Page 70 of Carnal Games

Before I combust from how crazy she’s driving me, I scan the room for the source of the sound. Stalking over to it, I pull out the cord until serene silence descends.

Her head whips around, causing her high ponytail to swish and rest over one slender shoulder. Lips parting as she sees me, she rises to her feet and flips her hair back. A purple headband with a bow sits on top of her head.

Gaze roaming down my chest and low while I fight not to do the same to her, she brings it back to my face and walks my way.

Am I imagining it or did her breathing just pick up?

The closer she comes, the more details I notice about her. The flush on her cheeks. The light sheen of sweat along her collarbones. The strap on her left shoulder inappropriately askew.

Again, I’m imagining her trembling.

She raises her left hand to slide the strap back in place when I see the diamond ring on her finger. It kicks me out of the stupor and I jerk my eyes up to her face.

“Good morning,” she greets, sounding like an angel singing.

“People normally listen to peaceful music while doing yoga.” Her playlist is more appropriate for a gym rat. “One that can’t be heard halfway across the city.”

“Slow music puts me to sleep.” Peering at the floor, she mutters, “And I couldn’t find the remote to turn down the volume. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

I’m back to making her nervous.

I don’t like it, needing her eyes on mine. Pushing my hands inside my pockets, I brush it off by saying, “It’s fine. I was up anyways.”

Her effervescent eyes lift to mine. “Umm… cool.”

“But you do have a bad habit of leaving the door open,” I scold. “Are you trying to make it easy for a robber or someone worse to invade your place?”

“Nathan showed me how the security system works on the floor as well as the apartment. Plus, no one can get on the elevator without being buzzed in. You’re the only one who lives here, so I’m not really worried. Considering how private you are, it’s very unlikely you’ll invite anyone to your place. Though, I’m beginning to worry now, seeing barging in seems to be your favorite hobby.”

I ignore her jibe and cross my arms. “Being private doesn’t mean I don’t have guests over, Miss Mannan.”

“Iris,” she softly corrects. “This isn’t your office. Just two neighbors having a friendly chat.”

“Not by choice.”

“Roommates are by choice, neighbors are entirely by fate,” she quips. “Anyways, you’re lying.”

“Second time you’ve accused me of being a liar.”

“I researched you.” She smirks. “Very thoroughly.”

“And it said I never have guests?”

“No.” She laughs, like I cracked a joke. “You do, but you have a reserved table at Rosario’s where you wine and dine all your acquaintances and clients.”

“True.” Lowering my voice, I say, “But those aren’t the guests I was referring to.”

Her proud smile falls flat as my insinuation sinks in.

It’s yet another lie.

I don’t bring women over to my place, nor am I womanizer. I’m discreet about who I occasionally fuck. Unlike my acquaintances and competitors who bring dates with them to red carpet events or charity galas, I never do.

I don’t understand why I felt the urge to make Iris believe otherwise. I have my flaws, but going out of my way to be rude to someone, especially someone as sweet and bubbly as her, isn’t one of them.

Nevertheless, it’s all I’ve done since the moment I’ve met her.

I tell myself I’m doing her a favor.