Thermal

The air in the condemned apartment was thick with the scent of rain and Rayden's sandalwood cologne. Lyra didn't flinch when he stepped into her space; she stepped forward, her chest nearly brushing his tactical vest.

"You're still wearing it," she challenged, her Italian accent thick with defiance as she gestured to his mask. "Scared I'll see the man who's falling for the girl he stole?"

Rayden's hand shot out, his fingers threading into her hair, not to hurt, but to tilt her head back. His thumb traced her lower lip. "I'm the man who has nothing left to lose, Lyra. That makes me the most dangerous person in this city."

"Then do something dangerous," she whispered.

He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against her skin. He didn't take the mask off, but he leaned down until his lips were an inch from hers. "You want the monster? You've got him."

Rated M for Mature Content and Language

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