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That was the real danger.
Because I had spent my entire career staying three steps ahead, always the one pulling the strings, controlling the narrative, deciding how far I’d go. But Marcus Dane had a way of making me forget that. Making me wonder what it would be like to let go. To let him have me. To let him win. And that was why I needed to remind him who was really in charge.
I wasn’t nervous.
I was burning.
The tunnel stretched before us, dimly lit with recessed lighting, the air cooler here, damp with old stone and secrets. The weight of Dominion Hall sat above us, a fortress on its foundations, and yet down here, under it, there was nothing but him. The heat of his body, the slow, measured way he moved, the way he kept just enough distance to remind me I was the one who had followed him into the dark.
But I wasn’t blind.
I knew exactly what I was doing.
“Where does this lead?” I asked, my voice steady despite the sharp pull of tension between us.
Marcus glanced over his shoulder, his mouth curving like he already knew the answer would be irrelevant. “Does it matter?”
No.
Because we both knew this wasn’t about the tunnels. Wasn’t about Dominion. Wasn’t about the investigation.
It was about the way his gaze slid down my body like a touch. The way my skin prickled under the weight of his attention. The way my traitorous body had been humming with anticipation since the moment I stepped into that ballroom.
I had told myself I was wearing this dress as a power move.
Marcus had known better.
He stopped suddenly, and I nearly collided with him. He turned, slow and deliberate, watching me in that way that made my stomach tighten, my thighs clench together.
“You followed me,” he murmured.
“You led me,” I countered.
A ghost of a smirk spread across his face. The kind that made my pulse throb in my wrists.
“I could take you apart right here,” he said, voice low, dark. “I could drop to my knees and taste you until you forget your own damn name. Until you forget why you came here in the first place.”
Jesus.
Heat shot through me, sharp and electric, pooling low in my belly. I clenched my hands into fists at mysides, nails biting into my palms, grounding me, because if I wasn’t careful, I would let him.
And that was the problem. Marcus Dane was used to getting what he wanted. Used to women unraveling for him.
While I might have been on the verge of unraveling, I wasn’t going to let him pull the thread. Not like that.
I tilted my head, stepping closer, close enough that my chest brushed against his. “You want to be on your knees for me, Dane?” I murmured, lifting a brow. “That’s an interesting offer.”
His smirk faltered—just for a second—but I caught it. The flicker of something in his eyes.
Surprise.
Like he wasn’t expecting me to turn the tables.
Like he wasn’t used to a woman taking control.
I reached up, dragging my nails lightly down the front of his shirt, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath the soft fabric. “But see, here’s the thing,” I continued, voice soft but firm. “I don’t lose control. I take it.”
His breath hitched, just barely, but I heard it.