Chapter 9 · The Choice He Couldn't Finish

His thigh pinned me against the wall, and his palm braced beside my head.

The closet was barely wide enough for one person. Lucas had somehow made it feel smaller.

His mouth hovered near my cheek. Every rough breath warmed my skin.

"You insult me when you're scared," he murmured.

"You keep noticing."

"Hard not to."

Gunfire cracked outside.

The sound should've pulled me back to reality. Instead, his gray eyes held mine—tired, angry, and close enough to make my mouth ache.

I could've kissed him.

I hated that I wanted to.

So I shoved his chest. "Get off me."

His hand snapped around my wrist before I could push again.

"You want me off you?"

"I want you useful."

His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist. The contract band tightened around both of us, hot enough to sting.

"That's not what your pulse says."

"My pulse says I'm trapped in a closet with a man who can't decide whether to arrest me or touch me."

His eyes dropped to my mouth.

"Don't tempt me."

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

His breath caught.

For one dangerous second, neither of us moved.

Then the command speakers crackled overhead.