Chapter 6

Conrad's POV

My eyes shoot up from the piles of files the moment I perceive her scent; lavender. I had no idea she would resume work this early, since she was skeptical about taking the offer, but here she is, standing before me.

She wears a short gown that stops right below her knee, a split on the left thigh exposing part of her skin. The neckline dips low, and the gown hugs her features, accentuating her curves.

I stare at her for a short moment, and in that very moment, my mind reels back to everything that happened in the clubhouse. How she moved against me with reckless abandon, how perfectly she fit in my arms, as if she was made for it, just for it only.

The memory twists something in me, and before I can even wrap my head around anything, I feel the heat crawl up my neck.

Holy shit.

Get a grip, Conrad Beaumont, I curse underneath my breath.

She has no right to... Maybe she does?

I tilt my head with a smile, then say the only thing my mind can process. "You're late." I mumble softly.

At least that's something, anything to divert my mind from thoughts of her. She seems astonished because a gasp spills from her throat, eyes widening in shock.

"What?" She spits, and I chuckle. Anything for that reaction. Anything.

I wasn't expecting her to bluntly say she isn't my secretary, but whatever her mind tells her.

I roll my tongue in my mouth. "My personal, little plaything? Is that what you are?"

I see the crack in her expression and the anger struggling to explode, because her entire face reddens with rage.

To my surprise, she rushes forward, ready to pounce on me like a lion that just got wounded.

"Come here and sit on my lap, Miss Hall." I instruct huskily, my voice caught between desire and something else.

She halts, her eyes shooting wide once again, lips parted.

"What... What did you just say?" She mutters, her voice laced with something I can't even place my finger on.

Pain? Or even disgust? I don't know.

Am I going to take her in my office on the first day of resumption? No. Will I take her in my office soon? Yes. That's a given, I mean, that's why she's getting paid after all.

I lean back against the swivel chair, arms crossed on my chest and a mischievous grin sprawled across my lips.

"Hmm," I nod. "Come here, and don't make me say it a third time." I instruct more concisely this time, and I see her bite her side lip, hard.

"We didn't agree on you putting your hands on me right from the first..."

"I never specified when I'll be putting my hands on you." I shoot, cutting her off.

She glares at me, her gaze blazing with fury. "I don't think I can keep up with this." She mumbles through clenched teeth.

I shrug. "You might as well make use of the exit door. But I know you; you need that money more than I need your company. I'm not taking advantage of you, it's a win-win if you ask me." I swipe my tongue across my bottom lip, picking up my pen from the desk to resume my work.

I hear her hiss, then her voice comes. "I really don't care about the money."

I only hum a reply, choosing to ignore her this time.

Diane Hall? I already know her more than she can imagine, and I know she won't be able to walk out through that door without running back to me.

Of course, she needs the money. If she isn't in dire need of it, she wouldn't have picked the offer to begin with.

I hear the sound of her footsteps, soft but unsteady. She gets to the door, pulls the handle, then releases a harsh breath.

She's trapped, obviously.

She turns briskly to me, then walks right back.

"You're being unfair." She points.

I smile softly. "Fate itself is cruel." I correct her.

I mean, it was fate that linked us together. I didn't walk my ass right to her.

She squeezes the hem of her dress softly, glances briefly at me before glancing at the sofa behind her.

"You... You've got some ground rules or something? Can't have you do whatever you want." The words feel heavy on her lips, really, because she can't even look me in the eye as she asks.

"No rules."

"Then you're going to..."

"No, not that either. I want you to take your time and let me watch." I cut her in.

Her shoulders slump as her purse slips, crashing heavily on the marble floor.

"What... What?" She stutters.

"You in or out?" I ask straight up. It's fine to cut straight to the chase.

"You're mean." I hear her mumble with an exhale.

Slowly, she begins walking towards the sofa, each step heavier than the last, her hands gripping the hem of her dress.

Just a step from the sofa, she pauses, then turns to me. I see the tears brimming in her eyes, mixed with dreadful hate.

That's when I'm supposed to tell her to stop, but I can't even bring myself to do that, maybe because I really want to see where this goes? Or because my pulse keeps hammering in my ears?

Slowly, her hands move to the zipper at her side, and in one swift motion, a scrap of lace hits the floor.

Tension curls in the air like a thick fog. I gulp twice, my chest tightening.

Shit.

However, just as she's about to lower herself onto the sofa, a knock sounds on the door, sharp and precise, interrupting the moment.

My gaze sweeps up to the door... Who the hell is that?