The air crackles between us. I want nothing more in the world than to lean across and run my fingers over Dominic’s neat stubble, feel the roughness under my fingertips, and then kiss him, finally getting to taste a man who’s been haunting my dreams for three weeks.

I want it so badly.

But all the rationalization in the world can’t work around the problem that I’m the undercover FBI agent investigating his company. Getting close to him—that I could explain. But sleeping with him could ruin me, if it ever got out, and there’s no guarantee it would stay a secret.

Up close, in the back of his car, gliding through the streets of New York City, it’s getting harder and harder to care. He smells like expensive soap and a hint of spicy cologne, and the shadows in the back seat play over his jawline like a symphony. There’s not enough air in here to get a full breath, and now that he’s dropped all the professional demeanor from the office, I can hardly get a handle on the way he’s looking at me with a cold laser focus that’s burning up underneath. We’ve gone three blocks, and my panties are already damp.

No, I can’t blame him. I can’t blame him at all, because I’ve thought of him every day, too. The scrape on my knee has healed, but part of me wishes it was still bleeding because then I could ask for his help. It’s a pathetic impulse, but I want his hands on me so badly I’m willing to make any excuse.

“Did you think I forgot about you, Vivienne Davis?”

His next question goes straight to my chest, and it’s a struggle to keep my face from betraying my relief. “Of course,” I say, and my light tone almost sounds genuine. “Women probably drop doughnuts in front of you every day.”

He doesn’t follow my lead, doesn’t joke. “They don’t,” he says simply. “But that’s not why I’ve been thinking about you.”

A chill runs from the top of my head to the small of my back. Maybe I’m mistaking this entirely. Maybe he knows who I am, what I’m doing, and this is his way of telling me. “Why have you been thinking of me?”

His gaze on me is hard, piercing, like he’s looking right into my soul. “Because you captivated me. Because you didn’t get starstruck. Something about the way you spoke, the way you moved—” He shakes his head, frustrated. “I can’t get you out of my head. And your eyes—” He reaches out, brushing a stray tendril of hair away from my face. “I see your eyes in my dreams.”

The bulge protruding in his pants tells me that these aren’t dreams where we go out to dinner and walk along the boardwalk, and the heat between my legs increases. I feel like I’m falling, literally falling, into his blue eyes, and when his fingertips brush my skin, I can’t hide the full-body shiver that moves through me. “I’ve been looking for you every day.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s all I can manage with his face inches from mine, his hand still playing over the side of my neck, his touch feather-light on my shoulder.

“It’s torture, isn’t it?” His voice is low, almost a growl. “I sit in meetings every day and wonder what you’re doing, down there in Executive Support.”

I suck in a breath. “That’s a lie, Dominic Wilder.”

He runs his fingers down my arm to my wrist. “What’s a lie?”

“You already know what I do all day at the office.” I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but the words are coming fast, and it’s been a long day, and I might never get another chance to say any of this to him. “You wonder what I do all night.”

His fingers close around my wrist, and my mind is flooded with the sensation of him doing the same to the other wrist, pinning my arms above my head, taking control, taking control of me. I gasp, and he leans in closer, then lifts my wrist from my lap and takes my hand in his, turning it palm upward.

“Does it have to do with these hands of yours?”

He traces my palm with one fingertip, his neatly maintained nail dragging across the sensitive skin. “What—what do you mean?” I want to tip my head back, want to close my eyes, want to let him do what he wants with me, but I stay focused on his face. This is already out of control, but I can’t let it go completely off the rails. I can’t. I can’t.

“When you’re all by yourself, alone, at night.” It’s not a question, but I hear what he’s asking between the lines.

I swallow hard. “When I’m all alone at night—” I meet his eyes, not looking away. “And I’m alone every night—I think of you.”

“Do you imagine me in my office?” There’s a low note of humor in his voice that’s lost in his touch as he circles my palm with his fingertip again.

“No.”

“Where do you imagine me?”

“In—in a bedroom.” I don’t know who I am anymore, don’t know why I’m giving him honest answers when honesty with this man could mean the end of my career. I squeeze my thighs together on the seat, willing myself to keep them closed, keep them closed, despite the urge to spread them for him, to climb onto his lap, to—

“With you?”

He leans down and presses his lips to my hand, and I can’t stop myself from gasping. “Yes. With me.”

“I’d love to be in a bedroom with you.” He lifts his head, eyes burning into mine, and I see that he’s being as honest, as raw, and I’m drowning in it, drowning in my want for him, and I can’t do it, I need to swim. To tread water. Because if this goes on for much longer, I know what it’s going to turn into, and I’m not going to be able to say no.

“I didn’t tell you my address,” I blurt out, and Dominic frowns. It’s that same frown that he gave me when he first saw me on the sidewalk, like he couldn’t quite figure out what I was doing and he didn’t like it.

“Your address?” He lowers my hand back into my lap, and some of the air floods back into the car.

“To—to give me a ride home.” I twist away from him, against the will of every cell in my body, and look out the window. “Oh, we’re—we’re actually right near my building. It’s a half a block up.”

“Pull over.” The clipped command to the driver makes my heart sink. The car glides over to the curb at the next opening, and I turn back to face Dominic.

“Is this close enough, Ms. Davis?”

He’s already pulling back, pulling away from me, his body retreating, and I hate it. Hate it.

“Yes.” I force a smile onto my face. “Thank you so much for…for the ride.”

I get out of the car and take a big gulp of the summer air. His car pulls away, disappearing into the traffic, and I stumble across the sidewalk, lean my back against the building.

I should be relieved.

Instead, I’m heartbroken.