Alyssa watched the intruder, and her mind tagged him with a single color: Red. Red for danger. Red for the blood he might spill—or the blood pounding in her own ears.
He was a trespasser, a criminal, a dead man walking if she uttered a single word. Yet, he met her gaze not with fear, but with a calm, analytical coolness that she found infuriating. And intriguing.
His expression hardened when she mentioned his friend. "Leave her out of this."
"So she is important to you." Alyssa sat up straighter, the silk sheet pooling at her waist. Leverage. This was a language she understood. "Good to know."
A squad of boots thundered past her door. Red's attention snapped toward the sound, his body coiling like a viper. In that moment, Alyssa saw not a cornered rat, but a caged tiger. The power she held over him was intoxicating.
"Take off that uniform," she commanded, her voice regaining its familiar, imperious tone. "It's offensive seeing a filthy criminal like you in our colors."
