Page 58 of Meet Me In The Dark

That woman is going to be the death of me. I’m sure of it.

When she walked into my conference room that day, she decided to play dirty with a button too low on her blouse and a dangerous gleam in her eyes. By thetime she crouched in front of me, pretending to reach for a dropped pen while mouthing a single word—Sir—I knew she’d declared war.

I’ve been battling my cock ever since.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale hard. I need Mateo’s gym more than ever. One round with the heavy bag. Maybe ten.

I need distractions.

I’m staring out the window in search of one when a flash of movement draws my attention. Someone running. A woman.

I straighten up, eyes narrowing, because that isn’t just any woman.

My gaze locks onto the curve of her ass, bouncing with each stride in leggings that cling like a second skin. Her hoodie is pulled up around her ears, and her dark hair is swinging in a ponytail.

What the actual fuck.

Heat pulses through me—a mix of irritation and something more possessive—as I watch Celeste jog past two drunk idiots staggering home from whatever shithole bar finally kicked them out. They eye her like she’s their next meal, wolf-whistling and laughing.

She keeps running, hardly noticing them.

My hands tighten around the steering wheel until my knuckles whiten.

Jesus Christ, is she serious? Running alone at this hour through this neighborhood?

I shouldn’t care. She’s not my responsibility.

But when the light turns green, instead of going left toward the gym, my foot slams the gas, and I make a sharp right, directly toward her.

I pull ahead, tires screeching as I cut in front of her.

For a second, raw fear flashes across her face.

Good. Maybe it will scare some sense into her.

Shoving my door open, I storm toward her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What the hell areyoudoing?” she snaps as she pulls her earbuds from her ears and stuffs them in her hoodie pocket. “Are you following me?”

Sweat glistens on her hairline, and her flushed face makes my jaw tighten for reasons that go beyond irritation.

“What? No. I was on my way—Fuck it. That’s not the point.” I gesture at the deserted street. “What are you doing out here at ass-o’clock in the morning, running through a neighborhood practically begging to kill you?”

She scoffs. “I’m running, not inviting serial killers to brunch.”

“You might as well be.” My voice drops lower, edged in disbelief. “Are you insane?”

She jabs a finger toward my chest. “It’s a free country. I’m a grown woman who runs at this time every single day. Look—” She throws her arms wide. “Still alive.”

“Those assholes back there would have followed you home if they were even slightly less shitfaced.”

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “Do I look like some delicate flower to you?”

“You look like a woman running alone in the dark with zero concept of self-preservation.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, still glaring at me.

“You’re fine? Great. That’s good, Celeste. Just get yourself killedafteryou finish building my headquarters.”