When A Guy Watches Your Every Move Mga Nobela at Kwento

“He’s still watching you.” “Stop.” “I’m serious. He hasn’t looked away once. It’s kind of intense. Should I be concerned? Do we need a safety signal?” “I’m fine. He’s just another rich guy in an expensive suit. They’re everywhere in this city.” “Not like him.” Maya’s voice dropped. “There’s something about him. Like he’s playing a different game than everyone else in this room.” I didn’t want to look again. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing his attention affected me.

It vibrates in my sternum. “Then why hold the glass?” “Because a man standing alone at a party without a drink in his hand draws more attention than a man with one.” “You’re trying to be invisible?” “I’m trying to watch. There’s a difference.” “Watch what?” His dark eyes hold mine. The pull intensifies – a gravity in his gaze that makes my pulse quicken and my skin prickle. “You,” he says. “For the last forty-five minutes. You.”

“No, I just—” A flicker of movement to my left catches my eye. A man sits in the waiting area—built like a wall. Expensive suit. Newspaper in hand. But he’s not reading it. He’s watching me. The moment our eyes meet, he lowers his gaze, pretending to scan the page. A second later, he looks up again deliberately like he wants me to know. My stomach tightens. I glance to my right. Another man. Same build. Same suit. Same carefully relaxed posture that somehow screams trained.

“I couldn’t help myself. You seem different from all those other girls. Why is that?” “You do not even know me. How could you possibly know I am different from everyone else?” He answers quickly. “The entire night, I have not seen you drinking or making out with anyone.” The entire night? How long has he been watching me? It is creepy. “How long have you been watching me?” “You caught my attention the second you arrived.” I furrow my brows in confusion. “What? Why?” He shrugs. “Because you did, as simple as that.”

"I don't buy her reasons. In case you make a mistake, you don't know how it affects us. Girls." Meet her eyebrows as she watches me. He looked at me in awe, as if I said something unbelievable. Who really knows that I can give a piece of advice when I don't literary had a boyfriend. Just a fling! He looked at me and I just couldn't stop but to mesmerize by his move. He's long finger made a way to his longsleeve. He folded it up to the elbow. And I look stupid following the stare every move he makes. He's move affect me, even it's intentional or not.

But I could feel it. That tension. That unspoken what did she tell you curling beneath his calm like a sleeping storm. The first course came and went. Conversation flowed around stocks, campaigns, art exhibits. I barely registered any of it. Because he was watching me. Not overtly. No—he was far too skilled for that. But every time I moved, his eyes tracked. Every time I lifted my fork or shifted in my seat or dared to smile at something Rosemary said—he watched. And then—

Connor’s POV Seeing her this close is like a revelation. She is beautiful. Not even in an understated way. She is fucking stunning. I had a moment in the kitchen when I just wanted to slam her into a wall and kiss those plump, pouty lips of hers. Fuck, I wish I could but I can’t. I am now technically her boss. We need to have a healthy professional relationship. I make myself a promise to glance but not touch. Secret glances. Just to admire her. I need to control myself. A knock at the door drags me from thoughts of her and I move from behind my desk to answer it. As I suspected it’s Al.

Girls moving in to drape all over them like cheap whores and I turn away quickly when I see one of them sliding onto Alexi’s lap—it hits me with a cruel twist in my stomach unexpectedly. I take a long slow inhale, both to shove it down and stop caring what he does, and to appear completely unfazed to everyone around me. It’s like an impulsive reaction every time a male comes near me, to guiltily check if he is watching me, and I am more than aware he has me double checking and watching every move I make tonight. What has he done to you?

He ordered taking a filled glass of whiskey from coffee table in front of him. I could hear my heartbeat in my ear as I was completing his order. He wasn’t reacting weirdly just observing my every movement very keenly. I was tired walking in front of him holding my hand below my head as he didn’t spoke anything for almost twenty minutes. His gaze over my skin creating a goose bumps. He was even observing how my hairs twirls when I turn, the rhythm my breasts move with every steps. I was whole red as I realize that he was observing every minute thing of mine. It was scary and flattering at same time for me.

"You were watching?" "I am always watching," he whispered. He reached out, not to touch me, but to pluck a stray leaf that had fallen onto my shoulder. His fingers were inches from my neck, and I could feel the heat radiating from his hand. "I see the way you move. Like you're waiting for someone to strike you. Or someone to finally... break you."