Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maverick
I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.
The way she had tilted her head ever so slightly, exposing the mark I had left on her skin, not bothering to hide it.
The way she had accepted Asher’s dinner invitation without hesitation, looking at me like she knew exactly what she was doing.
The way her breath had hitched when I bit down on her neck, knowing it would linger, knowing she’d feel it long after I had walked away.
It was reckless. It was stupid. It was everything I had been trying to avoid since the night she left my bed, and yet here I was, lying awake, replaying the moment over and over.
I had never been this distracted. Never let something—or someone—get under my skin the way she had. It was unacceptable.
And yet, when I walked into my office that morning, the first thing I did was wait.
Wait for the elevator doors to slide open.
Wait for her to step inside. Wait to see if she would acknowledge what happened.
If she would react at all. And when she finally walked in, she looked completely unaffected.
Her posture was relaxed, her expression neutral, her pace steady.
She moved through the office like nothing had changed like she hadn’t spent the night at dinner with my brother, like she hadn’t left with a reminder of me on her neck.
And the worst part? She wasn’t hiding it.
The collar of her blouse was open just enough that the faint red mark was still visible against her skin, and I knew, I knew she had done it on purpose.
"Good morning, Mr. Spencer," she greeted, setting my coffee on the desk without hesitation.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t trust myself to.
She moved to her seat, flipping open my schedule, and scanning through my meetings as if I wasn’t staring at her.
As if I wasn’t fighting the urge to drag her into my office and demand to know what the hell she was doing to me.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled together, watching her.
Waiting. Testing. And finally, after a full minute, she lifted her gaze, meeting mine with the same unreadable expression, the same quiet confidence that drove me insane.
"Did you have a good dinner?" I asked, keeping my voice even.
Her lips curved slightly, just enough to make my grip on the desk tighten. "It was lovely, thank you for asking."
Liar.
I tilted my head, studying her. "I’m sure Asher was entertaining."
Her smirk widened. "Oh, he was."
A sharp wave of something possessive and unwelcome curled through me, but I refused to react. I refused to let her win. Instead, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk, my eyes never leaving hers. "Good," I murmured. "I hope he kept you satisfied."
Her breath hitched.
It was small, barely noticeable, but I caught it.
And for the first time that morning, I knew she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted me to believe.
The meeting room was too warm, or maybe it was just her presence that made it feel that way.
I was seated at the head of the long table, executives lined on either side, discussing numbers, projections, and market shares—things I usually had a complete focus on.
But today, my mind was elsewhere. Because Solenn was sitting directly across from me, flipping through documents, taking notes, acting like she wasn’t unraveling me from across the room.
She passed me a report without looking up, her fingers skimming mine in the briefest, most fleeting touch.
And I stopped breathing.
It was nothing. A simple exchange of paperwork, something that should have meant absolutely nothing.
But the heat of her skin against mine sent a sharp, searing jolt through me, a crack in the restraint I had been holding onto all morning.
My breath stuttered, my fingers tightening around the folder, too slow to pull away.
Her gaze flicked up, her eyes locking onto mine. She had felt it too.
The room melted away.
The conversation blurred into background noise, fading into insignificance. There was only her. The slight part of her lips, the flicker of something reckless, deliberate.
And then, just like that, she shifted back, withdrawing her hand, turning her attention back to her notes as if nothing had happened.
I clenched my jaw.
Because she was winning.
And I was letting her.
By late afternoon, I had reached my limit.
I had spent the entire day fighting the urge to touch her, to pull her aside, to demand to know if she felt this thing between us as much as I did. But I didn’t. Because I couldn’t. Because this was still a game neither of us had acknowledged, a war neither of us had declared.
But then she leaned over my desk, flipping through my schedule, her scent wrapping around me—soft, intoxicating, making it impossible to focus.
Her arm brushed mine, warm, electric.
She was too close.
Too close to the edge of something dangerous, irreversible.
I stared at her, at the curve of her exposed throat, at the way her lips parted slightly as she concentrated.
My fingers twitched.
Almost lifted.
Almost skimmed the side of her neck—right where I had left my mark.
I could still feel it. The warmth of her skin beneath my mouth. The way she had tensed, then melted.
My pulse thundered.
But just as quickly as the urge came, I shut it down.
I clenched my hand into a fist instead, forcing my body to remain still.
Not yet.
Not here.
Not like this.
I exhaled sharply. "That’ll be all, Ms. Wheeler."
She stilled, then slowly turned her head, meeting my gaze.
There was a flicker of something dark, something satisfied, something that told me she knew exactly how close I had been to breaking.
And then—she smirked.
That slow, deliberate, infuriating smirk.
And just like that, I knew.
I had lost this round.
I clenched my jaw, my hands gripping the edge of my desk, watching as she turned and walked away, knowing I was barely hanging onto control.
Because I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep losing.