Page 31
Then I lean against the wall and close my eyes, dragging in a slow, shaky breath.
I should have left it at that. Should have put as much space between us as possible and let this whole thing die in the chaos of the game.
But I don’t.
Because the moment I hear the deliberate, measured footsteps behind me, something inside me tightens all over again.
I know it’s him before I even turn around.
Graham stops a few feet away, his hands on his hips, his chest still rising and falling like he’s trying to calm himself down. His suit jacket is gone, his tie loosened, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. The raw energy from the fight is still vibrating off of him, but his expression is different now.
It’s not just anger anymore.
It’s something deeper.
Something that makes it impossible to breathe properly.
“You can’t do that,” I say, my voice lower than I want it to be.
His jaw clenches. “Do what?”
“Lose control every time something happens to me.”
His eyes darken, and he steps closer. “I don’t lose control.”
I let out a sharp laugh, but it’s breathless. “What do you call what happened out there?”
His gaze flicks down to my mouth for a fraction of a second, and my stomach clenches so hard I have to press my hands against my thighs to keep from doing something reckless.
“I call it reacting,” he says, his voice lower now, rougher. “Because the second I saw you go down, Anastasia, I didn’t think. I just moved.”
I swallow, but it doesn’t make the tightness in my throat go away.
“You don’t get to do that anymore,” I whisper. “Whatever this is, whatever it was—it doesn’t exist here. I work for you now.”
Something flickers across his face. “That’s what you think?”
“It’s what I know.”
He shakes his head, slow, deliberate. Then he steps even closer, and I should back away, should put space between us, but I don’t. I can’t.
His fingers brush against my arm, just barely, but it’s enough to send a bolt of electricity straight through me.
“This is still real,” he says, voice barely above a murmur. “No matter how much you pretend it’s not.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Because I can’t pretend.
Not when his scent is everywhere, clean and sharp, with just the faintest trace of sweat and cologne. Not when I can feel the heat radiating off his body, the tension in his muscles, the barely restrained force of whatever the hell is still between us.
My breath shudders as I finally manage words. “This is a bad idea.”
His hand moves, slowly, fingers brushing the side of my face, his thumb grazing the edge of my jaw.
“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice like gravel. “It really is.”
Then he kisses me.
