The PA’s features are ever so slightly pinched as he nods to the door. “You can go right in. Mr. Moncrief is expecting you.”
My fingers tingle as I reach for the door handle. Something feels very off and instinctively, I want to turn tail and run. Unable to pinpoint precisely what’s wrong, I put it down to a lack of sleep and caffeine. Oh, and a heart that’s bruised if not broken.
With a nod of encouragement from Edison, I take a deep breath and steel myself as I step inside.
The office is exactly what you’d expect for a billionaire in charge of a global empire. Floor to ceiling windows line one side of the vast floorspace, which is divided into two separate areas. Work and relaxation. The formal space is dominated by the biggest mahogany desk I’ve ever seen and a matching conference table perpendicular to it. Both are presently unoccupied.
Taking a couple of faltering steps into the room, I let go of the door handle and scan the rest of the office. There’s no one sitting on the leather couch or armchairs, no sign of Rory or Noah. I take in another deep breath as my gaze returns to the desk. Something on it snags my attention. A woman’s purse. Nude leather that matches the shoes I planned on wearing today.
My heart skips a beat and my vision wobbles, and not because I’m staring at my own fucking purse. I’ve caught the scent that lies heavy in the air, suffocating me. Citrus and cedar.
The door clicks shut behind me, followed by a louder clunk as a lock engages.
I don’t want to turn around.
I can’t turn around, so I take a step forward. Then another, and another. I’m almost tempted to keep going until I smash through the window and plunge into the Chicago River far below.
“Grace.”
His voice…Duke’svoice brings me to a stop.
“No,” I gasp out.
His footfalls are soft, but my legs shake with each earth-shattering step. My arm flies out as I turn and my palm thumps against his chest. The impact sends a jolt up my arm, and before I can recoil, he grabs my wrist.
Duke strokes a thumb over my pulse point, sending my clamoring heart into freefall. I stare straight ahead, focusing on the buttons on his black dress shirt. I won’t look at his face, or the cords running along his forearms from beneath his rolled-up sleeves. For the last twelve months I’ve imagined this.Longedfor this. For one whole year I’ve dreamt of wrapping my arms around Duke’s neck and climbing him like a goddamn tree, crashing my lips against his and letting him fill the emptiness I’ve felt without him.
But I don’t do any of that. I stare at his shirt and resolutely ignore the flames of desire licking up through my body. Duke takes a deep breath. The last time I’d seen his chest rise so steeply was when I’d had my legs wrapped around him, his cock pulsing inside me.
As that memory assaults me, Duke whispers a confessionthat shreds my soul. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, Angel.”
My legs begin to buckle and he catches me in his arms, pressing me to him. I can’t begin to fathom how I should be processing this so I rest my forehead against his chest, not because I want to feel the connection I’ve been craving for so long, but because I don’t have the mental, emotional or physical capacity to hold my head up.
“Look at me, Grace.”
I shake my head. “One of us shouldn’t be here.” I’m pretty sure it’s me.
“You were the one who said our paths would cross again,” he reminds me. “Serendipity.”
That one fucking word breaks the spell. With a surge of adrenaline I so desperately need, I press both hands against his chest and push. “Fuck you!”
Duke loosens his grip, but keeps one hand on my hip. He uses the other to pinch my chin between a finger and thumb, forcing me to meet his gaze. He looks different, but it’s the familiar shards of ice flickering in his blue eyes that pull me in. Those damn eyes will be my downfall.
“I appreciate there’s a lot we need to discuss, but before any of that, there’s something we need to acknowledge,” he says gruffly. “You wanted to find me, Grace.” He brings his face closer. “And I wanted to be found.”
“Just not while you were parading around with your fiancée,” I hiss.
“I can explain.”
I wriggle free from his grasp and back away. How many times have I heard those same words from Cameron? Except I have no claim on Duke. Katarina does.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” I tell him. “We had a one-night stand with no strings, no expectations. I’mmore than happy for it to stay in the past where it belongs.”
Duke shoves his hands in his pockets, settling into the debate. “Says the person who came to Chicago looking for me.”
I choke on a laugh. “Fool that I am.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re no one’s fool.”
