Page 31 of The Oyabun's Boy

Chairman Meow, apparently feeling left out, hopped down from the desk and proceeded to wind herself around our legs, purring almost in harmony with Kenji's occasional sounds of relief.

As my fingers worked their way back to his temples, Kenji's hand suddenly captured my wrist, his grip firm, but not painful. He turned in the chair, looking up at me with those intense eyes, now clearer than before.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, his thumb stroking over my pulse point in a way that made my breath catch.

I considered deflecting with humor, but something in his gaze demanded honesty. "Because you're in pain," I said simply. "And I don't like seeing that, even in you."

His expression softened fractionally, something like wonder flickering across his features before he carefully masked it. His thumb continued its hypnotic movement against my wrist, sending little sparks of electricity up my arm with each stroke.

"We have much to discuss," he said, his voice lower now, intimate. "About why you're here. About those men. About what happens next."

I nodded, suddenly very aware of how close we were, of his hand still holding my wrist, of the heat of his skin against mine.

"But not now," he continued, releasing my wrist slowly, his fingertips trailing across my palm as he did so. "Later. When I can give the conversation my full attention."

"When you're not dying from a migraine, you mean," I said, trying for lightness and missing by a mile.

"When I can properly explain the difference between kidnapping and protection," he corrected, a dangerous glint returning to his eyes. "We'll discuss it thoroughly."

The way he said "thoroughly" made it sound like so much more than conversation. Like it might involve significantly fewer clothes and significantly more of those groans I'd been trying so hard to ignore.

Oh boy. I'm in trouble, the dangerous, delicious kind.

Chairman Meow chose that moment to leap into my arms, breaking the tension with her impeccable feline timing. I gathered her close, grateful for the furry buffer between me and the intensity of Kenji's gaze.

"Rest," I instructed, backing away slightly. "Doctor's orders."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Are you a doctor now, Princess?"

"Honorary degree in dealing with stubborn patients," I replied, scratching Chairman Meow behind her ears. "Specialized in mafia bosses with god like complexes and zero self-care skills."

That actually drew a chuckle from him—a brief, rusty sound like he wasn't used to making it. The sound transformed his face, softening the hard edges and making him look younger, almost approachable.

Almost.

"I'll expect a full consultation later," he said, the double meaning unmistakable.

As I backed toward the door, cat in arms and heart hammering against my ribs, I couldn't help but wonder how I'd gone from terrified hostage to personal masseur in less than twenty-four hours.

Stockholm syndrome had nothing on whatever this was developing between us—this dangerous, electric thing that made me want to run away and run toward him in equal measure.

One thing was certain. I was no longer just a captive in Kenji's world. I was becoming something far more dangerous—something he might actually care about.

Chapter Eight

~ Kenji ~

I woke to darkness, my body instantly alert despite the early hour. No alarms, no hesitation—four hours of sleep was more than enough. The digital display on my bedside table read 4:28 AM.

Perfect.

I preferred the world when it slept, when the city's noise was lowered to a distant hum that didn't distract from the calculations always running through my mind.

My feet hit the floor silently as I slid from bed, every movement economical. No wasted motion. No wasted time.

Migraine gone. Good. Joy's fingers had worked magic yesterday.

Joy.