My desk phone buzzed. Quinn’s voice came through the intercom. “Sir… Elara Ashworth is in the lobby.”
I stood so fast my chair rolled back and hit the wall. Somehow—even with my pulse hammering, even with my stomach flipping like a teenager’s—I kept my voice level.
“Really? She’s here? I’m not in the mood to see her.”
A beat. Quinn coughed. “Should I… get rid of her then?”
I glared at the intercom as if he could see me. “If you ever say something that stupid again, I’ll fire you.”
“So… bring her up?”
“Of course,” I snapped. “And shut up.”
Through the glass wall of my office, I saw Quinn practically jogging to escort her. The seconds stretched, vibrating. She was dressed for war, but the fabric was wasted on me. It was like I had x-ray vision and all I could see was the skin beneath—brown, flawless, warm, and addictive.
She had her hair down—a dark, thick curtain hanging down her back. A muscle ticked in my jaw as I remembered the feel of it—the way I would wrap it around my fist while I had her pinned beneath me. My heart was beating everywhere. In my neck. My ribs. My fucking palms.
Quinn led her closer. I fixed my collar and wiped my palms down my slacks. I hadn’t been this nervous in my life.
She stepped into my office, perfectly composed, and I hated her for it. My blood was roaring, but she was... justher. I wanted to break that equanimity. Shake it. Shatter it. Drag out the mess I knew lived underneath all that poise.
But she was so fucking Elara. Beautiful in that infuriating, unreachable way. She made me lose sleep, lose sense, lose myself. The air in the room was suddenly too thin.
“Take a seat,” I finally managed, the words scraping past my throat like rust. I waited for her to sit, watching her hips spread and her skirt rise before taking my own seat.
“Julian,” she said, her voice low and scolding. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. A giddy feeling took over—the satisfaction of seeing her finally, irrevocably, off-balance. “You didn’t want to know, remember? You made it clear I was an escape, a secret. Someone you didn’t need to know about.”
Her jaw tightened. “Must have felt real smug to get your retribution at the banquet.”
I pushed up from the chair. “No. I love you, Elara. Humiliating you was never in my plans. I thought you would see who I was that night and come back to me. I thought your excuses about me being younger or less established would just… vanish.”
I caught the tremor in her hands.
“But you looked horrified,” I continued. “Like you wanted to run from me. And that pissed me off.”
I walked around the desk, stopping directly in front of her. I bent at the waist, aligning our gazes. The fire that was always in her eyes burned bright. She was affected. Good.
“For three years, I swallowed my instincts. I held back my teeth; I held back my hunger. I played the boy, the toy, the one being used.” My voice dropped to a sandpaper whisper. “You mistook my restraint for weakness. You mistook my obedience for boyhood. You didn’t understand I was quiet because loving you out loud would scare you to death. But now…” I straightened, the predator in me finally stretching. “Now, I want to toy with you.”
Elara switched up on me instantly. One second she was sitting, breathing through the weight of my words—and the next, she stood, stepping forward and grabbing me by the chin.
Her grip was rough. It was a devastating move, sensual to me. My body recognized it's owner instantly; my dick hardened as my logic failed. She was my fucking woman. She could ruin me if she wanted to, because my grievances were no match for my hunger for her.
“I hear you, Julian, and your feelings are valid. But I need you to help me. What do I have to do to get this contract signed?” she demanded, her thumb digging into my cheekbone.
My brain was slow to process her words because I was stuck on her lips—pouty and stained in blood-red. I knew her mouth would taste like the sweet mint she was always sucking on. I couldn’t help myself. I gripped her waist, pulled her closer, and crashed my mouth onto hers.
The first taste was heat and mint. Her lipstick smeared across our mouth's. Her lips gave way instantly, and my head spun. Her fingers curled into my jaw as I kissed her deeper—greedy and messy—the way a man kisses when he’s been starving for years.
She pulled back to breathe, and I seized the moment. “Move into our apartment. I don't want to work with Alastair, but if you're there, I'll sign the deal. Right now.”
She held my gaze, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Done.”
I stared, momentarily speechless. “Are you lying to me?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I hated how vulnerable I sounded. Sometimes I really did feel like the boy she treated me as.
She shook her head. “I mean it,” she said, and then, with devastating seriousness, she raised her pinky finger. “I didn’t want things to end between us. Now they don’t have to. I pinky swear.”
