Chapter 4 Caught In The Flames.

Elena barely made it through the front door of her apartment before she collapsed against it, her breath coming too fast, her pulse thrumming wildly.

Dante Moretti was relentless.

She had felt his eyes on her even after the train doors had closed, had known deep in her bones that this wasn't the end.

He would find her again.

No. He would come for her.

And the worst part?

A dark, forbidden part of her wanted him to.

Shoving the thought away, she peeled off her jacket, tossing it onto the couch. The apartment was quiet, dimly lit by the glow of the city outside.

She needed to forget him. Needed to erase the way he had invaded her senses.

A hot shower. That's what she needed.

Elena stripped out of her clothes and stepped beneath the steaming water, letting the heat soak into her skin. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, willing herself to relax.

But the moment she did, he was there.

Not physically she wasn't that far gone.

But in her mind.

The way he had stood there at the subway station, dark and dangerous, his gaze devouring her as if he was already imagining all the ways he would take her.

Her breath hitched.

She shouldn't be thinking about him.

She shouldn't.

But as the water ran down her body, as she pressed her hands against the cool tile, a traitorous heat unfurled inside her.

She imagined his hands-strong, possessive, sliding over her damp skin. His mouth, whispering dark promises against her neck.

Her fingers trailed lower, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

No.

With a sharp inhale, she forced herself to stop, fingers curling into a fist against the tile.

She would not let him consume her like this.

Not when she barely knew him.

Not when she wasn't sure she could escape once he caught her.

Elena shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around herself as she moved toward the bedroom. She needed sleep. Distance. A clear head.

But the moment she reached for the light switch

A voice shattered the silence.

"You've been thinking about me, haven't you?"

Elena froze.

The deep, velvet smooth sound of his voice sent a violent shiver down her spine.

Her pulse thundered as she slowly turned and there he was.

Dante Moretti.

Sitting in the chair by her window, his legs spread in that lazy, commanding way, his gaze dragging over her towel-clad body like he already owned every inch of her.

Her stomach clenched, breath caught between fear and something far more dangerous.

"How the hell did you get in here?"

Dante's lips curved. "I told you, tesoro. When I want something, I take it."

Her fingers clenched around the towel. "You need to leave."

His dark eyes gleamed. "That's not what you really want."

Elena's heart slammed against her ribs. "You don't know what I want."

He stood then, fluid and effortless, closing the space between them.

She should have moved.

Should have run but she didn't.

And when Dante reached out, fingers brushing along the damp curve of her shoulder, a sharp, electric jolt shot through her.

She gasped whether in shock or something else entirely, she wasn't sure.

His thumb traced the hollow of her throat, the heat of his touch branding her. "You're trembling," he murmured. "Is it fear?"

She wanted to say yes.

Wanted to lie.

But when his hand drifted lower, when his fingertips skimmed the knot of her towel, her lips parted.

And Dante smirked.

"You can keep pretending," he said, voice like a dark caress. "But your body doesn't lie."

Before she could protest, before she could think, he tugged the towel and it fell.

A sharp breath caught in her throat.

She stood before him, bare, vulnerable and utterly at his mercy.

Dante exhaled slowly, his gaze devouring her, dark hunger burning in his eyes. "Dio mio," he rasped. "You are a fucking masterpiece."

Heat flooded her, sharp and unbearable.

She should stop this. Should push him away.

But when he reached for her, when his hands finally claimed her.

Elena knew she was already lost.

Elena's breath hitched as Dante's hands skimmed down her bare arms, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of her.

She should push him away. She should.

But she didn't.

Didn't move.

Didn't even breathe as his fingers traced the curve of her waist, his touch sending heat spiraling through her body.

Her pulse pounded, a war raging inside her.

She hated him. Hated his arrogance, his possessiveness, the way he had forced his way into her life.

But she wanted him too.

God, she wanted him.

Dante tilted his head, his dark gaze locked onto hers. "Say it, tesoro."

Her lips parted. "Say what?"

"That you want me." His voice was low, commanding. "That you've been waiting for me to take you."

Elena swallowed hard.

Her body betrayed her-her breathing uneven, her skin flushed, her thighs pressing together as if seeking relief from the ache building inside her.

Dante noticed.

Of course he did.

His smirk was slow, knowing. "You can lie to yourself, elena ," he murmured. "But not to me."

His hands moved lower, fingertips grazing the dip of her hips.

A sharp gasp escaped her as he pulled her against him, pressing her bare skin against the hard, unforgiving heat of his body.

Her hands shot up, gripping his shirt whether to push him away or pull him closer, she wasn't sure.

His lips brushed against her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "Let me hear you, Elena."

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. "I hate you."

Dante chuckled, dark and amused. "No, tesoro." His teeth grazed her earlobe, making her shiver. "You hate how much you want me."

Before she could respond, his mouth captured hers.

The kiss wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle.

It was possession.

Heat and dominance and raw, unrelenting hunger.

Elena whimpered against his lips, her body betraying her completely as she melted into him.

His hands gripped her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around his waist, instinct taking over, her body burning as he walked them toward the bed.

She knew she should stop this.

Knew that giving in to Dante Moretti was a mistake.

But as he lowered her onto the sheets, as his mouth moved to her neck, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts.

She realized something far more dangerous.

She didn't want to stop.

Not tonight.

Not with him.

Elena barely had time to think before Dante's mouth was on hers again-hot, demanding, unrelenting.

His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her open beneath him, his body pressing her into the mattress with a dominance that stole her breath.

She moaned against his lips, the raw hunger between them igniting like wildfire. Every touch, every stroke of his fingers against her bare skin sent sparks racing through her veins.

Dante wasn't gentle.

He wasn't careful.

He devoured her.

His teeth grazed her throat, his tongue soothing the bite before trailing lower, his mouth claiming every inch of exposed flesh. She gasped when he sucked at the soft skin of her collarbone, his fingers digging into her hips as he pinned her down.

Her body burned.

She hated him.

But God, she wanted him.

"Dante..." Her voice was breathless, barely more than a whisper.

He lifted his head, eyes dark and full of heat. "Say it, tesoro."

Her chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths.

"Say you want this."

She should deny him. Should fight him.

But she couldn't.

Not when she was already lost in the way he touched her, the way his scent wrapped around her like a drug.

"I-"

A knock at the door shattered the moment.

Elena froze.

Dante went still, his grip on her tightening for a fraction of a second before he pulled away.

His expression shifted, darkening into something lethal.

Whoever was on the other side of that door had just made a very dangerous mistake.

The knock at the door sent a ripple of tension through the air.

Elena's breath came in shallow bursts, her body still burning from Dante's touch. He remained perfectly still above her, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with frustration and something far more dangerous.

Whoever was outside had just interrupted something inevitable.

A slow, almost menacing smile curved his lips as he dragged his gaze back to her. "Saved by the knock," he murmured, voice thick with hunger.

Elena's pulse hammered. She should push him off, should scramble for the towel that lay crumpled on the floor. But she was frozen beneath him, caught in the intoxicating mix of fear, desire, and the undeniable fact that she had wanted this as much as he did.

The knock came again, firmer this time.

Dante exhaled, the heat in his eyes turning cold. "Stay here."

It wasn't a request.

Before she could argue, he rose from the bed, his movements controlled, effortless. He didn't bother straightening his shirt, didn't care that his hunger for her still lingered in the air, thick and suffocating.

Elena watched as he strode toward the door, unlocking it with slow deliberation before pulling it open.

A man stood outside broad, dressed in dark clothes, his posture stiff. He said something in a low voice, something Elena couldn't hear, but whatever it was, Dante's expression darkened instantly.

Silence stretched between them.

Then, without another word, Dante shut the door.

His shoulders tensed, his hands flexing at his sides, but when he turned back to her, his gaze was just as possessive as before.

"We're not done," he said, his voice low and rough.

Elena swallowed hard, pulling the sheets up over her bare skin. She should have been relieved that the moment had passed, that the dangerous pull between them had been interrupted.

But she wasn't because when Dante Moretti made a promise.

He always kept it.