No footsteps. No knock. Just the soft click of her bedroom door sliding shut.
Erin stood frozen, heart lurching in her chest as she turned—and found him there. Xander. Dark-eyed, tousled, maddeningly unreadable. His expression unreadable, but his gaze was heated, locked on her with unnerving intensity.
She opened her mouth to speak—to question, to push, to stop whatever was about to happen. But she didn't get the chance.
He crossed the room in two strides and kissed her.
No warning. No hesitation. Just lips crashing into hers with the kind of desperation that scorched straight through her body. Her back hit the wall behind her, but the impact didn't matter. All she could feel was him—his mouth claiming hers, his hand in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her gasp.
She told herself to push him away.
Instead, her fingers gripped the front of his shirt, tugging him closer.
The kiss deepened, and her knees buckled under the weight of it. She felt herself surrendering, breath after breath, melting against him as his tongue swept into her mouth and stole every last thought she had.
When his lips left hers, a helpless whimper escaped her, and she hated the sound of it—hated that it came from her.
He didn't stop.
Instead, he trailed kisses down her jaw, brushing his lips lightly over her skin before settling at the curve of her throat. She felt him inhale there—slow, savoring.
"You smell like a secret," he murmured, his voice rough velvet against her skin. "And I want to know every part of it."
Her stomach tightened.
He kissed her again—there, on the pulse of her neck. She let out a shaky breath, her hands sliding up his chest, her heart pounding like a war drum beneath her ribs.
Then his mouth moved to her ear.
"I think about this," he whispered, his breath hot. "About you. Do you?"
She shivered. Her lips parted to lie, to deny, but nothing came out.
Because the truth was burning her from the inside out.
He took the silence as answer. His mouth closed around her earlobe, sucking gently, then dragging his teeth along the sensitive edge. Her head tipped back against the wall with a soft thud. Her eyes fluttered shut.
"Say it," he whispered again. "Say you want this."
Her body betrayed her. Heat pooled between her legs. Her skin felt too tight, too flushed. His hand was already sliding under her thin sleep shirt, grazing the soft skin of her waist before moving higher.
He cupped her breast. She gasped.
The warmth of his palm, the way his thumb brushed over her nipple—it was too much. Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts. She arched into his touch without meaning to, a low moan slipping past her lips.
"You're beautiful," he whispered. "Do you know what you do to me?"
His mouth found the swell of her chest. He kissed over the curve, then lowered to her nipple, licking it once before sucking it into his mouth. His tongue moved slowly, deliberately. The sensation was sharp and electric and unbearable.
Her hands fisted in his hair.
He groaned against her, the sound sending another rush of heat through her, and then his other hand slid down—lower and lower—until his fingers dipped between her thighs.
She was already wet.
He touched her through the fabric, teasing and stroking in lazy circles until she was trembling. Her legs parted without thinking.
"Please," she heard herself whisper. "Please, Xander…"
"You want me?" he asked against her skin, biting softly at her breast. "Tell me."
"Yes…" she breathed. "Yes, I want—"
And just as he positioned himself above her, just as she felt the promise of him about to claim her—
Erin shot awake.
Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. The room was dim, the early morning sun barely bleeding through the curtains. Her nightshirt was damp with sweat, clinging to her flushed skin. Her sheets were twisted around her legs like chains, and her thighs trembled as if they still remembered his touch.
It was just a dream.
Just a dream.
She pressed a hand to her chest, as if that might steady the frantic pounding of her heart. Her face burned, and her stomach still clenched with lingering desire that refused to fade.
She stared at the ceiling in stunned, humiliated silence.
"Oh my God," she whispered, covering her face with both hands. "What the hell is wrong with me?"
She could still hear his voice in her head. Still feel his breath on her skin. And the worst part? It felt real. Too real. Every whispered word, every stolen moan. Every shameful part of her wanted it to be real.
Her thighs pressed together unconsciously.
"No," she said aloud, shaking her head. "Absolutely not."
But her body wasn't listening. Her mind wasn't listening. Because even now, even after the haze had lifted and the truth of her reality settled in, she still wanted him.
Xander.
Of all people.
She threw the blanket over her head and groaned, sinking deeper into her mattress.
"Stupid, arrogant jerk," she muttered. "Stupid, kiss-stealing, infuriating—"
And still, her heart stuttered at the mere memory of his name.
No. She had to get herself together. She had a job to do. A mission. And daydreaming—literally dreaming—about the one person she was supposed to deceive was dangerous.
But even as she told herself that…
She knew she'd never forget the way his voice sounded in that dream.
Or the way she still wanted to hear it again.