The room pulsed with heat—the aftermath of their verbal battle still lingering like smoke. Sunlight spilled unevenly across the polished floorboards, but the shadows in Dante's eyes were darker than ever. Ishani's pulse hammered, nerves alive, heart threatening to betray her at any moment. She stood near the desk, feet planted wide, fists clenched at her sides, ready to fight—but Dante was already too close.
He didn't move like a man trying to intimidate. He moved like a predator savoring the hunt. Each step toward her was slow, deliberate, excruciating, and yet inevitable. His gaze locked on hers, smoldering with hunger and amusement, as though he could see every pulse, every racing heartbeat, every flicker of desire she refused to acknowledge.
"You really think words will save you?" he murmured, voice low, velvety, carrying that delicious weight of inevitability. "That clever arguments, legal jargon, and stubborn defiance will protect you?"
Ishani's teeth ground together. "Words always save me," she snapped. "Even when idiots like you ignore reason, they still hold power. And don't you forget, Dante Moretti, I'm trained to fight."
"Train me," he whispered, voice dropping as he tilted his head, brushing the tip of his fingers along her jawline. She flinched, jaw tightening, heat coiling in her belly. "Show me how."
Her instinct was to shove him, to twist, to claw, but Dante anticipated every move. He leaned closer, chest brushing hers, the faintest brush of his lips near her temple sending shivers down her spine. He smelled of danger, leather, and something intoxicatingly masculine.
"You're insufferable," he murmured, thumb brushing over her cheekbone deliberately, torturously slow. "Every word out of your mouth… every defiance… it only makes me want to consume you more."
Ishani's pulse spiked, fury battling heat. "I'm not here to amuse you," she hissed, shoving at his chest. "I'm not your plaything, and I am definitely not yours!"
He didn't budge. His hand slid from her cheek to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, brushing her lips faintly with the motion—deliberate, teasing. The almost-touch sent fire coiling through her stomach, making every nerve rebel. "Not yet," he murmured, "but I will be. Every fight, every word, every scratch you leave… only tightens my claim."
Her hands lashed at his shoulders, nails digging, claws raking as she twisted, trying to push him away. "You—can't—you—won't!" she spat, breath ragged. "I'll fight until my last breath!"
Dante chuckled, dark and low, leaning closer until their faces were inches apart. "Good. Fight me. I want to see that fire. I want to feel it against me. Every struggle, every push, every word of resistance…" His thumb traced lightly along the line of her jaw, brushing against her lips just enough to make her gasp. "…makes me crave you more."
Ishani's knees threatened to buckle. Heat and fury coiled in her belly, every nerve alight. Her mind raced, formulating the next legal-style attack even as her body betrayed her. "You are illegally restraining me, Mr. Moretti! If this were any other circumstance, your actions would be punishable, and—"
He silenced her with a soft brush of his fingers across her lips, the faintest touch, just enough to steal her breath. "And yet, here you are. No one else can touch you like this, only me. Do you feel it? That delicious tension, bella? The way your body betrays you with every word?"
Ishani jerked her head back, lips parted, pulse threatening to explode. "You… will… regret this," she snarled, shoving at his chest with everything she had. But Dante caught her wrists mid-motion, holding her fast, unwavering, like a tether she couldn't escape.
"You can fight, scratch, yell, curse… I'll endure it all," he whispered against her ear, his lips brushing the shell, hot and tantalizing. "But your body will not lie, Ishani. And it's already speaking."
Her anger spiked into a burning defiance. She twisted her body, elbowed him in the chest, kicked out, anything to reclaim space—but Dante moved with preternatural anticipation, tilting her toward him, holding her near with precise pressure. Her back pressed to his chest, and the almost-kiss hovered again—fingers tangling in hair, lips ghosting over hers, breaths mingling in a deadly dance.
"You're maddening," she hissed, claws digging into his chest again, nails grazing the fabric of his shirt. "Every inch of you is maddening!"
"And every inch of you is irresistible," he murmured, leaning down slightly, lips brushing just shy of hers. "Even in defiance, even fighting, even cursing… you belong in my arms, bella. And every protest only proves it further."
Ishani's chest heaved, her hands trembling. She had fought with words, with claws, with everything she had—but the heat of him, the teasing, the deliberate near-touches, left her dizzy and raw. She refused to surrender, refused to admit it, yet her body quivered, betraying the desire she wouldn't name.
Dante's thumb traced the corner of her lips slowly, a whisper of a caress that left her burning. "See?" he murmured. "Even now, you crave this. Every inch of tension, every word of defiance… it draws us closer."
Ishani bit her lip, eyes blazing. "You'll never… have me fully," she spat, shaking in both fury and something more dangerous, more electric.
He leaned in closer, chest tight against hers, lips brushing her temple, his voice low and heavy: "Not yet, bella. But I will."
The almost-kiss lingered, suspended in a deadly tension. She struggled, she fought, she clawed—but the room vibrated with the undeniable heat between them, a storm of words, touch, and willpower. And Dante knew—this battle, this fire, this cat-and-mouse game… was far from over.