"I need..." she started, then lost her train of thought completely when his thumb stroked along her ribs.
"What do you need?" The question was barely a whisper, his mouth inches from hers.
The basement suddenly felt too small, too warm. Vincent's tank top clung to him with sweat, and Yvette could smell the clean scent of his soap mixed with the musk of exertion. When he'd positioned himself behind her for the chokehold demonstration, she'd felt every muscle in his torso, every breath.
"You said I should trust my instincts." She reached up to touch his jaw. "What are your instincts telling you right now?"
"That I want to kiss you until you forget your own name." The admission came out like a confession. "And that doing it would be a massive breach of professional conduct."
"You're not my bodyguard. You're my neighbor who's keeping me safe because it's the right thing to do."
"I'm the only thing standing between you and the people who want you dead. That creates a power imbalance—"
Yvette silenced him by rising up on her toes and pressing her mouth to his.
He went rigid for a heartbeat, then his control snapped. His arms came around her waist, hauling her against him as he took over the kiss with hungry intensity. This wasn't the grateful peck from last night. This was the kind of sweet chemistry that made thinking impossible.
He kissed like he fought. With complete focus and overwhelming skill. When his tongue swept across her lower lip, she opened for him with a soft gasp.
Backing her against the wall, he caged her in as one hand played with her hair and the other spread across her lower back. The cool concrete against her shoulders contrasted sharply with the muscles of his chest pressed against hers. When he tilted her head to deepen the kiss, she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing closer.
This was nothing like last night's kiss. That had been soft, tentative, born of gratitude and proximity. This was fire and demand and the kind of raw attraction that had been building between them since he'd first appeared in her bedroom doorway.
He kissed down to her jaw, then her neck, finding the sensitive spot below her ear that made her arch against him. She could feel his breath against her skin, could feel the hunger in the way his teeth scraped lightly along her throat.
"This is crazy," she said, but her hands were already sliding under his tank top, exploring the hard muscle of his back.
"Completely insane," he agreed against her neck, then captured her mouth again.
His hands roamed her body with the same focused intensity he brought to everything else, mapping the curve of her waist, the line of her spine, the soft skin just above the waistband of her yoga pants. When his thumb brushed the underside of her breast through her t-shirt, she made a sound that was half gasp, half plea.
When he pulled back to look at her, his breathing was ragged. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her hands were still gripping his shirt like she was afraid he'd disappear if she let go.
"We should stop," he said, but his voice lacked any conviction.
"Should we?" Yvette tugged him closer, until their foreheads were touching. "Or should we see where this goes?"
For a moment, he looked like he was seriously considering it. Then his phone rang, and reality crashed back. Federal investigators. RareCore. The fact that someone had tried to kill her less than twelve hours ago.
He stepped away reluctantly. "That's probably the feds. They want to meet in an hour."
She smoothed down her t-shirt, trying to compose herself. Her heart was still racing, and she could feel the blush in her cheeks. "Right. Work. The case."
"We'll continue this later," Vincent said, heading toward the stairs.
"The training?"
He paused at the bottom of the steps, looking back at her with eyes that held promises. "All of it."
