There is a ding on my smartwatch as I push the door of my car closed, telling me I have a text message. Flipping my wrist, I glance down, seeing it’s him. I also want to laugh until I read the message.

Drago: Care to have lunch with me?

Dropping my arm, I cross the road, heading toward the white building in front of me. When I enter the side door, I don’t see anyone around, so I decide to head up the stairs to his office.

He’s boldly ignoring the fact that I told him there should be no interaction between us that doesn’t pertain to finding evidence he has illegal dealings—or not, and potentially proving he’s not as bad as my colleagues believe he is.

I don’t reply. I mean what’s the point? I’m here after all. And why am I here? I’ve been avoiding anything and everything to do with Drago Acerbi since I got off the phone with him last week. If it wasn’t for the email in my inbox from the chief, I doubt I’d be here now.

Tom wants an update. One I don’t have, so my hands are tied. I had no choice. This is the last place I want to be, but it is my job and at the end of the day, if I want to keep it, I have to suck up whatever hang up I have with Drago.

Why did I have to sleep with him? That has to be the biggest fuck up—hell, the only fuck up—I’ve ever made on the job. Not that I was on the job, but I’m treading on a thin line. If I’m not careful, I could crash and burn. And then what? Ask my father for a job?

Fuck. That.

When I step up to the second landing, I see Drago’s office door is slightly ajar. I stop dead in my tracks when a bark comes from behind his door and I’m not talking about the four-legged kind.

The heat in his voice cuts me like he did that night at the club. He’s angry, pissed at someone.

“Goddamn you. That wasn’t the fucking agreement.” There is a pause and I inch closer. “I’m not some fucking babysitter. I have a job to do here. One job, do you hear me? And that isn’t it.” He stops speaking, but the silence doesn’t last. “Fix it. I don’t give a shit what you do. Get this shit off my back.”

When I hear a thud, I take the opportunity to push his door open without knocking.

His eyes immediately snap to mine and if I’ve caught him off guard, he doesn’t show it.

He leans back, reclining in his office chair, staring at me but not saying a word. His face is blank, so I can’t read him, which irks me to no end. Reading people is something I do well, but he eludes me every time.

“Who were you talking to just now?” I ask since he’s not bothering to inquire why I’m here.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, detective.”

His anger is still present in his voice. He’s doing nothing to mask that.

“Perhaps it is. Perhaps it’s not,” I shrug. “No idea unless you enlighten me. Any”—I pause, leaning into the doorframe—“illegal dealings I should know about?”

His jaw locks and I know I’ve hit a nerve. Usually, there is satisfaction that follows when I achieve that, but it’s nowhere in sight, in fact, there is a twist in my gut that’s foreign.

“If you’re here to nag me, please leave. I’m not dealing with your cop shit today.”

“Why not? I would think the sooner you answer my questions, show me anything I want to see, be honest with me, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair. I’d have thought that would be something you would want. Don’t you want to prove your innocence?”

“You don’t have shit on me and we both know it. If you did, I’d be in handcuffs, but I’m not, am I?” It’s not a question he wants a response to and he doesn’t stop to let me give one even if I wanted to. “You think I’m dirty, your boss thinks I am, so what? I don’t give a shit, Bri. You’re not going to find anything because there is nothing to find.”

“I don’t think you’re dirty,” I defend myself, quicker than I realize what’s coming out of my mouth. Sure, it’s my job to find the evidence if it exists, but my gut has known from the day I met him he wasn’t dirty. And I don’t think he’s a drug smuggler. I do think he’s keeping something a secret, but I don’t think that’s it. Something isn’t right about this case. I’ve felt that since my interview with Gabriel’s mother.

“Then why are you here if it isn’t to dig up something you think I’m dirty of doing?”

I move, taking a step into the room, getting closer to him and not for a professional reason. His remark hit something inside me and not in a good way.

“D,” I sigh, taking another step. “This is my job. A case that involves you was assigned to me. My job is to determine if there is any validation to the accusation against you. I am going to be thorough in this investigation whether you like it or not.” I tap my index finger on his desk to drive my point home. “But at no point”—my own anger starts to seep out of my voice—“did I ever give you the impression I thought you were dirty.”

I’m getting mad and I’ve never shown emotions or lost my composure on the job before. The fact that I am now, with him, is only agitating me.

His dark eyes cut away from me, but I see the moment his temper takes a step back. After another second, he looks down.

“The first day we met, you told me you thought I had an illegal business relationship with Diaz.” His eyes glide up. “Are you saying that’s changed? You no longer think I’m in bed with the Mexican Devil?”

This is what I didn’t need. The lines between us are more blurred than I thought.

He’s right; I did say that. It was a tactic I often use. A tactic I wanted to work on him, but it didn’t.

My knee touches one of his, startling the both of us. I didn’t even realize I’d moved this close. I’m too close and I shouldn’t be in his personal space. I know better, yet I’m not taking a step away.

“I’ve heard a lot of things about your family, mostly of your father through others on the force, but I never believe anything as truth until it’s proven. Until I see it for myself.” I place my palm on his shoulder. “The first day we met, something told me you weren’t bad, or dirty, as you said. I don’t judge without knowledge, without the truth, Drago. And right now, for some unknown reason, I don’t believe you’re guilty of all the accusations that have been made.”

The next thing I know, I’m in his arms and he’s out of his chair, standing. In a quick move, I’m placed down on his desk, on top of sheets of paper while his lips come down onto mine in such a soft manner it contradicts the aggressive way he just handled me.

I smile against his mouth, not able to hold my form to his. I like this way too much. Who knew rough and gentle could go together so well?

Still . . . This can’t happen. Again.

I go to put my hands on his chest to push him away, but he anticipates my action, quickly pushing them down. Drago then leans in closer to me, pushing my chest backward, making me strain to stay upright. His hand comes down on my dress pants, parting my thighs where it eats up the remaining space between us.

“Dra . . .” I try to say his name between our lips, but it comes out more like a moan when his other hand goes inside my suit jacket, cupping my waist.

Shit. I do not have a handle on this at all.

“D,” I finally get out, pulling away from him and successfully getting my hands on his chest, but when I push, he barely moves. Instead, he has my wrist in his hand, quickly pinning it to my back and holding me from falling at the same time. Next, my other wrist is in the hand that leaves my waist and before I know it, it’s also behind my back. A second later, my eyes widen at the realization that he’s cuffed me—with my own fucking handcuffs that were stashed between my back, clipped over my pants.

How the hell did he do that?

“What the fuck?” I demand, losing my cool. The motherfucker has my handcuffs on me and he’s smiling like the Cheshire Cat. “This isn’t funny,” I spit, pissed off.

“Oh, baby,” he chuckles. “This is the second highlight of my day, right next to having you in my arms a second ago with my lips on you. And that priceless expression . . .” he can’t finish as he huffs out another laugh, shaking his head.

“Get them off me right now.”

He makes a tsk sound, sobering from his amusement.

“Where would the fun be in that?”

“I don’t find this funny, dammit! Get them off!”

He ignores me, falling into his chair, leaning back in it, smiling a smug grin like he’s won.

“Drago!” I yell, my words pounding in my ears. I’m not worried so much as I’m pissed—and not at him. I’m mad I was too distracted to realize what he was doing. I don’t get distracted; at least I didn’t until he came into the picture.

“You look pretty sitting there on my desk.” The compliment would almost have been sweet if it weren’t for what comes out of his mouth next. “Like my very own sexy, living decoration.”

“Fuck you,” I spout.

He’s up, out of his seat in the next second, pushing between my legs again. “Gladly, baby. Just say you want it and I’ll give it all to you.” A slow smile curves up. “Again.”

Bringing my thigh off the desk, I try to knee him in the side, but he pushes my leg back down before I get close enough to make contact.

Adrenaline flares inside me, causing my chest to heave up and down.

“Don’t get pissy, baby, you’ll ruin our moment.” He pecks me on the lips in a quick swoop, ticking me off even more. The bastard smiles, leaning forward, capturing my face in his hands and planting the most sensual, yet searing kiss I’ve ever experienced on my lips, draining all the fight out of my body.

Slumping forward, I give back as much as he is coaxing out of me.

I’m itching to wrap my arms around him just so I can bring him closer, but I can’t. My ass squirms as my wrists pull against the cuffs, wanting them off.

One of his hands leaves my face, slipping down my neck and over my blouse-covered chest, stopping just briefly to cup my breast before continuing lower. The kiss skyrockets when I part my lips, granting him the access he so badly wants. When his tongue meets mine, a flash pops off inside my head, of us—a memory—that makes the throbbing in my pussy intensify.

I’m sitting on top of him, in his lap, we’re kissing just like we are now, only . . . he’s inside me, pounding me up and down his cock. The dress I was wearing the night I went to the club is bunched above my waist and it’s so hot, and I can feel him inside me. I remember him inside me and it’s turning me on even more than I already am.

“Oh, fuuu . . .” I moan into his mouth, coming back to the here and now, as my one side of the cuffs drops, banging on the desk, releasing one of my wrists. Ignoring the fact that he seemingly got the key out of my pocket on the inside of my jacket, I start to bring my arms around him, but I’m stopped when he pushes my jacket over my shoulders, down my arms and stopping when both of his hands plant down on top of mine.

Slowing until he’s no longer kissing me, he pulls away, his dark eyes pinning me in place as he just stares.

Eventually, he breaks the comfortable silence between us. “I shouldn’t like you as much as I do. You’re nothing like . . .”

“Like what?” I whisper.

“I’m not even sure.” His warm, rough palm leaves my hands to cup my cheeks, tenderly. “Like other badges. Like other women I’ve been with. Like . . . Fuck, Bri, I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “You’re different, and I like you. That’s it.”

“We can’t have a relationship, you know that, right?” The sour taste in my mouth makes my nose crinkle. He obviously doesn’t like my words either by the slow, deep breath he takes. “D, you’re my job. At least at the moment. It’s not ethical. It’s—”

“Wrong? Dirty?” His tone turns cold.

“Why do you continue to come back to this dirty shit?” I turn the key, releasing my other wrist from the handcuffs, then drop them on the desk.

“Nothing. Whatever.” He steps away from me, turning and walking to his window behind his desk. “If you have anything you want to ask, just get it over with so we can be done.”

“D?”

“Don’t,” he barks. “You want this professional, fine. Do your job, detective. What are you here for?”

Pushing off his desk, I pull up my jacket, smoothing my clothes, and then grab the handcuffs, walking out without another word. He doesn’t try to stop me and that etches its way under my skin.