Chapter 10 Amara
AMARA
At first, I think Ransome is a mirage. But mirages don’t look that good.
Is he not wearing a tie? Ransome Rozanov always wears a tie. And are his sleeves rolled up? Jesus.
I’m not sure if this is some kind of crazy wet dream where I am stuck on a lousy date with a total creep and my sexy as fuck boss is about to save me, but I’m here for it.
Ransome Rozanov is coming in hot.
Literally, as a matter of fact. He’s moving like a freight train, stopping right next to me, close enough that, when I look up, I have to lean back a little so I’m not just staring right at his crotch.
“Ransome—I mean, Mr. Rozanov, what—”
“Holy shit, is that your boss?” Electra asks, clearly amused.
“Miss Parker. I have been trying to get a hold of you nonstop.”
I blink, pulling my phone out of my purse. But before I can say anything about how there’s no missed calls or texts, he cuts me off again.
“We have work to do—or have you forgotten?”
I literally have no words. I’m not sure if I actually have something I forgot to do or what, but I do know one thing—I have never seen Ransome’s eyes this dark, especially not towards me.
“I’m sorry, who did you say you are again?” Jonathan scoffs.
Ransome’s eyes shift to him and his glare deepens. It’s a wonder the man doesn’t just burst into flames on the spot.
“I am Ransome Rozanov, CEO of Apex Energy, and this young lady is coming with me.”
My heart is hurling itself into my ribcage with every beat. But as his hand touches my shoulder (emphasis on touches. He’s touching me), I find myself standing, my thigh freeing from Jonathan’s grip.
“This is absurd. She’s not on the clock. She’s having dinner. On a date…” Jonathan is stupid enough to go on despite the storm clouds gathering in Ransome’s face.
“Amara is my personal assistant. She is always on the clock. And your date is over.”
Before anyone can say anything else, Ransome’s hand slides to my lower back and he starts walking, which means I start walking, too.
Without a word, he leads me off the patio and around the corner from the restaurant. It isn’t until we are out of anyone’s sight that I look up at him.
“I’m so sorry. If you tried to call, it didn’t go through. I don’t have any messages, either. You can look at my—”
“There were no messages.” Then he snaps his mouth shut.
I blink, more confused than I was before.
“So what was that all abou—?”
“You were in distress. I intervened. You’re welcome.”
The audacity of it makes me giggle ironically. “I… I don’t know if I’d say I was distressed. I mean, he was a bit forward but—”
“He was a fucking creep, Amara.”
I don’t know if it’s the fact that Ransome is towering over me, his words suffocating my own like a hand to the throat. Or if it’s the fact he’s saying my name. He never says my name. It’s enough to make me shiver and I wonder if he notices.
Focus!
Boss or not, hot or not, I’m not a fan of being coddled and reprimanded.
“No offense, Mr. Rozanov, but I’m not a teenager. I’m not a damsel. And I don’t need to be rescued when a guy gets a little handsy.”
“The death grip he had on your thigh told me differently. I bet that leech left a fucking handprint.”
He doesn’t wait for permission. His gaze drops, hot and lethal, and his fingers catch the hem of my dress. He lifts it a few inches—no higher than he has to, but enough to make me shiver yet again—just enough for the streetlight to paint my skin. His jaw turns to granite.
“Zvezda…” It’s almost a growl. His thumb hovers over the mottled marks, not quite touching, like even that would be too much. “He marked you.”
“It’s fine,” I whisper, hating that my voice shakes.
His eyes cut up to mine. Not lust in there—it’s rage. Cold, surgical rage. “It is not fine.” He lowers the fabric back into place with a careful flick, then straightens, shoulders wide, hands fisting. “If he’d gone one inch higher, I would’ve broken his wrist.”
His eyes dart down to my thighs again and heat rushes to my face and… elsewhere.
I clear my throat. “It’s not that big of a deal, Rans—Mr. Rozanov. It’s not the first time.”
As soon as I say the words, I know they were the wrong ones. I watch his jaw tighten hard enough to crack his perfectly straight teeth.
“This has happened before?”
The cocktail of different feelings swirling around my brain has my head spinning. I shrug helplessly. “What can I say? Men are assholes.”
“Disgusting.”
I don’t know how much more of this I can handle. Part of me forgets that he is my boss, my obsession, and I rear up.
“Look, I—again, no offense, sir—but I can take care of myself. If you were anyone else—”
He takes a step closer, close enough that his chest brushes mine. Under any other circumstances, I might have wilted. But I’m heated, too. I’m not used to being told I’m incapable, by anyone. And sexy or not, Ransome doesn’t know the first thing about my life.
“If I were anyone else, what? I dare you to finish that sentence. And keep in mind who I am as you do.”
He’s trying to scare me. And while I have to admit he’s pretty damn good at it, there’s something in me that is boiling right now.
“If you were anyone else, any other man, and you crashed my date like that, I’d slap you.”
With that, Ransome actually laughs. Well, it’s more of a throaty chortle and his lips only tip in the threat of a smirk, but if I had to guess, that’s about the extent of this man’s ability to be outwardly amused.
“I’d like to see you try.”
For a moment, I stare up at him and he stares down at me and all the hot air between our mouths is shared.
The world shrinks to this sliver of space, this knife’s edge where his breath skims mine.
My pulse is frantic, desperate, like my body already knows the taste of him.
His gaze flicks to my lips, back to my eyes, then down again, and my knees nearly buckle.
If he closed that inch—if he took me now—I wouldn’t stop him. I couldn’t.
Something electric crackles between us, hot and dangerous, and for one impossible second, I swear he’s about to break every rule and claim me right there on the sidewalk.
But I can’t let him.
“I’m leaving,” I say at last and while there is sass shoved behind it, it’s mostly all breath.
I storm around Ransome and towards the main road. He says nothing and he doesn’t follow, but I can feel his eyes on me. Hot, angry… demanding.
My skin sizzles and my head is light and it feels like the earth lurched to a stop and then started spinning again but in the wrong direction.
I did want to slap him. Because fuck anyone who thinks I need to be rescued. I’ve never been rescued a day in my life.
But also, as we stood there with all our cards splayed, true colors showing, I didn’t just want to slap him.
I wanted to kiss him.
And that would have been even more dangerous.