Page 97 of Hunt Me, Daddy

That was all the permission he needed.

His hand came up to my jaw, thumb beneath my chin, fingers firm along my throat, and he angled my face exactly where he wanted it. The kiss deepened, slow and hot. Ivan kissed the way he did everything else, as if he had already studied the system,found the pressure points, and chosen to take it apart one beautiful piece at a time.

I hated him.

I kissed him harder.

His other hand settled at my waist, not pulling me in until I leaned. Then his grip tightened and suddenly I was against him, chest to chest, the heat of him all along the front of me. He was lean, yes, but there was strength beneath the restraint. Hard muscles. Restrained power. The kind that did not need to announce itself because it knew exactly what it could do when required.

My fingers slid into his hair.

His breathing quickened.

I liked that.

I liked it enough to do it again, tugging slightly, and the low sound he made against my mouth went straight through me. Then he turned us and pressed me back against the edge of the desk.

A command through positioning.

My body responded before my pride had time to object. My knees parted a fraction, his thigh between them, the desk at my back, his hand still on my jaw. I was trapped in the most technically avoidable way possible, and every inch of me knew I could say stop and he would.

His mouth left mine and moved along my jaw.

“Ivan,” I breathed.

He froze and so did I, all because my voice had betrayed me completely.

He lifted his head. His eyes were darker behind the glasses, and for one wildly unhelpful second, all I could think was that I wanted those glasses off and his hands somewhere much less respectable than my waist.

He was hard against me. I could feel he wanted me. He was not unaffected, not calm in that insulting way men sometimes pretended to be when they wanted women to feel messy and alone. His control had edges now. Strain. Want.

His gaze dropped, then lifted back to mine, and the air between us became so charged I could hardly breathe.

“You’re enjoying this,” I whispered.

“More than is wise.”

That made my face heat again. He stepped back. I hated the loss of contact so much I wanted to throw something at him. Instead, I straightened my sweater, smoothed my hair, and pretended my pulse was normal because denial was free and sometimes effective.

“Fine,” I said.

“It is not fine.”

“Then don’t be noble.”

“I am not noble.”

“Then what are you?”

His gaze held mine. “Trying not to take too much before I have earned it.”

I looked away first.

“Then let’s get to work,” I offered, trying to feel a little bit normal.

By late afternoon, we had fallen into a rhythm that might have been comfortable if not for the fact that I had kissed him and he had stopped himself before I could decide whether to be grateful or murderous. We worked side by side. He gave me access to more of the Orlov map, still edited but less insultingly so. I found two timing discrepancies and one shell layer that had been deliberately made to look abandoned.

Ivan watched me find them. He also watched when my attention started to fray. The first time, he set coffee beside me. I reached for it without looking, took a sip, and froze. It had cream in it this time and I turned my head slowly to stare at him.