Her eyes darken with a hunger that mirrors my own, pupils dilating as she considers the question. "I think the bedroom might be more appropriate for finalizing the details of our arrangement."
"I agree entirely."
I lift her off the counter with ease, and she wraps her arms around my neck, her fingers already working at the knot of my tie with an impatience that sends heat coursing through me. I carry her down the narrow hallway toward her bedroom, my footsteps heavy and deliberate against the hardwood floor.
"Three weeks," she murmurs against my mouth, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Three weeks of terrible coffee and sleeping alone and trying to convince myself I didn't need you. Trying to convince myself I didn't miss this—miss you."
"I know." I kick her bedroom door open with the heel of my boot, laying her down carefully on the soft expanse of her bed before following her down, bracketing my weight above her. "I was doing the same thing. Fighting it. Losing."
"How'd that work out for you?" she asks, breathless and flushed beneath me.
"Terribly." I brace myself above her, drinking in the sight of her flushed and eager beneath me. "Turns out I need you significantly more than I need pride or distance or professional boundaries."
She pulls me down into a kiss that tastes like relief and hunger and coming home.
"Then I guess we're both terrible at staying away," she whispers.
"Completely incompetent."
"Good thing we're better at negotiating."
I laugh against her mouth, and she tugs me closer, and the contract sits forgotten on her kitchen table while we work out the much more important terms of exactly how this is going to work between us.
CHAPTER 13
ROMEE
Igrab the lapels of his ridiculously expensive suit jacket and yank him down until his mouth is level with mine, my fingers twisting in the fine fabric hard enough to wrinkle it.
"Bedroom. Now."
His amber eyes flash with pure, unfiltered hunger, but he doesn't move. Not yet. Instead, he studies my face and makes my breath catch, like he's cataloging every micro-expression, every flush spreading across my cheeks.
"Say that again," he rumbles that devastating register that turns my knees liquid.
"I'm not repeating myself, Thrall. You heard me perfectly well the first time."
"I want to hear you give me orders." His hands settle on my waist, heavy and possessive, thumbs tracing slow circles against my ribcage through the thin cotton of his borrowed shirt. "I've spent three weeks imagining what it would sound like. Your voice. That boardroom authority you weaponize so effectively. Directed entirely at me."
Heat pools low in my stomach, spreading outward in waves that make my skin feel too tight. I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze with the same unflinching directness I use when facingdown unruly executives who think they can ignore my carefully constructed schedules.
"Then get me to the bedroom before I change my mind and make you leave." The words come out sharp and clipped, stripped of any pretense of calm professionalism. My fingers curl tighter in the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer, and I can feel the rapid thud of my own heartbeat echoing through my body.
"You wouldn't." His voice carries that dark amusement, that infuriating certainty that makes my skin prickle with irritation and desire in equal measure.
"Try me, Orkenshade." I lean in closer, my eyes narrowing to match the lethal precision I usually reserve for dealing with catastrophically late catering companies and vendors who think they can negotiate my non-negotiable timelines. "I have a reputation for following through on every single threat I make. Ask anyone who's ever crossed me on a contract deadline. I will absolutely throw you out of this bedroom if you don't move in the next five seconds. And unlike your tech startup conferences, this is one itinerary I'm perfectly willing to accelerate."
He laughs, the sound rough and delighted, and then he's moving. His hands slide down to cup beneath my thighs, lifting me effortlessly off the counter. I wrap my legs around his waist on pure instinct, my arms looping around his neck as he carries me down the hallway with long, purposeful strides that eat up the distance between the kitchen and my bedroom.
The door is still open from before. He shoulders through it, kicking it shut behind us. The lock clicks into place with a decisive snick that sends a thrill racing down my spine.
"Put me down," I say, keeping my voice steady and authoritative despite the fact that my heart is hammering against my ribs like it's trying to break free.
He complies immediately, setting me on my feet with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the raw hunger blazing in his eyes. His hands linger on my waist, fingers flexing slightly like he's fighting the urge to pull me back against him.
I step back, putting space between us, and watch with deep satisfaction as his jaw tightens. The loss of contact clearly costs him, and knowing I have that effect on him sends power singing through my veins.
"Jacket off," I order, crossing my arms beneath my breasts.
