The restaurant is fabulous, and every single bite of the food—French entrées I hardly recognize the names of but can’t stop eating until they’re gone—explodes on my tongue. Part of me can’t believe I’m here, eating this fancy, expensive meal, with a man like Dominic, and that’s the part that wants to stare at the elegant, understated decor and run my hands down the tablecloth, which I’m almost convinced has a higher thread count than my sheets.

But most of me is consumed with Dominic.

He seems at ease in the restaurant, ordering different wines, anticipating the exact moment the waiter will be back, tearing a roll in two and dipping it delicately into a delicately flavorful sauce I’ve never tasted before. Once I sample it, I want to keep eating it for the rest of the night.

More than that, I want to keep drinking Dominic in.

Away from the overhead lighting of the Wilder Building—which is high-end overhead lighting, for sure—he seems like more of the high-powered billionaire, yet less like him at the same time. Clearly, though, he’s in his element here. He never hesitates to make a choice, or order more of something if he sees that I’m enjoying it. He’s in absolute control, and it’s making me even more crazy for him. If he’s this comfortable casually dominating the wait staff, what will he be like behind closed doors?

With me?

On the other hand, he’s calm in a way that I haven’t seen at Wilder Enterprises. Whenever I’ve watched him there, he’s always on edge, the air around him crackling with tension, the type of tension that doesn’t seem like it’s the result of being attracted to another person so much as it’s about something happening behind the scenes, under the surface, where I can’t see it.

By the time the waiter whisks away the last of the plates, I’m somehow in absolute heaven, full but not overstuffed, already daydreaming of the next time I’ll get to eat something this delicious.

Dominic offers me his hand, and the daydream comes to an abrupt end, but in favor of a new dream that’s starting up right in front of me.

“Thank you so much,” I say as he tucks my hand into his arm, not bothering to make a production out of it. This place must really be a kind of safe haven if he’s not worrying about anyone seeing us so closely knit to one another.

Or, says a snotty little voice in the back of my mind, he doesn’t care if anyone sees us here. You’re a nobody. You could be anybody. Maybe he knows that no one who could impact his work, his life, could ever afford to come here.

I shove those thoughts out my mind and let him escort me out of the restaurant. I keep my eyes focused straight ahead, occasionally letting them travel over the line of his jaw, noticing the way his collar is tailored so perfectly that only a single fingertip could fit between the fabric and his shoulders. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see patrons’ heads turning toward us, watching us, but I must be imagining the whispers.

Dominic doesn’t seem to care at all. His strides are even and powerful, and it feels like I’m floating along atop the carpet, until we reach the front doors—held open by two more uniformed waiters—and exit into the car waiting for us at the curb.

This isn’t the black Town Car he took me home in last week. This is something on another level, something sleek, fast-looking and curvy, a deep wine color that’s only a few shades lighter than black. I’m not half bad at recognizing cars, but what with the amount of wine I drank, and the amazingly delicious and filling food, and being so close to Dominic—intoxicating in itself—I can’t place the model.

It’s not until he’s sitting next to me in the back seat, the engine purring as the driver pulls away from the curb, that I find the words to ask. “What kind of car is this?”

“Do you really want to talk about cars?” His eyes are glittering in the sultry darkness of the backseat.

“No.”

He leans in, his warm breath tickling my earlobe, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. “It’s an Audi—so new they haven’t even introduced it to the public yet.”

I breathe him in as he slides over, eliminating the space between us, wrapping one arm around my shoulders and sliding it down until it’s around my waist, pulling me closer into his body. “If it’s not for sale yet—” I’m somehow short of breath already. “Does that mean you always get what you want?”

“Vivienne Davis, you should already know that I always get what I want.”

“What—” I suck in one more breath. “What do you want now?” I know what I want, and it’s turning me into a mindless puddle.

His lips hover near my ear one more time. “You.”

I turn my head and, not being able to hold back any longer, crush my lips against his. I can’t wait another moment and so I don’t. I kiss him, hard and hot, relishing his arm tightening around me. He twists, pressing me back into the buttery-soft luxury leather seat, and as his tongue pushes into my mouth, his other hand is playing at my knee. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t insist, but I spread my legs wider on instinct, wanting him to have access, wanting him to touch me, to please touch me.

He bites my lip so gently that I moan into his mouth. The professional Vivienne Davis, undercover FBI agent, is gone, and I’m a woman, a bundle of live nerves spread out on a billionaire’s back seat, his strong hand stroking the bare skin there, his tongue exploring my mouth, and then his lips tracing a hot path of fire down the side of my neck.

I’m soaking wet. There’s no denying it, and for a fleeting instant, I worry about the car’s upholstery. But that moment is over almost before it begins.

“I want you,” Dominic says, his voice low, nearly a growl. “Are you going to run away again?”

“I was—” I’m gasping for breath as his hand moves higher and higher up my leg toward my folds. “I was afraid…my job—your job—I’m—please, take me. Please, Dominic, claim me, have me, punish me.” The last phrase slips out before I can stop it, and I’m in so deep that I hardly have time to be embarrassed. His hand has reached the lace panties and he hooks a finger in the waistband near my hips. I know I’m practically incoherent by this point, but I want him to touch me so badly that I can’t get the words out of my mouth in order. Hell, I don’t care about getting them in order.

He presses his lips against mine again, his finger moving slowly toward the front of my panties, toward my molten hot core, and I open my lips for him again. I don’t care that we’re in the back of the car, that there’s a driver, I’m so ready for this—

Dominic pulls away, first his lips, then his hands, and I let out a groan, reaching for his shirt. I’ll do this myself… I’ll loosen the tie from around his neck, I’ll unbutton every button.

The car is slowing and Dominic reaches up and catches my wrists in his hands, kissing me one more time.

“I’ll have you, Vivienne Davis,” he growls into my ear. “I’ll take you like you’ve never been taken before.”

The car is stopping at the curb, and, dazed, I realize we’re in front of my apartment building.

Dominic gives me a wicked smile. “Only not quite yet.”