Chapter 18 #2
He smiled. “That’s it. I do love a chase.”
He slid his hand beneath the hem of my skirt.
“Little fox…”
Panic detonated in my chest. I slammed my feet into the floor and kicked the chair back. It skidded hard, nearly tipping over. The motion unseated his grip, and I bolted.
He straightened too, unruffled, eyes bright with the sick thrill of pursuit. “You’ve still got six more weeks here,” he said, moving casually toward me. “I’d hate for this assignment to end…awkwardly.”
I backed toward the door and grabbed for the lock.
He clamped his hand over mine.
“People talk,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you. Particularly back at your parent company.”
My vision tunneled. His fingers were icy against my skin, crushing my hand against the metal. Air scraped into my lungs and went nowhere. Every instinct screamed to wrench free, to claw, to fight. But terror held me still.
“Let me go.” The words barely made it past my lips.
He pressed forward, one hand flat to the hollow of my throat. “Let’s not make this messy, Alex. You’re not that kind of girl, are you?”
I tried to brace, to push back, but there was nothing behind me but the door. The sharp edge of his Rolex bit into my wrist.
“I’ll report you. I—” My voice cracked.
He leaned in, pinning his full weight against me. His erection pressed into my stomach. The smell of cologne and coffee turned my gut.
“And how,” he breathed, the air slimy against my ear, “would you do that…without explaining the rest of it?”
My mouth worked, useless, cheeks burning—humiliation and rage tangled together.
The club flashed through my mind. The mask. Luka’s arm locked around my waist, possession cold and absolute. But that had been my choice.
This wasn’t.
Richard slid his hand up my thigh—smooth, practiced—pushing my skirt higher in a single sweep. His eyes mapped my face, tracking every flicker.
“Relax,” he murmured. “I just want a taste.”
Horror surged, but my body betrayed me—heat rushing, nerves sparking. I hated it. Hated him. Hated the way my skin tingled even as bile rose in my throat.
I twisted, tried to drive my knee up.
He blocked it without effort.
Every angle closed. Every movement anticipated.
My voice was all I had left.
“Please.” The word scraped out of me. “No.”
For one heartbeat, he paused.
Then he slid his palm higher, grinding hard through the silk of my panties, fingers spread wide, claiming.
I jerked, panic exploding through my limbs, but his body caged me to the door, breath hot at my temple. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.
“Shh.” His thumb hooked the edge of my waistband. “You say no, but your body’s begging, darling.” He pressed closer. “I saw you this weekend. I know you love this as much as I do.”
The fire alarm detonated.
A shriek split the air—loud, violent, relentless.
For a frozen second, neither of us moved.
Red strobes burst across the ceiling, painting the room in pulses of panic and blood.
“Christ,” he snapped, irritation flashing across his face.
It was enough.
I wrenched sideways, ripping one knee free on a surge of adrenaline. My elbow hooked his jaw. He swore, grip faltering as he rocked back a half-step.
That was all I needed.
I shoved hard with both palms, clawing at his face, his neck—anything to get him off me—and lunged past him.
He straightened, rubbing his jaw, a crooked smile ghosting his mouth despite the alarm shredding the air.
“Run if you like,” he said mildly. “You’ll come back.”
I didn’t answer. I darted around the far side of his desk, keeping the heavy slab of wood between us, my pulse roaring louder than the sirens.
“Your kind always does.”
I snatched my laptop and phone and bolted for the door.
The hallway had dissolved into motion—doors flung open, voices overlapping, the alarm drilling straight through my skull. I plunged into it without looking back. Someone shouted. Someone laughed, brittle and high. I didn’t smell smoke or burning, but the alarm blared on.
I kept moving.
The stairwell door slammed behind me, metal cracking against metal. The sound alone loosened something in my chest.
People funneled downward in neat lines, coats clutched, phones glowing, faces more annoyed than afraid. No one looked at me. No one knew.
I folded myself into the stream and let it carry me, shoulder brushing shoulder, the press of bodies a thin, blessed shield.
My legs shook, but they held. Each step jarred my spine.
I counted them without meaning to—one, two, three—until the rhythm steadied my breathing.
Somewhere below, sirens wailed, rising and falling, the sound of authority and consequence.
I focused on that. On the solid rail under my palm.
On the fact that Richard wasn’t behind me. Not here. Not now.
By the time I reached the lobby, my hands were numb. I drifted toward the glass doors with the others, blinking against the daylight and the rush of cold air. A security guard waved us on, calm and procedural.
Outside, the crowd spilled across the pavement in loose knots—chattering, irritated, alive.
Safe.
My breath shuddered out of me, ragged and uneven.
I lifted my head, scanning the pavement through the blur in my eyes.
And there he was.
Luka stood near the curb, coat unbuttoned, hands fisted at his sides. His face was utterly still—like stone.
His eyes found mine. And something in them cracked. “Thank God.”
He tugged open the passenger door.
“Get in the car.”