Emily’s POV

"Say it," Daniel rasped, his hand tightening around my waist, pinning me flat against his heavy chest. "Say my name, Emily."

The backseat of the Maybach felt like a pressure cooker. I was sitting straight across his lap, my legs spread over his suit trousers, my heels hooked behind his calves. The scent of him—cedar, leather, and that dark, intoxicating heat—was filling my lungs, making my head spin.

"You're crazy," I panted, my fingers digging into the shoulders of his charcoal suit jacket. "You're completely out of your mind."

"I am," he agreed smoothly, his storm-gray eyes pitch-black in the dim light of the tinted windows. "And I'm...