CH.7

I woke to sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, disoriented and groggy.

For a moment, I didn't remember where I was.

Then it all came rushing back. Adrian. The penthouse. The kiss in the car.

I sat up, my heart sinking when I realized I was still alone. Adrian hadn't come back.

The clock on the nightstand read 7:14 AM.

I had forty-six minutes to get ready.

I stumbled into the bathroom, my body protesting every movement.

I caught my reflection in the mirror and barely recognized myself. Tangled hair, dark circles under my eyes, a fading bruise on my cheekbone that makeup could only partially hide.

I looked like what I was: a girl running from something.

The shower was massive, all glass with water pressure that felt like heaven. I stood under the spray longer than I should have, trying to wash away the confusion and shame clinging to my skin.

When I finally emerged, wrapped in a towel that cost more than my entire wardrobe, I opened the closet. The clothes were still there. Designer labels, perfect sizes, tags attached.

I chose a simple black pencil skirt and a cream silk blouse with a high collar that would hide the marks on my throat. The fabric felt like water—so different from the cheap polyester I was used to.

I was just finishing my makeup when I heard movement in the penthouse. Adrian was back.

My pulse jumped.

I forced myself to take a breath, then another. I couldn't let him see how much power he already had over me. I couldn't let him see the girl who had spent the last two years dreaming about him.

I stepped out of the guest room and followed the sound of movement to the kitchen.

Adrian stood at the counter, dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was making coffee, his movements efficient and controlled.

He looked up when I entered, his gaze traveling over me slowly. Assessing.

"Not bad." It wasn't praise. It was observation.

I didn't respond.

Adrian poured two cups of coffee, sliding one across the counter toward me.

"Sit!" It wasn't a request.

I perched on one of the bar stools, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. The coffee was perfect… strong and black, exactly how I liked it.

How did he know that? Had he looked into my background?

I couldn’t see how else he would know I take my coffee black. I’d only been at the firm for two weeks, and we’d barely spoken. It was a terrifying glimpse into just how closely he had been watching me.

Adrian leaned back, watching me over the rim of his own cup.

Silence stretched between us, heavy and charged.

Finally, he set his mug down and reached for something on the counter—a thick manila folder I hadn't noticed before—and slid it toward me.

"Open it!"

My hands trembled as I pulled the folder closer and flipped it open. Police reports. Hospital records. Witness statements. Photos of me with black eyes, split lips, and bruises in various stages of healing.

My stomach turned.

"How did you get these?"

"My head of security works fast." His tone was matter-of-fact. "I know everything."

I couldn't look at the photos anymore. I closed the folder, my hands shaking.

"Why are you showing me this?" My voice shook.

Adrian didn't answer. Instead, he moved around the counter, coming to stand in front of me. Too close. Always too close.

He placed a single key card on the counter beside the folder. "Apartment. Security. You're no longer an intern—you're my executive assistant now. Triple salary."

I stared at the key. "I can't."

"You will!" He interjected sternly.

"This is too much." I stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the stool. "I need to go. I need to think."

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist.

"Let go of me!" I panicked, fearing the unknown.

Adrian pulled me closer, his other hand coming up to cup my jaw. His thumb traced my lower lip, and I felt the touch everywhere.

"You're not running from this." His voice was cold and low.

"I don't want this!" The words burst out of me, desperate and shaking.

"Liar." Adrian’s thumb pressed down on my lip, parting it slightly.

His hand slid from my jaw to my throat, fingers wrapping around my neck, feeling every frantic beat of my pulse. I tried to pull away, but his grip on my wrist tightened.

He pulled me flush into him, and I felt the hard length of him pressing into my stomach.

My body betrayed me instantly. Heat flooding through me, my thighs clenching as a soft whimper escaped my throat.

"This is wrong." My voice was barely a whisper.

Adrian leaned down, brushing his lips over the shell of my ear.

"Your body doesn't think so." His breath was hot on my skin, sliding his hand from my throat down the front of my blouse until his palm settled between my breasts.

He could feel my heart hammering.

"Feel that?" Adrian’s voice was dark velvet. "That's fear and want fighting each other. Want is winning." His hand moved lower, fingers splaying across my stomach, and I gasped. "Stop running. Accept. Admit it!"

"I can't!” I snap.

Adrian’s lips curved ever so slightly as his hand moved to my hip, gripping hard enough to bruise while his other hand released my wrist only to slide into my hair, fisting tight enough to arch my neck back.

The sharp pull sent heat straight between my legs.

"You will!" He said flatly.

"Adrian." His name escaped my lips without permission, breathy and desperate.

Something feral flashed in his eyes. "Again!"

"Adrian." This time it came out like a plea.

With that, his mouth crashed down on mine.

The kiss was bruising, consuming, and nothing like the controlled claiming in the car. This was raw hunger...barely leashed violence, and I was drowning in it.

The tabloids called him a playboy, a man who broke hearts for sport, but they had never mentioned how completely he devoured a person.

My hands fisted in his shirt, and I couldn't tell if I was trying to push him away or pull him closer.

My body made the decision for me. I was arching into him, pressing closer, desperate for more contact.

Two years of starved, secret fantasies were finally colliding with reality, and I had no defenses left.