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My gaze drops to his mouth, and Ross closes the distance.

He kisses me hard and immediate. It’s so familiar that my body responds before my mind catches up. His hand cups my jaw while his other arm pulls me against him, and for one staggering second every memory I’ve spent years containing comes rushing back at once.

Then anger cuts straight through the heat. I shove him away and slap him. The sound cracks through the empty corridor.

Ross’s head turns slightly with the impact, but when he looks back at me, there is no retreat in his expression. If anything, something darker settles into it. His eyes drop to my mouth.

“Don’t,” I warn.

Ross steps back into my space. I lift my hand again, but he catches my wrist before I can strike him a second time. His grip is firm without hurting me, and the sudden restraint sends another rush of heat straight through me.

“Ross.”

“Say stop,” he says quietly.

I stare at him. His thumb presses against the inside of my wrist where my pulse is racing.

“If you want me to stop, Blaire, say it…and I’ll walk away.”

My breathing turns shallow as Ross leans closer, his mouth hovering just short of mine.

“But if there’s still a part of you that wants this,” he says, “don’t lie to me.”

Anger and desire collide so violently inside me that I can barely separate them. I hate that he can feel my pulse beneath his fingers. I hate that he knows exactly what it means.

“Let go of me,” I say.

Ross releases my wrist immediately. For one second, neither of us moves. Then I grab the front of his jacket and pull him back to me—I choose to kiss him.

Ross catches me around the waist and drives me back against the wall, and whatever restraint was left between us disappears as his mouth is taking mine with enough force to make my head spin. I fist both hands in his hair and pull him closer, kissing him just as aggressively while his body pins mine in place.

There’s nothing hesitant about it.

His hand slides over my hip and grips hard as I bite his lower lip. He answers by deepening the kiss, his mouth rough against mine, his body pressed so tightly to me that every inch of him feels familiar.

Too familiar.

Too good.

I drag my nails lightly through the hair at the back of his neck, and the low sound he makes against my mouth sends heat straight through me.

Then Ross suddenly lifts his head. His gaze moves past me toward the corridor. Security cameras cover the intersections at either end. He looks back at me, breathing hard, then catches my hand.

“This way,” he says.

That is the only explanation I get.

He pulls me farther down the corridor and into one of the smaller archive viewing rooms. File cabinets line one wall, a long examination table fills the center, and a single desk lamp throws a low pool of light across the otherwise dark room.

Ross shuts the door behind us and turns the lock. The click sends another rush through me. I don’t wait for him. I grab his jacket and pull him back into me, kissing him while I shove it from his shoulders. He strips my coat away just as quickly, letting it fall beside his jacket while my hands move to his shirt.

Buttons come loose beneath my fingers. His hands slide over my waist and pull me against him again. I can feel the hard bulge of his cock against my center, and the feeling makes me feral.

Neither of us cares where anything lands. There’s no patience left between us now, only seven years of anger, hunger and memory crashing together at once.

Ross pulls back just enough to look at me. I grip his shirt and drag him back.

“Don’t stop,” I say.