“It burns, doesn’t it, trouble?” The words land hot at my ear, his voice right behind me. I freeze, not daring to turn.
“Trouble?” My voice comes out thinner than I want. I don’t face him, but I feel him there, a shadow at my back, radiating heat.
“You shouldn’t be drinking while working.” He ignores my question, the reprimand almost gentle.
I drag in a breath and finally turn. His nearness crowds me instantly. Broad shoulders, chest filling the space, the faint lift of his jaw as our eyes lock.
“I’m not working. Not anymore.”
I do what I’ve seen in videos: let my eyes drop to his mouth, then lift to his eyes. His green is darker up close, deep like a forest just before night.
“Autumn, you’re playing a dangerous game.” His voice grinds low. He leans closer, and one finger ghosts along my cheek. My skin flares hot, my breath stutters.
“You look like someone who enjoys playing games.” I manage a smirk, though my heart pounds so hard it rattles my ribs. I turn slightly, ready to slip away, but his hand clamps around my arm.
I freeze. A jolt runs through me, my pulse leaping, breath catching.
“What do you want, Autumn?” His grip is firm but not bruising, tugging me closer as he steps forward. His suit jacket brushes against my bare skin, the fabric cool where my nerves burn.
“I think you know what I want.” I whisper. My fingertip traces the line of his jacket, trying for boldness while my mind screams panic. What if he pushes me away? What if I’m not his type?
He leans down, lips grazing the shell of my ear. His hand slides from my arm to my waist, covering me completely, fingers spanning from my stomach to the small of my back. His warmth brands me through the thin fabric.
“Say it.” The command rumbles out of him. His tone rough.
My cheeks burn. My breaths come short, uneven, each one sharper than the last. My whole body feels stretched thin between fear and need. I’m drowning under the weight of him, but then the memory of those texts cuts through. Years of running, of being controlled by a stranger.
My lungs burn. I close my eyes, force the air out, and let the words fall.
“You.” My voice trembles.
Chapter Five
Flynn
Fuck.
I take a step back and stare at her.
She’s not drunk.
Her eyes are clear, pupils slightly blown, but not from alcohol. I watched her all night. That whisky was the only thing she touched, and she didn’t even sip water.
Not once.
Declan’s going to kill me.
Viviana will have my head on a fucking stick. None of that matters right now. Not when she’s standing there in that dress, hips angled just so, that goddamn slit giving me flashes of skin that should be illegal.
So much. So little.
Every fucking inch of her is a trap, and I’m stepping straight into it.
She was blushing yesterday when I told her to call me Flynn; now she’s here pulling every trick in the book like she wants to ruin me. My dick twitches, hardening fast, so ready it aches. My jaw locks.
“Autumn, I don’t do relationships—”
“I’m not looking for anything. Just some fun to take the stress out.” She speaks too fast and rehearsed. She sounds eager, almostdesperate, and fuck, that should be a red flag, shouldn’t it? She’s never flirted. Never even looked at me like this, so why the hell is she standing here like she wants to be fucked through a wall?
