Chris couldn't shake the memory of her smirk. It haunted him more than the fact that she'd dared send him away. His entire week had been ruined because of her. He'd won an easy case, made good money, and even crushed a rival magazine company without breaking a sweat, yet the little spitfire still ruled his thoughts.
She'd told him she didn't want him. She'd looked him dead in the eye and dismissed him as if he were no one. Did she not know who he was? What could he do?
He'd imagined hurting her. He'd imagined forcing her to beg. But the truth stung sharper: he couldn't bring himself to cross that line with her. Instead, he decided to watch, to savour this game she was playing with him. His ego was bruised, yes, but she would eventually succumb. Whether he broke her or kept her at his side, he hadn't yet decided.
That night, Chris walked into the club.
She was there, as always, hair pulled into a messy bun, moving behind the counter with an easy smile as she served drinks. His eyes tracked her every motion until he approached. When she noticed him, her smile faltered, her gaze sliding quickly away.
He chuckled. Good. She felt it, too. He wasn't the only one affected by whatever was going on between them.
Sliding onto a stool at the bar, he waited. She had no choice but to acknowledge him.
"What would you like to drink?" she asked, her voice cool, professional.
Chris ignored the question, letting the silence stretch as he watched her. She kept her eyes down, deliberately avoiding his.
"If you're not ordering, please leave the counter," she said at last, meeting his gaze.
Her defiance stirred something dark and dangerous in him. Instead of answering, he leaned forward, voice low.
"I have a proposal."
She scoffed and turned away. That amused him more than it angered him. Rising from the stool, he rounded the counter, closing the distance between them until she was caged against it. One hand braced on the wood beside her head, and he leaned close.
"There are many ways I can make you submit to me, doesn't have to be nice ways but i can force you to be exactly where i want you to be and nobody can stop me" he murmured, his tone deceptively calm. Her eyes widened in fear, disbelief, and something else flickering all at once.
"I have a proposal," he repeated, softer now, his face inches from hers. "And you will listen."
She swallowed hard and nodded. His lips curved in satisfaction.
"Meet me in the office."
Then, with a smirk, he straightened, snatched a bottle of whiskey and a glass, and walked away as though he owned the place.
Her heart pounded. Not from panic, though she wished it were that simple but from something far more dangerous. Whatever his proposal was, she told herself she would say no. And yet, her body betrayed her.
When she finally entered the office, it felt like walking into fire.
For once, the room wasn't bathed in the club's crimson glow. Under clean white light, the space looked refined, masculine. But it wasn't the decor that held her captive it was the man leaning casually against the desk, sipping whiskey.
His collar was open, and his sleeves rolled to his forearms, exposing strong muscles. The movement of his throat as he swallowed drew her eyes before she could stop herself. She looked away quickly, cursing the heat that crept across her skin.
"Lock the door and come closer," Chris ordered. His tone left no room for argument.
He'd already noticed her habit of rebelling against his commands, and tonight was no different. She lifted her chin, glaring sharp.
"What do you want?" she snapped.
"You," he said smoothly, as though stating a business deal.
"Well, I told you before, I am not interested."
Chris chuckled darkly, pushing off the desk and striding towards her. She backed away instinctively until her shoulders hit the door. He caged her there, his body pressing dangerously close.
"Do you even know who I am?" His voice dropped, silken and lethal.
"Yes. And?" she shot back, folding her arms, though her pulse thundered in her ears.
His lips curved. He leaned in, his breath brushing her skin, eyes dark with hunger.
"Tell me you don't think about me," he whispered.
Her mouth parted, but no words came. His lips brushed hers lightly, teasing, testing. Her breath hitched.
"Tell me you don't want this," he murmured, his hand sliding to her waist.
"I…" Her protest died in a groan as his mouth crashed against hers.
The kiss was searing, demanding. She responded instantly, fingers tangling in his smooth hair, pulling him closer. Her body arched against his, a moan slipping free when he bit her lower lip. His hands were everywhere unzipping her jeans, sliding beneath her shirt, groaning when he found bare skin. He cupped her breast, squeezing firmly before his hand trailed lower, slipping beneath her panties.
Her grip on his hair tightened as he rubbed her, her hips jerking helplessly into his touch. The world blurred, her senses drowning in him.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, he pulled back.