."

"And the guns? The surveillance? The encrypted phones?"

"All tools of the trade."

Each answer is a blade, short and precise, cutting the truth into pieces small enough to swallow. But even in pieces, the picture is clear. This man is not a security consultant. He's not a private contractor who files quarterly taxes and goes home to a golden retriever.

He's what my father hired when someone crossed a line that lawyers couldn't uncross.

I should be terrified. Every survival instinct I own screams go. Get out of here and never look back.

I don't move.

Because the man standing in front of me with weapons on his wall and blood money in his ledger is the same man who dropped to his knees and worshipped my body. He called me his sweet girl. He held me through the trembling and told me I was perfect, safe and his.

"You're a killer." My voice is quiet, steady, and precise. My father would be proud.

"Yes." His eyes fall to the gun he left on the corner of the desk. I clocked it the second I walked in. I could get to it before he got to me. But what would I do? Shoot him? Why? He hasn’t harmed me. Only lied. About what I haven’t figured out yet. He could be the killer hired to off me or he could legit be the one keeping me alive.

As far as I can tell, if he wanted to off me he would have already. So it must be the latter. I’m only pissed off because he thinks he has to keep details away from me.

I lived with a liar and someone who manipulated others to get what they wanted. She’s the one who has put a hit out on me. I refuse to live with another person who thinks they can play games with another’s emotions.

"Yes. I see.” I pause to see if he wants to add to his answers but those lips don’t move. “And you won't tell me the rest."

He crosses the room to me. All the while those whiskey eyes burn into mine. "Not yet."

I close the distance between us and my hands find his chest. I push him back against the desk. The edge catches the back of his thighs and the folders slide. He doesn't resist. He watches me with a focus that borders on reverence, tracking my hands, my mouth, the rapid pulse hammering at the base of my throat.

I bet he’s scared I’ll go for the gun. But I’ve learned I get more with honey than poison.

"You're going to get me killed or ruin me. I can't decide which scares me more." I fist the front of his shirt and drag his mouth down to mine.

The kiss is angry. Hot and bruising and built from every unanswered question festering between us. His hands grip my hips and drag me flush against him. The hard ridge of his cock presses against my stomach through the thin barrier of his pants and the groan he feeds into my mouth vibrates through my chest.

He breaks the kiss, his chest heaving as mine. "You went through my things." His voice is gravel and smoke, his breath ragged against my lips.

Determination to stay in control of my lustful desires cinches around my spine. I lift my chin defiantly. "Yes, I did."