Game on, Valor.
From that moment, I vowed to verify every number, every attachment, every goddamn comma. I never again wanted to rely on my original data dump, and I never, ever planned to let him hesitate before admitting he was wrong.
Especially if his name was on the door.
Chapter Four
Gabriel
I could still smell her perfume, something calculated that toed the line between feminine and strong, floral notes with a hard edge like the air on a snowy day. And I maintained control for approximately fifty minutes, a shamefully short stretch of time.
My silent phone might as well have been holding its breath, not offering any distractions from my mind, from thoughts of Eliza. I held out until Eliza’s laugh rippled through the glass wall, right when my thumb hovered over the send button for a high six-figure transfer. The sound vibrated through my skull, sweet, clean, and razor-bright.
The fresh memory of her right by my side, verbally sparring with me, sharp and witty and keeping me hot and bothered.
I pressed my thumb and index finger into my eyelids and pressed until I saw dancing flashes behind my eyelids. No effect. The distraction burrowed deeper.
Releasing pressure, I watched the blue-black of my laptop screen, waiting for my vision to go back to normal. The reflection, my own face, severe and flushed, annoyed me. So I glanced at the frosted band of hallway glass where she passed,forearms parallel to the ground, jaw set at an angle engineered to drive me insane.
“Get a grip,” I hissed, but the words did nothing to bring me back to reality.
I knew how this would go. I’d seen it play out in weaker men, all the ways desire made idiots of the supposedly brilliant. I was not immune. The proof: my left hand already closed in a fist with enough force to leave bruises.
With an abrupt movement, I abandoned my desk, closed the office door, and hit the privacy lock with a thumbprint. The security LED bled red, a warning, but I ignored it, sweeping the room for visual and auditory holes. Safe. No one would interrupt. No one ever did. Because I was Gabriel Valor, and I did not get distracted.
Except for her. Especially for her.
I stalked to the glass wall and watched her. She wasn’t aware, or she pretended not to be. More likely the latter. Eliza possessed the kind of awareness you can’t teach; she always knew the temperature of a room, who was looking, and how to make them stop. Or want more.
And fuck, her navy suit, fitted within a millimeter of indecency. It would be a violation on anyone else, but on Eliza it was a calculated dare. The top button of her blouse was open, the line of her collarbone as pale as the moon, interrupted by a single freckle, a north star in an otherwise starless ocean night. I wanted to touch it with my tongue, memorize the coordinates, ruin her with attention.
I closed the privacy blinds and stepped back.
I had to stop thinking about her. I had to stop wanting her.
Still, some part of my mind imagined her silhouette on the other side of any of the frosted glass windows in the office. In mind’s eye, she’d tease, moving like flowing water as my body heated up in real life. Damn it, I wanted her, wanted to touch her. My palms tingled, thinking about her skin and curves.
I pictured my mentor’s face, the way he looked at men who lost to their vices: with clinical detachment, and a hint of pity. I forced my thoughts toward numbers, arbitrage, tomorrow’s meeting with the new Singapore hedge fund. But Eliza invaded every calculation, an error code impossible to debug. Her wide, white smile. Her sparkling eyes. The way she moved like a dancer who’d missed her calling.
I lasted another few minutes before the pressure broke me.
In my private office bathroom, I set the faucet to full cold and splashed water over my face, then my neck. I gripped the counter, knuckles white, and ordered my reflection to behave. The only solution was to get her out of my system by any means necessary.
I locked the door, undid my belt, and pulled my cock out; half-hard, angry, leaking onto my fingers as I fisted tight around the shaft. I’d imagined this scene enough times for my body to run ahead of me.
The friction was almost painful, and I found myself biting the inside of my cheek to avoid any sound. I imagined Eliza kneeling in front of me, that perfect suit jacket off, hair coming loose from its tie, her mouth open and eager and filled with contempt and cutting commentary.
“You’re so fucking predictable,” I muttered to myself.
But the image of her still left me growling in anger and need. I pumped my cock, thinking about her lips around me,the bob of her head, gripping that slick hair of hers in one hand while thrusting my hips into her.
I could almost feel her hands on my thighs, pulling me in, not pushing me away. Could feel the breath through her nose on my groin. Feel the warm, soft wetness of her welcoming mouth taking every aching inch of me.
But her eyes, the anger, rage, hatred, under all of it, a challenge that made me want to put her on her knees, or better yet, under me.
My breaths came hard and hot, my hand locked in a death grip around me as I tugged out that need and desire burning through me.
The length of me swelled in my hand and I grabbed a handful of paper towels. Pleasure flooded through me as I doubled over the sink, vision whiting out at the edges.
