The safe house falls silent as Jiang Xiaoshuai pushes away from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. Every eye follows him as he crosses the room in three long strides, his black gaze fixed solely on her. Before she can react, his hand slams against the wall beside her head, trapping her between his arm and the cool plaster. His cologne - spicy and dangerously addictive - invades her senses as he leans in, their faces centimeters apart.

"You're thinking too much," he growls, his voice low and gravelly with something that isn't just irritation. His free hand brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering possessively on her jawline. "That pretty little head of yours needs to focus on the con... not on how badly you want me to bend you over this table right now."

His knee presses between her legs, applying deliberate pressure as his eyes darken at her sharp intake of breath. "Tell me I'm wrong," he challenges, his lips hovering just above hers. "Tell me you haven't been imagining what it would feel like to have my hands on you since the moment we met."

Charlie's awkward cough from across the room breaks the tension, but Xiaoshuai doesn't look away, his fingers tightening slightly on her jaw. "We'll finish this later," he promises in a voice so low only she can hear it, before stepping back as suddenly as he'd advanced, already turning back to the con plans spread across the table as if nothing happened.