Dinner. 7 PM. My office. -Drake
The words are simple, direct, completely professional. But they send heat flooding through my body in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
Everyone leaves at five. The building will be empty by seven. It will be just us, alone, in his office with the door closed and the city lights glittering beyond the windows.
After what I heard last night. After what I saw. After the way he moaned my name like I was the only woman in the world.
I press my thighs together against the sudden ache between them and force my attention back to the work on my desk.
Three hundred and sixty-four more days. That's how long I have to survive being alone with Drake Moses without giving in to the attraction that threatens to consume me. Three hundred and sixty-four more days of pretending I don't want him, don't dream about him, didn't stand pressed against a door watching him pleasure himself to thoughts of me.
I take a deep breath and straighten my spine.
This should be interesting.
Twelve
Drake
The security room glows with the pale blue light of a dozen monitors, each one displaying a different corner of my empire. I should be watching the loading docks where Sergei Markov's men have been sniffing around. I should be reviewing the footage from last night's delivery that Luca flagged as suspicious. I should be doing any number of things that actually matter to the business I've spent two decades building.
Instead, I'm watching her.
Katriana sits at her desk in the office adjacent to mine, her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders as she bends over a stack of papers. The navy skirt I had Sienna select hugs her curves in ways that make my fingers itch to trace every line. The white blouse is professional, buttoned to a respectable height, but I know what lies beneath that silk. I've felt her pressed against me, the soft weight of her breasts against my chest, and the memory makes my blood run hot.
She's focused. Professional. Beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with makeup or designer clothes and everything to do with the fierce intelligence burning behind those glasses.
Those fucking glasses.
She pushes them up the delicate bridge of her nose for what must be the hundredth time today, and my cock twitches in response like a trained animal. I don't know what it is about that simple gesture that undoes me, but every time her fingers touch that frame, I imagine those same fingers wrapped around my shaft while she looks up at me through those lenses.
I'm a goddamn mess.
I left before dawn this morning, slipping out of the penthouse while the sky was still painted in shades of gray and violet. I told myself it was because I had early meetings, important business that couldn't wait. But that's a lie, and I've never been a man who tolerates dishonesty, especially from himself.
The truth is far simpler and far more pathetic.
I knew she was at my door last night. I heard the soft creak of hinges when she pushed it open that extra inch. I felt the heat of her gaze on my skin like a physical touch while I stroked myself to thoughts of her. I said her name on purpose, wanting her to know, wanting her to understand exactly who occupied my mind while I chased my release.
And when I came with her name on my lips, I heard the sharp intake of her breath. The soft rustle of fabric as she pressed herself against the doorframe. The thundering silence of a woman watching something she shouldn't and unable to look away.
If she had taken one step into my room, I would have taken her.
No hesitation. I would have pulled her into my bed and buried myself inside her until neither of us could remember why wewere supposed to be fighting this. I would have ruined every careful boundary I've been trying to maintain. I would have destroyed the fragile trust I'm trying to build with her, and would have proven myself to be exactly the kind of man she fears I am.
She wrecks my ability to maintain control. One kiss in my library and I'm coming undone like a teenager with his first crush. One night of knowing she was watching me and I'm fleeing my own home before sunrise like some damn coward.
Luca was right. I'm fucking up my own peace.
On the monitor, Sienna appears in Katriana's doorway with a coffee cup in each hand. I watch Katriana's face transform as she accepts the offering. Her shoulders relax and her posture soften as the two women fall into easy conversation. And then Sienna says something I can't hear, and Katriana laughs.
The sound doesn't carry through the speakers. The security system isn't designed for audio surveillance of the office floors. But I can see the way her head tips back, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, the way her whole body opens up with the joy of the moment.
The warmth of that silent laugh hits me like a punch to the solar plexus.
I want to be the one who puts that smile on her face. I want to be the reason she throws her head back and lets go of all the tension she carries in her shoulders. I want to make her laugh until she can't breathe, until tears stream down her cheeks, until she forgets every terrible thing that's ever happened to her.
But I've spent too many nights alone. Too many years building walls instead of bridges. I don't know if I can be as soft as sheneeds me to be. All my edges are either razor sharp or jagged, and both cut just the same. I've never learned how to hold something precious without breaking it, and Katriana Bellrose is the most precious thing I've ever wanted to keep.
