Chapter 1 #3
His eyes settle on mine. "You've been working for me for four weeks and already think you know when I'm lying?"
"I think I know when you're pretending not to feel something."
Something in his expression hardens.
The elevator feels suddenly much smaller.
I become aware of his hand still resting against my waist.
"Do you dislike me?"
The question escapes before I can stop it.
His gaze remains on mine.
"I don't dislike you."
"Then you like me?"
"I don't like or dislike the people who work for me."
I frown.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting."
"Then why do you watch me?"
Silence. His fingers shift slightly against my waist. "You distract me."
My heart stumbles. "I distract you?"
"More than you should."
I don't know what to do with that admission.
So I whisper, "Because I'm clumsy?"
"No."
"Because I make mistakes?"
"No."
"Then what?"
He looks away for a moment, as though he's angry with himself for having said even that much.
When he looks back, there is something darker in his eyes. "You remind me of someone."
"Who?"
"My mother."
The answer surprises me.
I search his face. "I look like her?”
His hand remains at my waist.
"It's not your face. It’s the way you are."
I wait. He seems reluctant to continue, but eventually his voice drops.
"You're soft. You take care of people. You apologize when you haven't done anything wrong. You look at people as though you want to make things easier for them." His mouth tightens. "I saw you on your first day with one of the other interns. She was crying. You stayed with her."
"You saw that?"
"I see more than you think."
The words send a shiver through me.
"Then you've been watching me."
His eyes hold mine. "Yes."
There is no denial this time.
My heart starts beating harder. "Why?"
He doesn't answer immediately. I can feel the tension in his body beneath my hands.
Finally, he says, "Because I don't understand why I can't stop."
The admission leaves me breathless.
"Stop what?"
"Looking at you."
My pulse races. I don't know where I find the courage, but I ask the question I've been carrying since the first day I walked into his office.
"Is that why you’re always so hard on me? Because you hate that I make you lose control. You hate that your gaze is drawn to me, and you can’t stop yourself?"
His gaze searches my face. For a moment, he says nothing.
Then his voice drops. "Every time I look at you, I want something I have no business wanting."
My pussy squeezes hard. His expression is intense and serious, but there’s pure lust in his eyes. There’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words.
My body temperature shoots up. I feel the heat radiating out of my toes, snaking into my core, lighting a fire in my belly.
The silence stretches between us, filled only by the distant thunder and the rain battering the building.
My heart is pounding.
But I need to hear him say it. "You want me?"
His eyes close for half a second. When they open again, whatever restraint he had left seems dangerously thin.
“I want to do dirty, filthy things to you, Virelle.” His face moves closer to mine. “And you’d be very stupid if you let me do what I want.”
I should be frightened by the warning. Instead, I feel something inside me surrender.
“I’ve always been stupid,” I whisper. “So do what you want to me, Mr. Wrenford.”
“Fuck. You’re trapped with me in an elevator. You can’t escape,” he says, his voice gravelly and desperate.
But all I hear is sexual frustration. And my blood hums with heat at that angry, masculine sound. My body wants to soothe his wild emotions; to take whatever version of dominance he’s offering me.
I feel pressure pushing against my pussy, making slick arousal spill down my channel. My panties feel damp, soaked in my own need and ache.
“I don’t want to escape. I want you to use me as you please,” I say. “I want to know what it’s like to be defiled, used, and filled by you.”
“Damn it.” Lucan grits his teeth. “If you want me to ruin you so badly, I will.”
his hand moves from my waist to the back of my neck, and he pulls me toward him.
His mouth crashes against mine.
The kiss is nothing like the careful fantasy I've imagined.
It's fierce, frustrated, and hungry, as though all the restraint between us has finally snapped.
I gasp against his mouth, and his hand tightens at the back of my neck while the other keeps me firmly against him.
For a moment I forget about the elevator, the storm, the hour, everything except the sensation of finally being kissed by the man I've spent weeks trying not to want.
And I love it. I love the certainty of him.
The strength of his hands. The way he kisses me as though he's furious with himself for wanting me and even more furious that he can no longer pretend he doesn't.
When he finally pulls away, we're both breathing hard.
His forehead nearly touches mine.
His eyes search my face.
Neither of us speaks.
The elevator remains motionless around us, the storm raging somewhere beyond the walls.
And for the first time since I met Lucan Wrenford, I don't wonder whether he wants me.
I know.