Page 34 of The Oyabun's Boy

Different objectives, same precision.

Joy stirred, his consciousness returning in increments. First came the deeper breathing, then the slight furrow of his brow, the gentle flutter of eyelashes. I watched, cataloging each micro-expression with the same focus I'd use to dismantle an enemy.

Then he stretched—a full-body, languid movement that arched his back and extended his arms above his head. The simple white t-shirt he wore rode up, exposing a strip of pale skin at his waist.

My mouth went dry.

Chairman Meow tumbled indignantly from his chest, landing with an offended "mrrp" on the cushion beside him.

The sudden movement caused Joy's eyes to snap open—green as spring leaves, clear and bright even in the first moments of wakefulness. They landed on me almost immediately, widening with recognition.

A blush spread across his freckled cheeks when he registered my gaze, the color rising from his throat to the tips of his ears. Delicious. I wanted to trace the path with my tongue, feel the heat of his skin beneath my mouth.

"Morning, stalker," Joy yawned, attempting nonchalance despite the color in his cheeks. "Enjoying the view?"

His voice was rougher in the morning, tinged with sleep. I filed that detail away with all the others I was collecting—the exact pattern of freckles across his nose, the way his auburn hair stuck up on one side, how he unconsciously reached for Chairman Meow even as he stared me down.

"Immensely," I replied, not bothering to hide my appreciation. Directness often disconcerted people. Joy was no exception.

His blush deepened, but he didn't look away. Brave. Foolish. Perfect.

"Your mother will be here later to have breakfast with you," I continued, watching his reaction carefully. "Chen has arranged for her to be transferred to a safe house."

Joy bolted upright, sleep evaporating instantly from his features. "You kidnapped my mother? I thought you were sending her home." The accusation was sharp, his body tensing as if preparing to launch himself at me—a kitten challenging a tiger.

"Protected," I corrected, unmoved by his display. "There's a difference."

"There really isn't." His eyes narrowed, defiance radiating from every line of his body. "Kidnapping with better accommodations is still kidnapping."

"She's at a secure location with a fully-equipped kitchen," I explained, leaning forward slightly. "Her words, not mine, were'If I'm being kidnapped, I might as well cook something decent for these poor bastards.'"

The startled laugh that burst from Joy's lips hit me like a physical force. The sound was genuine, unfiltered—bright as sunlight breaking through storm clouds. A strange sensation spread through my chest, warm and unfamiliar.

Dangerous.

Joy shook his head, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. "You're insane, you know that, right?" But the fear was leaving his eyes, replaced by something closer to reluctant amusement.

"So I've been told." I rose from the chair, moving closer to him with deliberate steps. The library suddenly felt smaller, the air between us charged with something electric. "Does my insanity frighten you, Princess?"

He didn't back away as I approached, even as I crowded him against the window seat. His pulse jumped visibly at the base of his throat—a fluttering, rapid beat that betrayed his body's reaction even as his expression remained defiant.

"Should it?" he countered, tilting his chin up to maintain eye contact.

The challenge in his voice sent heat pooling low in my gut. Most men cowered in my presence. Joy pushed back, tested boundaries, refused to be cowed. It was... intoxicating.

I traced one finger along his jawline, savoring the slight shiver that ran through him at my touch. His skin was warm, soft, dotted with freckles that my fingers itched to count, to claim.

"Yes," I murmured, leaning in until our faces were inches apart. "It should."

Joy's breathing quickened, his lips parting slightly as his gaze dropped to my mouth. I could feel the heat of him, smell the lingering scent of sleep and something uniquely him—sunshine and coffee and defiance.

I wanted to devour him. To press him back into the cushions and taste every inch of his skin. To mark him as mine so thoroughly that no one would ever question who he belonged to.

Instead, I moved closer still, until our lips were a breath apart. Joy's eyes fluttered closed, his body leaning forward unconsciously, seeking contact.

At the last moment, I pulled back, leaving just enough space between us to be cruel. "Breakfast first," I whispered against his mouth, watching his eyes snap open in confusion and frustration. "I have an empire to run."

The indignant sputter that followed me as I turned away was satisfying in ways I couldn't fully articulate. I allowed myself a small smile, hidden from his view as I moved toward the door.