He didn’t smile.Didn’t nod.His expression remained perfectly composed.
But she had the distinct, unsettling feeling that he’d filed the moment away—quietly, precisely, and with dangerous interest.
An hour later, the interview finally came to an end.The production team would edit the questions and add in clapping, as well as appropriately timed laughter, making it seem as if the interview had happened in front of a live audience.
However, when Zayn stood up and started unwinding the microphone from his jacket, Azlyn had to turn away.For some reason, her thoughts immediately went to him taking off his clothes.Goodness, how glorious would that man look nude?Probably ripped, she thought as she fiddled with her notes.There were scribbles all over the pages and in the margins.Notes about questions she would have asked him if she and Olivia hadn’t been hindered by that irritating agreement.
“You aren’t satisfied.”
The deep, sexy voice came from right behind her.Azlyn spun around, shocked to find the man on her mind mere inches away.
“I’m sorry?”she blurted, her voice tight and a bit too husky for her peace of mind.
“You have more questions,” he said, voice low and measured.“Let’s have lunch.Ask me anything you like—I’ll give you answers no press release ever touched.”
It took her a moment to realize what he was offering.Not more fluff.Not more political positioning.Actual access.
Anything?
She blinked, recalling Olivia’s breezy mention of his favorite food—pasta, apparently—tucked somewhere between the name-dropping and weather talk.
This was something else entirely.
She licked her lips, unthinking, and saw—felt—his gaze drop to her mouth.
Heat bloomed across her skin.Her lips tingled, and for one dangerous second, her body swayed forward before her mind yanked her back.
Azlyn forced herself to shake her head.“No, that’s okay,” she said, clasping her hands tightly at her waist.Her gaze dropped to the center of his chest, avoiding the pull of his eyes.“Thank you for agreeing to the interview.I think our viewers will appreciate your answers.”
His voice softened to something more intimate.“Afraid?”
She didn’t have to look up to feel the change in his posture.He was closer.She sensed it in the air between them, charged and thinning by the second.
Her brain misfired.The studio light caught in his dark eyes, turning them molten.Andgood God, he smelled incredible—clean pine, warm skin, and something masculine that bypassed thought entirely and short-circuited her restraint.
Azlyn inhaled sharply, only to stop herself—too aware of the dangerous impulse to lean in, breathe him in, getcloser.
Her back straightened in alarm.What was she thinking?This wasn’t her.She didn’t melt for smooth words or well-angled jawlines.
She looked up and froze again.Those eyes weren’t just warm.They were calculated.Watching her.Testing her.Daring her.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.
His mouth curved—not quite a smile, more of a challenge wrapped in silk.“Then have lunch with me.”
He took another deliberate step forward, his voice dipping an octave.“Ask me anything.I’ll give you all my darkest secrets…if you’re brave enough to hear them.”
The invitation slid over her like heat.Her body screamed yes.Her schedule reminded her she was drowning in work.
“I have things to do,” she said, but her voice was softer than she’d intended.Unsteady.
He braced his hands on the rough wood of the desk behind her, closing the distance without touching her.He didn't have to.The effect was total.
“Bring your laptop,” he murmured.“You tell me who your next guests are, and if I know anything…compromising?I’ll share.”
His grin was slow and deliberate.“Think of it as research support.I just want to lighten your load.”
Azlyn knew better.He wasn’t lightening anything.He was shifting the weight—right onto her.
