TWELVE
‘Paula?’ His voice pulled me from the lines on my screen. I blinked up at him, realising too late that he’d been talking to me for a while now. I hadn’t heard a single word, engrossed in the story.
‘Sorry,’ I said quickly, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. ‘I was focused on the text. What did you say?’
Cain sat back just a touch, one brow arched in that effortlessly commanding way he’d mastered. A faint smirk graced his lips – an almost-smile, as infuriating as it was captivating.
‘How do you do that?’ he asked curiously.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how completely I’d ignored my boss. I really needed to start getting used to having one again.
‘Do what?’ I asked, glancing briefly at the screen in front of me as though it held the answer.
‘How can you maintain such focus?’ he clarified, his honeyed gaze holding mine.
For a moment, I hesitated, weighing whether to lie or give him the truth. My eyes darted to the empty coffee cup sitting on my desk, and I silently cursed myself for not leaving a few sips to occupy my mouth and buy time. With no caffeinated safety net, I took a breath and went for honesty.
‘I had a loud family,’ I admitted, surprising even myself.
Maybe it was the fact that we were alone in this space – the privacy offering a sense of safety and familiarity I hadn’t expected.
‘My parents always yelled at each other, my brothers were… well, brothers. If I hadn’t trained my focus, I would’ve never finished high school. ’ I gave a small, nervous chuckle.
His gaze softened first, then his face melted into something far gentler. For a moment, it looked like he was sad for me, and the thought wound itself tight in my soul.
Cain D’Angelo was a contradiction, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
On the surface, arrogant. Sure of himself.
A man who knew his worth and never asked permission for anything.
He carried himself like someone accustomed to admiration – both sought and unsolicited.
Yet in the polished armour, there were cracks: fleeting glimpses of softness, of something human.
And those glimpses, damn them, made him impossible to resist.
How could I not warm up to him? He was tall, dark, and handsome in a way that felt unfair.
His dark, amber eyes had a way of cutting right through you.
And his sharp jawline and formidable frame didn’t exactly help.
He was the kind of man who’d make women sell their souls for a moment of his attention.
And he fucking knew it.
Yet, somehow, he managed to keep it professional with me. I respected that, even as I wondered if his restraint was less about me and more because he was used to beautiful women swarming around him. I was just the girl next door in jeans and a boring striped shirt – a world apart from all that.
I glanced at the said garment, which did absolutely nothing for my curves.
And then my mind snagged briefly on Ghost. My shadow. My release.
Cain’s allure, however, lay in his light. It was somewhat jarring, a tug-of-war with my senses.
It wasn’t fair to pit them against each other in my mind, but I couldn’t help it. Ghost consumed me in ways I couldn’t articulate, while Cain… Cain was a slow burn, a silent fire that I wasn’t sure I wanted to fan.
‘Must have been nice,’ he said, drawing my thoughts away from where they shouldn’t have wandered. ‘Having brothers, I mean. I don’t have any siblings.’
I scoffed. ‘Well, I guess everything has its pros and cons.’
I never doubted their love, but it always came wrapped in overprotection and bruised knuckles – shouts echoing through thin walls, fights broken up too late, arms thrown around me with the same fists that bloodied each other. And others. That was what it meant to have brothers.
He hummed in affirmation. I hated it when he did that – it sounded like a wolf growling. Made my belly flutter and my thighs clench.
‘I asked what you would like for lunch,’ he recovered quickly. ‘I’ll call Vinnie and have him deliver something to us.’ His tone was lighter now, though still carrying that natural authority he couldn’t quite shed.
‘Oh, I eat everything. I’ll have whatever you’re having.’ I waved away the question and turned back to my screen, eager to bury myself in work before I said something stupid.
‘I’m thinking Caprese salad with grilled chicken,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.
That made me pause. I raised my brows, casting a questioning look over my laptop.
‘What?’ he asked with a smirk that curled one corner of his mouth.
I blinked, trying to reconcile the mental image of a man like him – a towering six-foot-five slab of muscle – living off salads. Before I could stop myself, the question tumbled out. ‘Won’t a salad leave you hungry?’
His shrug was irritatingly casual, as if the laws of caloric consumption didn’t apply to him. ‘I like salads.’
I couldn’t help it. My eyes swept over him, taking in his broad shoulders and the way his shirt stretched just slightly over his chest when he shifted. ‘You’re also six-five and about two hundred and twenty pounds.’
Now it was his turn to raise a brow. His smirk deepened, and I realised too late how my words could have been interpreted.
‘I’m six-six, and two hundred and forty pounds,’ he corrected, his voice a little rougher now. ‘Caprese salad with grilled chicken – and maybe a protein shake – is usually enough to get me through the afternoon.’
Then, softer, more amused as he looked me over. ‘What do you eat? Bird seeds?’
He gestured with a lazy nod, but it wasn’t the words that got to me – it was the way his gaze blurred for a second, no longer on lunch habits but on me.
It was the same look he had earlier when I was messing with the cables.
He’d sat there, sprawled back in his chair with his knees spread wide, his temple propped against his knuckles.
He may have been polite, professional even, but there was no denying that beneath the elegant exterior and carefulness, Cain D’Angelo was still very much a man in his prime.
‘I’m not sure if I should be offended or flattered, D’Angelo,’ I said, narrowing my eyes in mock indignation.
His laugh was low and warm, curling around me like a caress. ‘Neither, of course.’
I rolled my eyes, though my lips twitched upwards despite myself. ‘I’ll have that salad then, if only to see what enough means for you.’
My words were light, teasing, but as I glanced up, his expression shifted. His smirk faded into something deeper, something I couldn’t quite place. Offence? Amusement? No. There was something else, something that burned quietly in his gaze and sent a ripple of warmth skittering down my spine.
I looked back at my screen quickly, feigning nonchalance, but the moment lingered, a spark between us that neither acknowledged aloud.
I refocused on the text, deleting the last paragraph for the third time.
‘Can we go over the last highlight?’ I asked, keeping my voice steady, though the words felt oddly intimate between us.
Cain’s brows pulled together as he turned to the screen, and for a moment, my breath skipped.
His focus was intense, jaw flexing as he read – as if he were trying to bend the passage to his will.
I wasn’t sure what was worse: when he smiled like sin, or when he frowned like he was about to devour the world.
‘You mean the section before they have sex, or after?’ he asked without looking at me, his voice low.
That word on his tongue was criminal. Not crude or casual. Just… slow-motion, like he knew exactly what it did to women.
I clicked a fresh highlight in the shared document, forcing my thoughts back into the workspace.
‘Before,’ I said, tapping the line. ‘I think it veers too quickly into the physical. It’s too raw. We’re close to the climax – emotionally, I mean. We need a bit more restraint. Otherwise, it reads like their arc was just lust all along.’
Cain tilted back, folding his arms. The stretch of muscle beneath that damned fitted shirt distracted me for one beat too long.
‘Too raw?’ he asked, finally glancing at me. ‘I wrote it that way because they have been holding back for so long. It’s the breaking point. The release.’
I inhaled, held my breath, and let my eyes sweep over the passage again.
‘I get that,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘But they’re at a point where they are not just surrendering their bodies. They’re surrendering trust. That has to come first. Otherwise, it reads like sex solved it all.’
Cain’s eyes darkened. He studied me for a long beat, the silence thick enough to tighten around my throat.
‘Well,’ he started, voice quiet but with a rough undertone, ‘sometimes it does solve it all.’
Something in the way he said it felt far from rhetorical.
I let it churn for a heartbeat.
‘Only if what needs fixing is the loneliness,’ I said. ‘Not the damage that caused it.’
His chin inclined slightly, as if I’d touched something he hadn’t offered. But he didn’t look away.
‘You’re saying sex without context is empty.’
‘I’m saying,’ I replied, ‘it’s loud enough to drown everything else out. Which is why we have to be careful with it here. This isn’t about relief. It’s about recognition. One character is asking to be chosen – not just fucked.’
His jaw clenched at my crudeness and he exhaled through his nose, one hand dragging down his jaw slowly. Shit, I needed to rein in… well, myself.
This was exactly why I preferred working alone.
‘And that’s what makes it powerful,’ he murmured, more to himself than to me. ‘When something that raw becomes something that matters.’
I nodded. ‘Exactly. That’s why we need the emotion to land here. Otherwise, the physical part is just heat. It won’t stay with the reader after they close the page.’
Cain turned towards the monitor, but his attention wasn’t on the screen. I could feel it in the way his body stilled. The quiet that followed wasn’t discomfort. It was contemplation. But the sort that pressed closer than one wanted.