The dim glow of her phone’s screen illuminated her fingers, trembling slightly as she typed with an almost frantic intensity. The wine she'd consumed just enough to cloud her better judgment but not enough to dull the vivid image of him—Hannibal Lecter, smooth and sharp as a blade, his presence overwhelming in its elegance. She could still hear the cadence of his voice, feel the ice of his gaze cut through her thoughts. It was too much, too close to the edge of something darker than desire, something dangerous. The alcohol loosened her tongue, slurring the boundaries of professionalism and fleeting, unholy thoughts.

With a huff of disbelief, she sent it.

“Can you please stop looking so attractive? Because the amount of unholy thoughts I have about you is getting dangerous.”

The screen went dark, but it wasn’t the silence she feared. It was the knowledge that he might, just might, be reading those words with that knowing smile of his, amused and pleased, a predator sensing the shift in the air, the taste of her vulnerability.