All Chapters of HIS DANGEROUS GAME: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Amara slipped out of the crush of bodies on the dance floor, her pulse still thudding against her ribs. She should have left the ballroom entirely, walked straight out of the glittering gilded cage and into the anonymity of the city outside. That would have been the smart move.But agents didn’t run from danger. They studied it. They learned how it moved, how it breathed, how it killed.She found her way to the bar, steadying her hand as she lifted a fresh glass of champagne. Around her, laughter rose and fell like the tide, politicians trading favors with criminals in tuxedos, women draped in couture and diamonds so large they caught the light like stars.A whisper brushed her ear: Focus, Amara.She touched her earpiece, tilting her head just slightly so no one would notice. Her handler’s voice was crisp and low.“Good work making contact. But don’t get sloppy. Remember why you’re there.”Her lips curved faintly as though she were amused by something someone had said. “Understood,” s

Amara spent nearly an hour in front of the mirror, something she rarely allowed herself the luxury of. But this wasn’t vanity. It was strategy. Her handler’s warning played in her head like a litany: He’s dangerous. He’ll devour you if you let him. All the more reason to fight fire with fire. She smoothed her hands over the silk slip dress clinging to her body like a second skin. Deep emerald green, cut low enough to reveal the soft curve of her cleavage, with thin straps that left her shoulders bare. A slit on one side climbed high enough to flash toned thigh with every calculated step. Her hair, normally in tight curls, had been tamed into glossy, cascading waves that framed her face and brushed her collarbones. Her skin gleamed, kissed with bronze from body oil that smelled faintly of vanilla and jasmine. Subtle, feminine, the kind of scent that lingered in the air like a secret. Gold hoops caught the light when she turned her head, and a delicate chain rested just above the sw

Amara woke with the taste of last night still on her lips. That kiss. That man. That danger wrapped in silk and smoke. She dragged her fingers across her mouth as if she could erase the memory, but Dante Vitale had burned himself into her skin, her mind, her blood. And the rose lying on her pillow—the note that had read “You taste like sin, Amara. And now you’re mine”—proved it wasn’t just her imagination. He was everywhere, even here, in what should have been her sanctuary. Still, she was an agent. Trained. Controlled. She would not let one man, no matter how magnetic, throw her off. She slipped into her armor: a fitted white blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt, sheer stockings, and heels that clicked against the floor like sharpened blades. Her hair she twisted into a sleek knot, exposing the graceful column of her throat, a deliberate show of indifference. Her perfume—notes of vanilla and smoke—was meant to mask the scent of unease clinging to her. She stared at herself

The morning after she said yes didn’t feel real.Amara woke to sunlight bleeding through the tall glass windows, wrapping around Dante’s penthouse like a spotlight. For a moment, she forgot where she was , the soft sheets, the faint scent of cedar and whiskey, the quiet hum of the city below.Then it hit her.She wasn’t supposed to be here.She wasn’t supposed to belong to anyone.Her reflection in the mirror looked back at her with a defiant calm that wasn’t real. She told herself she said yes to Dante because she needed access,to his life, his contacts, his secrets. Not because of the way his voice made her heartbeat stutter.This was about the mission. It had to be.When she walked into the living room, he was already waiting. Dante Moretti, dark suit, watch glinting in the light, a man who looked like temptation wrapped in danger. He didn’t even look up from his coffee when he said,“Sit. We have rules to discuss.”She folded her arms. “Rules?”He finally met her eyes. “If you’re

The figure in the doorway stepped into the light. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just me.” Her pulse slowed, barely. She lowered her weapon an inch, though her hand stayed firm on the grip. The man before her wasn’t one of Dante’s men. He wasn’t anyone she’d ever seen near Moretti’s circle. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black tactical wear that hugged muscle and confidence. Dark hair, cropped close at the sides, and eyes the color of midnight, sharp, mischievous, unreadable. And that grin. It was the kind that made you forget to breathe. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded. “Agent Cole Navarro,” he said smoothly, flashing a badge before slipping it back into his jacket. “Headquarters sent me.” She blinked. “Sent you?” He strolled farther in, his boots silent against the floor. “Yeah. They think you’ve been… taking your sweet time on this case. So…new orders. We’re partners now.” Her jaw clenched. “Partners?” “Don’t look so thrilled,” he teased. “Believe me,