4

The door clicked shut behind me, controlled by a remote he had in hand.

I neither said nor showed any sign of nervousness. I waited to see what he had in mind.

But then he got up from his seat, and slowly began to unbutton his suit, then took it out. The his shirt followed, and I'll be definitely lying if I said I was not at all affected by it. He had a devilish smirk on his face, his eyes never left mine, and his hands, the damn hands that had squeezed my core traveled up and removed the button revealing his hard chest.

I gave him wry smile looking at his bare chest. "Can I know what is actually going on?"

Of course I already knew. This man was teasing me or flirting with me. It is still a wonder for a man like him looking for a girl like me.

Zane Wilde reeked of wealth, heredity, good looks, and God knows what else.

He probably just wanted to have his way with me and then discard me like a tissue in a dust bin.

"Your interview," he answered simply. "Lay on the desk."

I looked at him stunned by his request.

"Which do you prefer?" he continued, "You beside me, or on top of me, or below me?"

This man has zero shame, and I am sure he was praising himself for his taunts.

But one look at him again, I could tell he was not joking. He was hell serious. His icy blue eyes displayed the meaning of seriousness.

He was no longer smirking or smiling. He actually means it.

Like always, I said nothing. But this staring contest sure started to annoy me. If I stayed for another minute her, i don't know what I would fo. I don't trust the man before me, and I don't trust myself when he is before me, especially bare chested and very tempting.

I stood up abruptly, and turned around to leave the room.

The doorknob is two steps away when I sensed his heat surround me, his erection dug into my back. I gasped at the sudden touch but muffled it before he could hear. I don't want to give him a reaction.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"The door is locked, and my office is soundproof, you have nothing to worry about." he whispered, and his voice made the hair on the nape of my neck prickled.

"I'll make you scream my name." he continued, and for a second, I wondered how it would feel to come so hardly screaming his name.

Damn good, of course. But no!

I pursed my lips anticipating his next move. I wanted to leave the room, run away from him. But my alter ego wants him to touch me.

He slowly turned me around to face him, "How long are you going to play like this?"

"As long as you don't stop talking, and doing this." I answered.

"But I know you want it, I can smell your need..."

Shit! I don't want it. But I can't help imagining it.

My breath caught in my throat as his words lingered between us like smoke—thick, consuming, impossible to ignore. His proximity was overwhelming. The scent of him—expensive cologne laced with something darker, something uniquely him—wrapped around me like a spell I didn’t remember agreeing to.

I tilted my chin up, meeting those icy blue eyes with a defiance I barely held onto. “You think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” My voice was steady, though my pulse betrayed me, hammering erratically against my ribs.

His lips curled into the faintest smile, predatory, self-assured. “Sweetheart, I don’t think. I know.”

My hands clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms. He was arrogance personified, and yet—God help me—I couldn’t peel myself away. Every fiber of my being screamed to flee, to not give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly he was affecting me. But the longer I stood in front of him, the more my body betrayed me with its traitorous responses: the heat pooling low in my belly, the shiver skittering across my skin when his fingers brushed my arm as though he owned the right to touch me.

“You’re playing with fire,” I warned, my tone sharp but breathless.

His laugh was low, husky, and dangerously intimate. “Good thing I’ve never been afraid of getting burned.”

Before I could react, his hand slid along my waist, tugging me against the solid wall of his chest. My lips parted, not from consent but from the sheer audacity of the gesture—and the way it sent sparks through me I didn’t want to acknowledge. He leaned down, his mouth dangerously close to mine, his voice a dark promise.

“I don’t chase women, darling. They chase me. But you…” He studied me as though peeling back layers only I thought were hidden. “You’re different. You’re resisting me—and I love it.”

I swallowed hard, my composure thinning with every second. “Different? Or just naïve enough to think I won’t end up another one of your conquests?”

His grip on me tightened, just enough to remind me of his power, of the fact that the locked door behind us meant there was no easy escape. Yet, he didn’t push—he lingered, waiting, watching me war with myself.

“I could take you right now,” he murmured, the edge of dominance in his tone undeniable. “But that wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as watching you give in… piece by piece… until you can’t breathe without me.”

A dangerous silence fell between us. I hated him for his confidence, for knowing the effect he had on me. Hated him for making me want something I’d sworn I didn’t need. My heart betrayed me with its racing rhythm; my skin betrayed me with its flush.

And he knew.

“Get out of my way, Zane.” I finally found the strength to speak, though the words lacked the weight I wished they carried.

He tilted his head, eyes darkening with amusement. “Say that again, but this time without the tremble in your voice.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but his finger pressed lightly against my lips, silencing me. That single touch was electric, sending a jolt through me that made my knees weaken. He noticed. Of course, he did.

“Your body speaks louder than your lips, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning so close that his breath brushed against my skin. “And it’s begging.”

I jerked my head away, desperate for air, desperate for clarity. “I don’t beg.”

His grin was sinful, devastating. “You will.”