CHAPTER 2: A Dance of Control
I couldn't help the flicker of amusement in my eyes as he spoke, fighting to contain a grin. Watching those dark eyes rake over my body, and my face and finally lock onto mine was like striking a match against a dry pile of tinder. The fire it ignited was one I usually only felt in the high-stakes moments of my job, but this was different—this was personal. Confidence surged through me, unbidden and unapologetic, and my cheeks flushed with the heat of that fire and the unabashed lust simmering behind his gaze.
"Tell me," he said, leaning in closer. My breath hitched as the space between us shrank to almost nothing. "Do you always make an entrance this captivating, or is it just for me tonight?"
He was so close I could smell him, and his scent was goddamned intoxicating. At first, it was the rich leather of his suit mingled with faint traces of tobacco. But beneath that was something far more arresting—a deep, heady blend of oud and amber that nearly had my eyes rolling back with desire. Somehow, I managed to hold myself back from doing just that and breathing him in like a weirdo.
His hand remained clasped around mine, warm and firm, exuding quiet strength that sent a thrill through me. With a steady, measured motion, I slid my hand free, the moment charged with unspoken intent. I pressed my palm flat against his chest, my maroon nails looking positively sinful against the smooth fabric of his dark suit. My hand, lean and poised, rested with purpose, a silent declaration.
My eyes never wavered from his, holding him captive, as a flirtatious, almost feral smirk curved my lips, a promise of control and challenge in equal measure. His gaze flicked down to where my hand rested, then slowly trailed back up to meet my eyes. The lust in his expression deepened, turning into raw, unapologetic hunger.
"Wouldn't it be a bit cocky of you to think I went to all this effort just for you, Antonio?" I teased, pressing my hand firmly against his chest. His body didn't resist as I guided him backward, pushing him down into his chair. He moved willingly, his hungry eyes still locked on mine. Leaning down, I purred against his ear, "But perhaps I do have a flair for... captivating what I want."
The slight shiver that rippled down his neck and raised goosebumps behind his ear sent a thrill through me. A satisfied smirk tugged at my lips as I straightened and took my seat across from him.
This date was already far more interesting than I could have imagined. Just in the brief moments ,we'd exchanged words, I couldn't tell who wanted to consume the other more…
Him or me.
Our eyes remained locked for a long moment, the intensity between us unbroken, until we were forced to look away by the approaching waitress. She was a young woman with her blonde hair tied neatly in a ponytail and striking blue eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm.
"Good evening! I'm Tyla, and I'll be your waitress today," she said brightly, completely unaware of the thick bubble of tension she'd just popped. "Are you ready to order?" she asked, pen poised above her notepad, waiting expectantly.
As she reached our table, I didn't miss the way her gaze lingered on Antonio with the same heat I'd given him earlier. Amused, I wondered how often this kind of attention was thrown his way. But Antonio didn't seem to notice—or care, for that matter. His stoic expression remained firmly in place when he spoke to her, and it was almost like an impenetrable mask that gave away nothing.
"I'll have a bottle of Sassicaia, 2010, if available. For the appetiser, we'll have the beef carpaccio. For the main course, the tagliatelle with black truffle and a side of grilled asparagus. To finish, tiramisu. Thank you," he ordered, his tone firm and authoritative, the kind of voice that didn't invite questions.
Without a glance at the waitress, he shifted his attention back to me, effectively dismissing her.
I cocked an eyebrow and smirked at him.
He hadn't asked what I wanted, simply taking the reins and ordering for us. I hadn't even glanced at the menu yet, but I couldn't say I entirely minded. I was more than prepared to cover my share—and his if needed. One too many blind dates had taught me to anticipate things going sideways, and I always came ready for the unexpected.
It was… interesting. The way he moved, the way he carried himself, and even the way he dressed—everything about him sparked curiosity in my mind, each detail of a puzzle piece waiting to be placed.
But I couldn't let myself fall into old habits. I had to stifle the detective instincts that stirred within me—the part of me that once scrutinised every subtle movement, every flicker of emotion, to uncover truths. Those instincts had served me well in my time-solving cases long before I became chief of police, but tonight, I couldn't let them take over. Tonight, I wasn't here to investigate; I was here to see where this would lead.
As Tyla turned to leave, I cleared my throat.
"I'll have a San Pellegrino with a twist of lemon, actually," I said, stopping her in her tracks. My polite smile was aimed at her, but my tone was meant for Antonio—a subtle act of defiance against his attempt to dominate and control.
"Then, no bottle, just a glass of the Sassicaia for myself," Antonio added smoothly without hesitation.
I didn't look at him right away. Not yet. I wanted to savour the little game I'd just started, letting the tension linger between us. I was curious—would he catch on, or would he feign obliviousness? More importantly, I wanted to see how he handled someone who didn't fall in line, who didn't obey or comply with his every move.
There was something intoxicating about testing his limits, about seeing how far I could push before he pushed back. Would he meet the challenge head-on, or would he attempt to regain control in that quiet, commanding way of his? Either way, I wasn't about to make it easy for him.
When Tyla nodded and adjusted the order, she left us alone once again. I turned my attention back to Antonio, and this time, it was his turn to raise a brow. His small grin softened his sharp features, lending him an almost playful look.
"Care to explain why you basically ordered flavoured water?" he asked, his eyes still carrying that simmering hunger, now laced with curiosity. It wasn't the polite kind of curiosity, though—it was the kind a cat showed when nudging its prey to see how it would react.
Perhaps I like playing it safe," I quipped, leaning back in my chair, my tone teasing yet deliberately nonchalant. I crossed one leg over the other, my movements measured as though I was in complete control of myself and the situation. But deep down, the truth was far messier.
The image that sprang forth in my mind was sharp and as clear as if I were watching a movie, sending a rush of unwarranted heat through my body: I wouldn't mind if he bent me over this table right now and—
I barely managed to stop myself, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek as warmth crept up my neck and into my face. I took a slow, controlled breath, hoping he wouldn't notice the slight hitch in it, but there was no ignoring the fire raging beneath my composed exterior.
God, pull it together, Dahlia, I scolded myself, shifting slightly in my seat as though that would extinguish the simmering ache in my core. I wasn't some inexperienced teenager unable to keep my thoughts in check, yet here I was, utterly undone by the raw, magnetic pull of a man I'd just met.
If I was being honest, it had been so long. Too long, really, since I had indulged myself in any kind of pleasure; I couldn't even remember the last time I'd indulged in something as basic as touching myself, let alone letting someone else in. Maybe that was the real reason why I felt like a live wire tonight.
But even as I fought to keep myself composed, there was no denying the undercurrent of longing pulsing through me. It wasn't just about lust, though that was undeniably part of it. It was the way Antonio looked at me, with that intense, unbroken focus, as though I were the only person in the world who mattered. It was electrifying, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore. He was impossible to ignore, and I doubt a man who acted like he did would ever allow anyone to ignore him.
I leaned further into my chair, drawing on every ounce of self-control I had. You're a grown-ass woman, Dahlia. Get your shit together. I reminded myself once more, but even as I forced myself to look away, I knew one thing for certain: Antonio Corenzo was already under my skin, and I wasn't sure if I wanted him out—or deeper in.
And I one hundred percent meant that both figuratively and literally.
His large hand rested on the black tablecloth between us, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his skin. His index finger tapped against the fabric in a slow, unhurried rhythm, drawing my gaze. My eyes traced the movement, following the lines of his hand up to the tattoo. The intricate design disappeared beneath the cuff of his suit, teasing at the full sleeve of ink hidden underneath.
The tapping stopped abruptly. My eyes flicked up to meet his, and I found him watching me with an amused, knowing expression.
"Something tells me, Passerotto, that you like the opposite of safe," he said, his voice dipping into a mocking lilt as he repeated the word safe.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, burning a fierce red, but I kept my expression defiant.
"Oh, I don't think you know the first thing about me, Antonio. I think—"
The waitress chose that exact moment to return with our drinks, shattering the charged moment between us. I took a slow sip of my San Pellegrino, savouring the cool liquid as I waited for her to leave. Once we were alone again, I set the glass down carefully and slowly, never breaking eye contact.
"I think you've never met a woman like me," I said, my tone low and steady. "And you'll find that I might be more than you can handle."
His response was immediate. Both palms flattened against the table, his posture radiating dominance. The shift in his body language sent a visceral response coursing through me. Heat flared between my thighs, and my nipples tightened beneath the thin fabric of my dress.
God, if he's like that in the bedroom... The thought struck me with dizzying force. I want those hands around my throat.
"Passerotto," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive rumble that made my pulse race, "I could say the same. Perhaps you should also tread carefully, yes?"
A grin tugged at my lips despite the wildfire spreading through me. Well played, Antonio. I had to admit he knew how to keep up.
The inferno burning between us was growing dangerously out of control, and I supposed—for both our sakes—I should stop throwing fuel on the flames. But God, it was tempting to see just how hot this fire could get.
"Alright, alright, let's get to the mundane part of these blind dates—the boring questions. You know, tread more carefully, as you said," I chuckled, easing back into my seat. I rested my chin on my hand, thumb, and index finger, framing my jaw, feigning deep contemplation as I pretended to think of a question.
Antonio's expression flickered, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. It was subtle, but for a moment, he seemed to expect me to keep pushing the fire between us. Then, just as quickly, he masked it with an amused smirk.
"Mundane part?" he echoed, one brow cocking upward in an elegant arch.
I smiled sheepishly. "You know, the basics. What's your favourite colour? What are your hobbies? Do you like animals? That sort of crap," I said, rolling my hand in a lazy circle next to my head, letting out a dramatic sigh.
He tilted his head slightly, the curiosity in his expression deepening. It was as if my sudden change in behaviour baffled him like he was trying to decode a puzzle he'd never encountered before. For a brief second, I wondered if there was something wrong with me—or something wrong with him.
"Why are you looking at me like that? Don't you go on dates to know this?" I asked, my tone holding a defensive edge but still laced with amusement.
As if realising how intently he'd been watching me, Antonio's features softened into a grin. He shrugged a casual gesture that didn't seem like him at all. "I do. But they usually don't get this far. I must say, you're... intriguing, Dahlia. Unlike any woman I've met before."
Hearing my name roll off his tongue sent a jolt of heat through me, reigniting the fire between us into a blazing inferno. I could feel the danger in how quickly I was becoming focused—too focused—on this man I had only just met.
I opened my mouth to respond, a retort forming on the tip of my tongue, but the sudden trill of my phone's ringtone shattered the fragile bubble of intimacy we'd built between us. The sound was jarring, loud enough to draw disapproving glances from nearby tables.
Heat rushed to my face as I scrambled to silence the intrusion, my blush deepening with every second it rang. I shot apologetic glances at the other patrons, trying to convey that I wasn't one of those people who couldn't put their phone away during a nice dinner.
As I fished the phone out of my small handbag, I risked a glance at Antonio. Unlike me, he appeared completely unbothered, his sharp features relaxed as though he found the entire scene amusing. A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, his dark eyes glinting with barely restrained amusement.
Meanwhile, my own irritation flared when I finally saw the name flashing on the screen. Will.
What the fuck does he want? My stomach churned with annoyance at the thought of him interrupting this, of all things. Exhaling sharply, I hit the red button with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, sending the call to voicemail before shoving the phone back into my bag.
I was still fuming when Antonio's voice cut through my irritation like a blade, smooth and laced with intrigue.
"Sick Like Me—in This Moment, huh? Interesting song choice," he observed, his tone casual, but there was a weight to his words, an edge I couldn't quite place.
I froze, momentarily thrown off balance. My gaze snapped up to meet his, and I found him watching me with that same amused expression. But this time, there was something darker flickering beneath the surface.
"Yeah, I went to a concert a while back and got hooked," I said, rolling my eyes as the memory of Will's disapproval resurfaced. "Much to my ex's dismay. He hated rock or metal of any kind—said it was soul-damning music or some other dramatic bullshit."
Antonio looked as though he was about to reply when my phone buzzed again. Dammit. I should've put it on silent.
"Sorry," I said, my voice carrying a thread of genuine apology. "I usually keep it on in case of emergencies."
I fished the phone out again, irritation melting into concern when I saw the name on the screen this time. It was my brother.
"So sorry—I have to take this," I said quickly, standing and stepping outside the restaurant as I answered the call.
Through the window, I saw Antonio pull his phone from his pocket. His expression shifted instantly, the scowl from earlier settling firmly back onto his face as he answered his own phone call. His jaw tightened, and his posture stiffened, exuding a barely contained tension. I watched him for a moment, my thoughts spinning even as I raised my own phone to my ear.
"Falen, this better be urgent," I hissed into the receiver, my tone sharp.
It had to be urgent for him to call me. As the youngest—and only sister—of five brothers, I'd learned to be tough by necessity, especially when dealing with Falen. He was the overbearing, embarrassingly protective type, and if he was calling during my rare night off, something serious must have happened.
"You know I'd rather take a cactus up my ass than interrupt your precious day off," Falen replied, his tone strained, the worry bleeding through despite his attempt at humour. "But it's an emergency. I need you to come to St. John's Hospital. Steven's in the ER."
My heart sank. Steven, the most rebellious of us all. Trouble clung to him like a damn wet blanket, and now it had landed him in the hospital. Anxiety twisted in my stomach as I began picking at my lip.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice low but urgent.
"Just get here. I'll explain when you arrive," Falen said.
"I'm on my way. I'll be there in twenty minutes," I replied, ending the call and slipping the phone back into my bag.
Striding back into the restaurant, my mind churned with worry, but I kept my expression carefully controlled. When I reached the table, Antonio had just finished his call as well. His scowl was gone, replaced with an apologetic look that matched my own.
I let out a soft chuckle, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. I wasn't sure if it came from frustration or the sheer irony of the situation.
"Don't tell me you have an emergency, too?" I teased my tone light but strained under the weight of my worry for Steven.
He nodded curtly, his expression serious, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. We wanted to continue this date, but the universe had other plans.
"Phone," I said, holding out my hand expectantly.
Antonio blinked once, a brief flicker of confusion crossing his face before understanding settled. Without a word, he reached for my phone as I held out mine.
We exchanged numbers in silence, the small gesture heavy with unspoken intensity. Our fingers brushed as we handed the phones back, the fleeting contact leaving a warmth that lingered far longer than it should have.
Then, driven by an unexpected and admittedly uncharacteristic surge of overconfidence in my own allure, I decided to push the moment further.
Leaning forward, I used my height advantage over his seated form, my lips hovering tantalisingly close to his ear. His scent surrounded me once more, rich and heady, wrapping around me like invisible hands and making it harder to leave than it should have been.
"Let's do this another day," I whispered, my voice low and teasing. "I want to know if you truly can handle a woman like me."
Before he could respond, I pressed a kiss to his cheek. My lipstick left a faint outline of my lips against his olive-toned skin, and then, without waiting for his reaction, I straightened and turned, placing money on the table to cover the food and drinks we'd yet to receive. Then, without a glance back, I walked out of the restaurant and into the cool night air, heading for the parking lot.
I climbed into my Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat, its sleek matte black finish gleaming under the dim parking lot lights. Sliding my seatbelt on, I pressed the ignition, the engine roaring to life with a throaty growl. The familiar sound brought a fleeting moment of calm—until a sharp knock on the tinted driver's window shattered the quiet.
I yelped, my hand flying to my chest as my heart pounded in overdrive. Steadying myself, I instinctively reached for the Glock I kept hidden beside my seat, my fingers wrapping around the cool metal as I rolled down the window. My glare was sharp, ready to confront whoever dared to invade my space, but my expression softened instantly when I saw who it was.
Antonio leaned down into the open window, his presence filling the small space like a storm rolling in. His dark eyes held that same electric intensity, and before I could say anything, he closed the distance between us.
I gasped as his lips brushed against my cheek, soft but calculated, mirroring the kiss I'd left on his cheek moments earlier. The brief contact sent a jolt through me, the warmth of his breath lingering on my skin.
Before I could react, his hand slid through the open window, and he placed the bills I'd left on the table between my legs and a bit too close to the apex of my thighs, the crisp paper brushing against my exposed skin. His fingers lingered there, the touch searing and intimate, before trailing upward to cup my chin.
With firm but gentle pressure, he tilted my head to the side, his face so close that his next words sent shivers straight down my spine.
"Don't worry," he murmured, his voice a low, velvet rumble, "I can handle it, Passerotto. Both paying for dinner... and you."
I shivered, the weight of his words igniting every nerve in my body. And just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone, disappearing into the night like a shadow.
I stared after him, my mind swimming in a haze of desire, struggling to regain focus. Blinking rapidly, I rolled the window back up with a shaky hand and shifted the car into gear.
Slapping my cheeks lightly, I muttered under my breath, trying to chase away the lingering heat of his touch. The sting of the slap helped, if only barely, forcing my scattered thoughts to realign.
Dammit, I thought, exhaling sharply. I need to get my shit together.