Page 93 of Carnal Games

I was already battling a war the entire hour-long drive watching her squirm and keep peeking at me from the corners of her striking eyes, and then the few peaceful seconds in the elevator.

What kind of man aches to caress a woman while she’s panicking? She was trembling and all I could think about was how good she smells and how goddamn soft her skin is. Most of all, how lucky of a bastard Nathan is to get to touch her every day for the rest of his life.

The warmth from her supple flesh is blistering my palms long after I’ve stopped touching her. She’d hidden it from my sight, yet I can’t erase the feel or the memory from my brain.

The image of her standing with her skirt bunched around her waist, giving me a tiny glimpse of the edges of her pink lacy panties, is engraved into my eyes.

Goddamn it! I held her ass in my hands, fighting the urge to squeeze and wrench a moan from her lips, which she’s biting right now.

It’s just the two of us on the fortunately empty floor. I wouldn’t have been able to handle another person having the same view I had mere moments ago. I also can’t spend another minute in her presence.

“Go back to the office,” I bark, rather harshly.

“What?” she gasps, looking hurt. “But the meeti—”

“I don’t need you there.” All she’ll accomplish is distract me. Yanking out my phone, I swipe it open to send a text. “I’ll have the driver bring back the car around and drop you off. I’m sure there’s plenty of other work waiting for you.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” I utter, my voice low.

Marching toward me barefoot, she puts her hands on her hips and arches a taunting brow. “That wasn’t our deal, Mr. Singhania. You promised me I’ll be your shadow. It’s only been two days and you’re going back on your promise. I didn’t think you weren’t a man of your words. If you send me back, I’ll really believe it. Is that the impression you wanna make?”

The half-pint-sized diva, who was screaming bloody murder in my ear over a tiny reptile a minute ago, is now pushing my buttons. Crossing my arms, I taunt back, “Do you think you can manage not to lose it over a mosquito next while we’re in the meeting? I can’t have you climbing over the manager like a monkey.”

The tip of her nose turns pink. “It was a big, fat, ugly lizard with God knows how many germs on its tongue. Mind you, I was wearing a skirt. Sue me for not wanting it to crawl up my leg and have a party in my panties.”

Just the words I wanted to hear from her juicy mouth.

Skirt and panties.

I’m the boss and I damn well could send her back to Kinetic’s headquarters. But I’m not one to back down from a blatant challenge.

“How exactly do you plan to be useful in the conference room since you dropped your belongings in the elevator?”

“Crap,” slips from her mouth. Shoving past me, she flees toward the elevator and punches the button. The car, still luckily on our floor, slides open. Seeing her items, she takes a step but her feet never touch the floor before she jumps back. Keeping the doors from being shut, her gaze ping-pongs over the inside of the elevator and she tries again, her left feet hovering over the line.

Christ! She’s searching for the lizard.

Peering over her shoulder, she softly calls, “Kian.”

Oh, now I’m back to being Kian.

I’ve never come across someone who switches personalities so fast. Sighing, I reach her in two long strides and step into the car. Bending down, I pick her heels, the purse, and her phone, which is somehow intact. Turning around, I hold everything out for her to take.

Instead, she only grabs the black heels. The length of the spiky heels boggling me how she hasn’t broken her neck tripping whilst wearing them.

My mystery gets cut short when she wraps her fingers around my arm, using it as an anchor. Then she bends at the waist to put on her heels one by one, while I grit my teeth at the contact. Even through the fabric of my jacket and shirt, I’m hyperaware of her nails digging in.

I send a silent prayer to the ceiling to end this torture and to avoid looking at her ass. For a little thing, she has a perfectly bouncy and round ass.

Straightening, she takes the purse and the phone, mumbling, “Thank you.”

“We’re late because of you,” I grunt. “I’m never late.”

“Blame it on the lizard.”

Oh, I do. If I ever see it again, I’m going to kill it.