Chapter 10
Liam
I’m attracted to Roxy Moretti.
The way she carries her chin up, always ready to defy. The way she chews on her bottom lip when she thinks. The way her eyes sparkle when faced with a problem.
She has a sharp tongue, and an even sharper mind. And she doesn’t fold. Not in front of her bosses. Not in front of me. Not in front of anyone who challenges her. Or underestimates her.
I’m attracted to Roxy Moretti.
To her luscious lips that I’ve still to taste. To her lingering smell. To her curves.
Even with her atrocious sense of fashion. The set of pens tucked into her hair.
I’m attracted to Roxy Moretti.
Enough to sabotage my agenda. One I pretty much abandoned after I fought a boner the day she scraped her knee.
Yeah, I cleaned her wound, and got aroused by it like a fucking hormone-raging teenager.
To counteract that unfortunate development, I’m mean to her.
I’m not the warmest, nicest person on a normal day, but I put an extra effort into being an asshole to Little Thunder.
Case in point.
She’s wearing formal pants, rolled up as if she were going to dip her feet in water. Said feet are clad in Pepto-Bismol-colored sneakers.
She matched it all with a hockey jersey. Her own name across her back and her chest.
Why are you dressed like that?
My question isn’t outlandish. But the tone? I draped the words with judgment and disdain. Even though I’m more intrigued than anything. I admire her bold—although slightly deranged—choices.
The joke is on me. My plan to fight the attraction is backfiring big-time. She is standing here, shooting daggers at me with her eyes, and my cock stirs.
Welcome to my fucking world.
I’m not even consistent in my behavior. I let her present the parts I know she is more comfortable with.
She caught me sneaking sugar into her coffee to give her an energy boost. I’ve been doing that for weeks because the woman seems sleep-deprived, and her diet is appalling. She either doesn’t eat or stuffs her face with donuts.
How someone can abuse their body so much is beyond me. I’m well aware it’s not my business, and yet I’ve made it mine.
We stand across from each other, with the large table between us, in a silent duel. Just mere moments passed since we almost kissed. And fuck, she wanted my mouth as much as I wanted hers.
But thank God for the interruption. Not because I no longer want to kiss her… and more than that.
This is not the time, and more importantly, not the place. I don’t care about the no-fraternization policy, because I don’t care about Merged much.
But she cares. She cares too much, practically wasting away from the stress of this competition.
I don’t want to jeopardize that for her.
It wouldn’t suit me in the long run, anyway. Or at least that’s the rationale I keep giving myself.
She is breathtakingly beautiful. Fragile and strong. Vulnerable and badass. A study in contradictions.
I sigh. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Ready to start,” Corm walks in.
Enough with the fucking interruptions. I groan inwardly.
Roxy breaks the staring duel and smiles at him. “Let’s start.”
For the duration of the presentation, she doesn’t look at me. I, on the other hand, keep hanging on every word as if I didn’t know what was being discussed. I fucking wrote the slides.
Still, I’m just feasting on her presence. The words roll from her with confidence, the weight behind them rooted in knowledge and understanding.
She might lack experience, but she makes up for it with her tenacity and sheer power of mind.
Unstoppable. Unflappable. Unshakable.
And yet, the few times her eyes watered when she thought I didn’t see. The few yawns she stifles here and there. An occasional sigh of unloading the weight of the universe when she thinks nobody watches… all of it makes her more real. Too real.
None of those vulnerabilities is present right now. And I’m so fucking proud of her. When we reach my portion of the presentation, I feel like an intruder.
This is her show.
This is her playground.
This is her future.
“Why don’t you continue?” I say.
All heads in the room swivel to me, but I don’t pay them any attention, my gaze firmly on Roxy.
She frowns, and looks at the partners and senior managers around the table before her gaze lands on me again.
I give her a slight nod. No agenda. No prank. No dig.
She takes a sip of water, squares her shoulders, and continues.
That’s my girl.
Some people understand a glower. Some people, unfortunately, don’t speak my body language.
One of them is the receptionist at Merged, who has been looking at me like I’m the second coming of Jesus.
I turn my back to her, pulling out my phone to busy myself.
She breathes out what sounds like a porn moan, utterly inappropriate for the workplace.
A few weeks ago, I would see where those sexy looks would lead. I wouldn’t really care about office politics, awkward dances afterward, or HR warnings. It seems I left that behavior behind.
Stifling a groan, I check my watch. Roxy had better show up in the next two minutes. We will be late otherwise.
The presentation at Hearthstone Foods is important for Corm. I need a win here. For her and for me.
As I scan my emails on the screen, I sense her before I see her. The subtle lavender scent reaches me. To my horror, the corners of my mouth curl up. What the fuck?
Fighting this attraction is annoying.
She brushes past me to the elevator. “Ready?”
Putting my phone into my pocket, I follow… Who the hell is that? Roxy’s dreadlocks are tamed into a ponytail on her nape, and she is wearing a gray business suit.
A fitted jacket hugs her shoulders and trim waist, ending just above her ass, all round and sensual in a pencil skirt. She pairs it with sensible nude flats.
There is nothing wrong with the attire. It’s perfectly appropriate for the important presentation.
On Roxy, everything is wrong with that get-up.
I storm toward her. “What are you wearing?” I whisper-snap at her, mindful of the receptionist.
“Not this again.” Roxy rolls her eyes.
I grind my teeth, taking a deep breath in. An associate passes through, and I catch the receptionist’s eye.
Gripping Roxy’s elbow, I pull her away from the elevators.
“What are you doing?” she protests, but I don’t stop and push us into the small boardroom Merged uses as a waiting area for visitors.
I shut the door behind me. “I don’t like it.” If I grind my teeth harder, I might dislocate my jaw.
Roxy folds her arms across her chest. “I’m not asking.”
“This is not you. Go change.”
She blinks a few times. “Excuse me? You are not the boss of me,” she snorts, pushing past me to leave.
I seize her arm again. Something forbidden zaps through us. We still.
Roxy’s gaze collides with mine, and we stare at each other. The air between us fills with pent-up energy, undue animosity, and something more potent.
Unknown. Undiscovered. Unavoidable.
Slowly, deliberately, she lowers her eyes to my hand wrapped around her arm.
Fuck, what am I doing?
I let go of her and put my hand on the doorknob. “No, I’m not your boss. Only you are. And I’m yet to see you fold for anything or anyone. Don’t fucking start now.”
She blinks, her breath hitches. “Why do you care?”
An excellent question.
“Little Thunder, you shouldn’t be changing who you are to please a bunch of assholes.” I pull the door open, but Roxy pushes it shut again.
We stand so close now, I can count every single line on her face. We engage in yet another staring contest, each of us avoiding words and actions we don’t want to regret.
With my hand still on the handle and hers just above it, flat against the door, it would be so easy to snake my arm around her waist.
To pivot us and push her against the wall. To take that mouth of hers and ravish her until she forgets why she hates me.
She parts her lips, as if she were thinking the same thing as me, but then she squares her shoulders.
Suit or no suit, she is still Roxy. A warrior. A thunder. A temptress.
“Why are you wearing this suit and this tie, Liam?”
Fuck. She got me there. I gape at her, my nostrils flaring because she is right. The dress code is expected.
But it pisses me off that she needs to adhere to it. She should be able to be herself.
When I say nothing, she gives me a saccharine smile. “Yeah, you dress for success, so don’t you dare judge me for doing the same.”
I wasn’t judging, I think. “Fine,” I spit out like a petulant child instead.
Roxy snorts and opens the door.
Why do I keep insulting her when I mean to compliment her? Why, instead of my admiration, does judgment come out?
It’s like I lost my mind.
And forgot that I don’t want her as my enemy. I need her as my ally.
She is not a hurdle. She is the goal.
How else am I going to get to her father?
The driver keeps checking the rearview mirror, probably wondering if we will kill each other and destroy the precious leather on his seats.
Roxy hasn’t spoken to me since we left the office, ignoring my attempts at conversation.
I, because I clearly lost my mental faculties, am now sulking.
And catching glimpses of her.
She’s reviewing the presentation on her tablet while answering messages and setting reminders on her phone. No pause. No hesitation. Two devices, full focus.
While I have only Cal’s projects and nothing else, she’s carrying all her other responsibilities. All of it.
No wonder she looks overworked. Pale. Tight around the eyes.
And I’ve been adding to the load instead of reducing it. That’s not acceptable.
Why I care is a question for another time. Preferably never. I don’t intend to pull on that thread. It won’t end somewhere useful.
I’ve lost sight of my objective. Worse, I’ve let her become a distraction instead of an asset.
She was supposed to be integrated into my plans, not interfere with them.
Roxy taps her fingers against the tablet, her nails striking an uneven rhythm. Not impatience. Not exactly. More like restraint. As if she’s holding something back.
She’s irritated by my presence. Fair.
What bothers me more is my own lapse in control.
Is she annoyed? Or nervous about the presentation? Either way, it’s irrelevant.