Page 16 of The Chief (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #3)

And that terrified him more than bullets, betrayals, or the burden of the family name.

More than any enemy he’d ever faced down with a gun in his hand or a blade at his back.

Because those threats he understood, how to predict them, how to control them.

But Elise? She made him feel. She made him want.

And there was no training, no protocol, no armor for that.

“You think I’m pulling away,” he said finally.

“I think you’re afraid,” she said, calm, clear, like she knew exactly what kind of fire she was lighting.

Then she paused, eyes narrowing like she was sorting through the word, weighing it against something sharper.

“No. Not fear.” Her head tilted, the smallest frown tugging at her mouth. “I think you’re rattled.”

Cade stiffened. Afraid? No. Never. That wasn’t a word that belonged to him. But rattled? Rattled was a different beast. That was a gut reaction sharpened to an edge, the moment before a strike when everything pulled taut.

She threw off his rhythm, made him shift gears mid-play, and he didn’t appreciate the unpredictability.

Not because he couldn’t handle it. He could handle anything.

But because with her, the stakes were...

different. Sharper. Closer. And Cade Dante didn’t let anyone that close unless he’d already decided the risk was worth the wreckage.

She stood, spine uncoiling with a grace that made his pulse stutter.

She set her mug down, movements unhurried, confident.

The shirt slipped downward on one side, baring more shoulder, the hem skimming dangerous territory.

It wasn’t indecent, but only barely. She knew exactly what she was doing.

And he hated how much he loved that she didn’t apologize for it.

She took one step toward him. “I’m not asking for some fairytale.

Last night wasn’t a dream, Cade. It was real.

You know it. I know it.” She moved in closer, not touching him, just letting her words press against him instead.

“I’m not asking you to promise forever. I’m asking you not to pretend it didn’t happen. Not to act like it didn’t matter.”

Cade’s nostrils flared. For a second, he didn’t speak. He just looked at her, the strength rippling through her, the flush creeping down her neck, the truth in her voice that made something primal rise in his chest.

“It mattered,” he said, the words sharp and final, like a blade embedded in oak.

“More than you know.” He stepped in, his presence swallowing space.

“But I don’t get to have real, Elise. Not the kind that stays.

I get influence. I get calculation. I get power.

You? You’re the first thing I’ve ever wanted that didn’t fit inside that equation. ”

A pause, then quieter. “And if I let myself want you—really want you—I won’t be able to stop. I’ll take you right here. On this desk. Against that window. Anywhere you let me. And I won’t stop until you forget every man who came before me and remember only the way I make you react.”

Her gaze locked on his. “I need to know what this is, Cade. Last night wasn’t casual for me, and I don’t think it was for you either.

But this morning? You’re shutting down. Putting walls back up.

I’m not here to play games or beg for crumbs.

If it meant something, say it. If it didn’t, say that too.

But don’t leave me standing here trying to guess where I stand. ”

His hand came up and found the indent of her waist. He let it rest there for a beat—just a beat—before sliding beneath the loose hem of her shirt, brushing hot against her bare skin. Her breath hitched, barely audible, but he heard it. Sensed the ripple it caused in them.

His thumb dragged along the curve of her hipbone, memorizing the shape.

Claiming it. That simple touch lit up every nerve in his body, a connection to everything he wanted and wasn’t sure he had the right to take.

The contact didn’t just rattle him. It carved something deeper.

Something he couldn’t name, but didn’t want to live without.

His mouth hovered a breath from hers. “Honesty gets people killed in my world, Elise. It unravels everything I’ve built.”

She tilted her chin. “Then lie to everyone else. But not to me.”

And there it was.

Something fractured in his gaze. Not broken—he didn’t break. Not shattered—he didn’t splinter. But cracked, yes. Like a fault line waking under pressure. Like a man gripping too tight to a mask that didn’t fit anymore.

He hesitated for half a beat, staring into the storm she refused to look away from. Then he dragged his hand higher up her ribcage, until his palm cupped the underside of her breast, his thumb grazing just beneath the soft curve.

Her breath hitched again, sharper this time, and her chest rose into the contact like her body had been waiting for it.

His other hand lifted to cradle the back of her neck, fingers threading into that silvery hair that still carried the scent of his pillow.

And he kissed her. Not casual. Not rough.

But deep, bone-deep. Devastating. A claim and an admission and something basic he couldn’t pull back if he tried.

An apology wrapped in silence.

A confession without words.

She kissed him back. Not sweetly. Not gently.

She met his mouth with the same hunger threaded through his touch, open, aching, all heat and defiance.

Her hands slid up his chest, fisting lightly in the fabric at his shoulders, not to pull him closer.

He was already there. But to anchor herself.

To answer him without words. To show him she wasn’t afraid of the truth or the storm behind it.

She just wanted him inside it. Inside her.

But the fracture stayed. A subtle fault line beneath everything they didn’t say. The kiss might’ve stolen breath and bridged distance, but it didn’t erase the unspoken things simmering between them.

Because honesty—real honesty—cost. And in Cade’s world, it could cost everything. Power. Control. Her. And neither of them had figured out yet if what they had was strong enough to survive that price.

A knock at the door cut through the charged air like a blade.

Cade broke the kiss first, his breath hot against Elise’s lips, chest tight with restraint. Her mouth still tingled from his, and her fingers curled unconsciously into the hem of the shirt she wore—his shirt—rumpled from where his hands had held her. Their bodies still buzzed with the aftermath.

Another knock came, firm and measured.

“Stay here,” Cade said under his breath. His eyes never left hers. “Go sit, and don’t speak.”

He stepped away, command settling over him like armor, practiced and impenetrable.

His shoulders squared, spine straightened, and with a breath so subtle it didn’t stir the air, he buried every trace of heat Elise had drawn to the surface.

The sharp angles of his face reset into cold discipline, his mouth a flat line, his eyes shuttered and void of anything but command.

“Enter.”

The door opened.

Lieutenant Paolo Grigor stepped inside, Cade’s second in command for seven years, a man forged in the brutal discipline of Spetsnaz, battle-scarred from Prague, and trusted like blood. Deadly. Quiet. Loyal.

At least, that was the reputation. The role he’d filled flawlessly for years.

The kind of man you’d trust to escort your wife or extract your brother from a burning embassy.

But something about his entrance scraped at Cade’s instincts.

A hesitation in his step. The way his gaze flicked—not lingered, but flicked—toward Elise before settling on Cade.

Too fast. Too casual. The kind of glance that said everything while pretending to say nothing.

Cade noted it. Logged it. But said nothing.

Not yet.

Grigor nodded. “Sir.”

Cade returned the nod, then glanced at Elise.

She hadn’t moved from the chair by the window, barefoot, still in his shirt, one leg tucked under her, the other stretched long across the cushion.

To a stranger, she might have looked like she was lounging, perfectly at ease.

But Cade saw the tension, sharp as a hairline crack in glass.

The way her spine wasn’t fully resting against the back of the chair.

How her arms wrapped too tightly around herself, hands digging into opposite elbows.

Her eyes didn’t track Grigor, but he knew she was watching, checking him out from the corners of her eyes. Waiting. Her body coiled tighter with every step the lieutenant took into the room, and Cade couldn’t tell if it was fear or something old and buried, something that had her ready to bolt.

It was fear, he decided. Definitely fear.

And he didn’t know why.

“Report,” Cade said, folding his arms.

Grigor stepped forward. “Intel pulled from the reception. Light chatter at first. Then patterns emerged. Code-shifted English and Russian. Embedded phrases passed in the open. Catering team. One male, one female. Neither cleared.”

Elise went rigid.

Cade caught it instantly, the jolt in her posture, the subtle recoil like she’d touched something hot.

Her hands tightened around her arms, shoulders creeping upward, legs drawing in.

She wasn’t reacting to the words. He was sure she didn’t speak Russian.

But she reacted to something else. Her face drained of color, lips pressed into a flat line, and her quicksilver eyes went glassy, unfocused.

Not fear. Not exactly.

Recognition.

But of what?

Cade forced his attention back to Grigor. “What was said?”

“The important part was in Russian. In English they said: ‘Don’t move the cargo.’“

Cade frowned. “Are you sure? Intel insists the cargo is due to be moved soon.”