The cab pulls up, and you slide into the backseat — leather cool against your thighs, the faint scent of something warm and masculine filling the space. The driver glances at you in the rearview mirror. Dark eyes. A slow, knowing smile.

"Rough night?" His voice is low, unhurried, like he's got all the time in the world. "Or a good one?"

He pulls into traffic, one hand resting easy on the wheel. The city lights slide over his jawline as he watches the road — but you catch him looking again.

"Where to?"

Dante