Page 56 of What Comes Around

“This adjustment reduces exposure if zoning approval is delayed,” I said, forcing my voice to stay professional even as my pulse picked up.

He turned his head slightly.

Our faces were only inches apart.

“You do this on purpose,” he said, his voice rough.

A small spark ran up my spine.

“Doing what?” I asked, tilting my head.

“You walk around here like a fucking tease.”

“You asked me to come here.”

His jaw flexed.

“Don’t play dumb. Every time I turn my back, there’s another man. Do you enjoy it? Do you need every man wanting to fuck you?”

“I don’t need anyone,” I said.

“You think you’re in control,” he continued. “Walking around like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

My pulse slammed against my ribs.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Then stop pretending you don’t want to play,” I said quietly.

He stood so suddenly I barely had time to react. The movement trapped me between his body and the desk.

There was nothing polished about him now. No restraint. The man leaning over me felt stripped down to something raw. For a brief second I saw straight through the controlled exterior into something darker. Hungrier. Primitive.

“We both know this is what you want,” he said, his voice low with heat. “You’ve been pushing for it. So I’m going to take what you’re offering.”

My last clear thought was oh fuck before he grabbed me and crushed his mouth into mine.

The kiss was rough and immediate, weeks of tension breaking loose all at once. His hands moved without hesitation, pulling me closer as the edge of the desk pressed into the backs of my thighs and he crowded between them, leaving nowhere to go. Pinning me in place.

“I’m going to have you,” he murmured against my mouth. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

Chapter 18: When Control Broke

Knox POV

I had been in a foul mood for two days, and I knew exactly when it started.

The email came late at night. No subject line. No name. Just a link and a single sentence.

“Thought you should see what your analyst does after work.”

I should have deleted it. Closed the laptop. Gone to bed.

Instead, I clicked.

Ashley appeared on the screen. Different rooms. Different beds. Different men. A chain of grainy phone-camera clips cut together without context, short flashes that left no doubt what was happening.