CHAPTER 8

Voices filtered through my foggy head, dragging me awake. I puffed, the sound sharpening into Lana and Mike’s low murmurs drifting from the kitchen.

I groaned and pushed myself upright, my head already protesting with a stab of pain. Sauntering down the hallway, I cradled my skull in one hand.

Gosh! It hurts like a bitch.

“I’ll take my leave now, Miss Robin,” Mike said softly when he spotted me. He gave a small nod and exited through the kitchen door.

Mike was a man of few words—one of the longest-serving chauffeurs in the Betton family. Lana swore she didn’t need the security or the entourage chasing her about, but she never hesitated to enjoy the perks and highs of her privilege when it suited her, like Mike being at her beck and call.

“Sleep good?” Lana asked, sliding a mug of coffee into my hands.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “My head is killing me. Remind me why I agreed to get wasted?”

I pressed my fingers against my temples, massaging slowly, willing the ache to ease. “I’m never doing this ever again.”

She chuckled. “There’s always a first time. Ever heard of that?”

She opened her MacBook, turned her head toward me and flashed a little smug smile.

She was insufferable sometimes.

 I loved her, nonetheless.

“Take these,” she said, placing two tablets on the counter. “They’ll help.”

Of course, they would. Lana never suffered from a hangover after drinking—somehow immune to the consequences the rest of us paid dearly for. I had never heard her complain once of a headache or seen her sick after she mostly got wasted in college, getting away with overindulgence.

“Thanks very much,” I muttered, rolling my eyes on a scowl as I swallowed them –hungover and defeated, while she looked irritatingly fresh.

“You look energetic this morning,” I said dryly. “Did Mike spend the night?”

She nodded, sipping her coffee while scrolling through emails like it was any other morning.

I eased myself into one of the kitchen stools, and rested my hands on the worktop while cradling the mug. The warmth helped…just a bit.

A knock echoed at the front door, sending Lana’s head snapping up. “Can you check that? Might be Mike. You know how we do Saturdays.” She winked at me, mischief lighting her eyes.

What was she on about? “No way,” I protested, adjusting my wobbly footing. “We are not going anywhere today. I’m still recovering from yesterday’s disaster. No. Absolutely not.”

“You’re no fun, Robin.”

“I beg to differ.” I shot back, my voice lacking the conviction I aimed to send across. I was fun!

I buried my face in my hands and drooped my head as I shuffled nosily towards the door, each step, a painful reminder of why I rarely drank this much.

Never again.

Definitely never again.

As I opened the door, a stab of cold morning air mingled with the remnants of alcohol hit me—strong and hard on the face, making my head spin and the world tilt just enough to steal my balance. I swayed, from side to side, dizzy and overwhelmed by the chaos rumbling in my head—and then, suddenly, I wasn’t falling anymore.

Strong arms wrapped my waist, steadying me.

“Oh”

I swallowed hard, the air catching in my throat.

Was it the alcohol? It had to be, except we’re too close—dangerously close. His arms were firm around my waist, grounding me, and when I lifted my eyes up, they fall straight into blues—deep, piercing, and devastatingly familiar.

Eyes that rendered me useless, and miserably quaking.

“Are you okay?”

His low and croaky voice had me quivering all over. It did things to my body it had no right to do.

Stop.

“Um… I’m fine,” I murmured, backing up from his embrace as though it scorched me. How the hell did he even know where I lived?

Oh, my damn CV.

“W…what are you doing here?” I stammered, flushing bright red and mortified by how my tongue failed me whenever he stood uncomfortably close.

 I needed Lana…now!

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. He just stood there, his head slightly lowered, staring up at me through thick, long lashes. His eyes were piercing. His face, a perfect God, too calm and composed set my nerves on edge. He remained still, watching me with quiet lingering stare. I took a deep breath, melting and frantically searching my mind for instructions, but found nothing.

I was a useless mess

I stood motionless, my chest rising and falling too fast to contain the pleasure surging through my languid body.

What did he want?

Time seemed to slow around him, every second taut with erratic, undignified want. My eyes trailed down to his dark denim, worn low on his hips, revealing nothing, yet concealing everything. My imagination ran wild, spiralling into a vivid recall of our steamy escapade in his office…

His trousers sat perfectly on his hips, tailored with precision and utmost care. They skimmed his thighs, hinting at the massive erection pressing beneath as he pinned me desperately to the wall in a breathless kiss.

The memory burned, turning my face crimson, a subtle ache growing at my groin.

I’m a shameless wanton.

He had to leave. Now!

My pulse thumped, every breath a struggle beneath his searing gaze. I felt undone by it—by him—my body was reacting with daring desire, drowning out reason and leaving me exposed, heated, and madly aware of how desperately I wanted him.

I growled softly, desperate to break the moment… to end this.

 “You left your purse and phone in my office,” he murmured, calmly. “I thought it was prudent to return them.”

His lips moved, but his eyes never left my face. Yet he didn’t bother to hand anything over.

What in God’s name?

“I appreciate the effort,” I said flatly, “but you didn’t have to. I planned to collect them on Monday.”

I didn’t even miss my phone. I had Lana and my laptop…more than enough.

“Please,” I said, stretching my hand toward him.

He didn’t budge.

Did he even bring them along? I saw nothing in his hands.

My hand draped to my side.

“Mr. McCullen…”

“Jack,” he corrected sharply. “And aren’t you going to invite me in?”

No. Absolutely not.

I wasn’t going to deal with you. You’re a self-assured, arrogant man.

“I can’t. I’m not alone.”

“Robin!” Lana called from the kitchen. “You’re taking forever? Why won’t you let Mike in?”

I sighed, defeated.

Jack’s jaw clenched tightly together. “Who the hell is Mike?” He asked, probing me for an answer.

Why did he care?

I ignored.

“Purse. Please,” I repeated, willing the nightmare to end while I still had some dignity intact.

“Why did you leave?” His voice was low and controlled. “We’re attracted to each other. So why run?”

My stomach dropped.

I fought the urge to relive the encounter again, the memory already clawing its way back, vivid and dangerous. Don’t go there please!

Did he say attracted to me?

While he was taken?

The realization settled heavily in my chest, which only reinforced what I already suspected.

Jack McCullen was a calculated player, an effortless charmer.

The ultimate Casanova…and a terribly wrong choice to get attracted to.

“I’m not attracted to you” The lie scraped my throat raw. I swallowed.

 “Mr. McCullen You need to give me my things and leave.”

I clamped down on my voice, forcing it steady and clinging to anger—the only emotion keeping me upright…keeping me shrewd.

“Call me Jack,” he snapped. “How old do you think I am?”

It’s something I’d like to know.

Before I could counter, Lana appeared, flinging the door wide open.

“Oh.”

Of course.

 “Jack McCullen.” He said, extending a hand. “Robin’s boss. You must be Lana.” Jack turned smoothly, charm ably sliding into place with infuriating ease.

Lana froze, wide-eyed. Mesmerized.

Does he have this effect on every woman?

I jabbed her side sharply.

“Sorry,” she smiled awkwardly, shaking hands briefly with him “Come in.”

I scowled flippantly at her as she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving us alone, the air tightening instantly around us.

“She seems rather polite” Jack retorted, his lips spreading with a smirk. “Why are you here Jack” I said, irritated, much to my dismay, my voice was calm…way too calm.

His gaze met mine and we locked eyes, strength leaving my poor legs as I folded my arms around my body to steady me. What was he doing to me?

“I want you.”