~ Massimo ~
The first thing I registered was the shifting of silk and the sharp, frantic intake of breath.
My eyes snapped open, and my hand instinctively dived beneath the pillow, my fingers brushing my Glock before my brain even fully caught up to the room.
It was a reflex—a survival mechanism burned into my DNA.
But my eyes adjusted, taking in the figure standing at the edge of the mattress.
It was Niamh.
She was springing out of the bed as if the expensive linens were burning. Her hair was a wild, red halo around her face, and her chest was heaving with an anger that was so hot I could practically taste it in the air.
The memories of the previous night hit me immediately. The club. The whiskey. The way she had melted into me on the dance floor and the desperate, hungry way she had kissed me in this very room.
I had been dreaming about her just seconds before waking—a dream where she wasn't running away. Because of it, I was painfully hard.
