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He turns out the bedside light and disappears into the shadows of the room, then out the door, leaving me to lie there—aching, bewildered, furious.
And more afraid than I’ve ever been.
Not of him. Of myself.
And the worst part? I don’t want to get up, get dressed,explore my options.
I don’t want to run.
Because whatever game this is, I want towin.
CHAPTER 7
Dahlia
The sheets smell like him.
My first mistake is breathing too deeply. The scent is everywhere—spice and sin and something darker beneath it. I sit up fast, angry at myself for how my thighs clench from the memory alone.
No.
Last night was a game. A calculated push–pull. A mind-fuck wrapped in silk sheets and whispered threats.
And I let him play me.
I swing my legs off the bed and pad across the warm marble floor to the huge glass windows. Manhattan stretches in every direction—morning light casting gold over steel and stone buildings and penthouses I’ve robbed or ruined.
Some of them even voted for their own downfall.
A bitter smirk curls my lips.
I glance around. No visible cameras, but I know better than to believe I’m not being watched.Always assume eyes.It’s rule number one in my playbook. Which makes my mistake last night even more painful to swallow. The fucking app.
I look around for my clothes but they’re gone, whisked away by invisible hands while I slumbered in one of the most comfortable beds I’ve ever slept in.
Disgruntled by that, I find a robe draped over a nearby chair—soft, black, obviously his—snatch it up and wrap it around me. It drowns me and I hate how it smells like him too.
But it’s better than nudity. Better than remembering hownaked and exposedI felt beneath him.
With a deep breath I walk across the endless expanse of the bedroom and step out.
The penthouse is quiet. Too quiet. Until a door hisses open behind me.  He steps out of some hidden corridor, already dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, cufflinks and watch glinting like weapons. He looks like a man who’s conquered worlds before breakfast.
And he knows it.
“I want to talk about the heist,” I say, sharp, level. I’m grasping, I know, hanging onto the only thing I can control. Because this man means to take away every other thing.
He walks past me, barely glances at me.
Down one corridor into another, then into a glass-walled terrace where breakfast is laid out. He stands beside one chair, his fingers tapping a beat.
Patient. Silent.Fuck him.Deadly as a gorgeous viper.
I want to test how long a standoff can last, but already a heavy pulse beats in my pussy. My nipples are hard points and fuck, he’ll smell my arousal if my thighs keep clenching and unclenching like a blacksmith’s bellows.
I step forward and take the seat, wondering if his lips just ghosted over my temple or I imagined it.
When I glance over he’s sitting down, pouring espresso from a silver carafe. “There’s time for that.”