Every time he stopped moving—even for a second—the memory of their kiss slammed into him with the same devastating force as when it happened: her breath hitching against his mouth, her fingers trembling as if she didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer, the intoxicating softness of her lips parting under his, and the way she had melted—actually melted—against him for that brief, forbidden moment.
He hadn’t been able to think straight since.
And, infuriatingly, the one person he relied on to keep things under control—Samson—had nothing to offer him. No leverage. No dirt. No forgotten scandal or hidden weakness. Not even a whisper of a misstep or a stain in her past.
“Nothing yet, sir, but we are looking,” Samson had said again that afternoon, and Zayn had nearly snapped t
