Page 47 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

So I did. I walked right up to him, stopped when there was only a foot between us, and looked at his face. He looked tired, but not in a way that could be solved by sleep. It was the tired of someone who'd been running full-speed from himself for years and had finally been cornered.

I opened my mouth to thank him. For the night we shared together. For telling me about his mother, teaching me to dance, opening up to me, all of it. But the words died on my lips, so I reached for his hand instead.

He stiffened. But he didn't pull away.

"Why did you tell me?" I whispered.

He looked at our joined hands, then at my face. His eyes were unreadable. "I don't know," he said. "I shouldn't have."

"But you did," I said.

He drew in a breath, nostrils flaring. "Don't read into it. I don't-" He broke off. "I can't afford to lose focus."

I could feel the heat of him, even through the fabric of his shirt. I wanted to crawl into his arms, feel him touch me with that reverence he’d graced me with. "Maybe you don't have to."

He made a sound, low and furious, and suddenly I was the one being pulled, crushed to his chest, his hand tangled in my hair. The kiss was nothing like the first. This was no ballroom fairytale. It was a controlled demolition, all teeth and hunger and the sharp edge of regret. He kissed like he hated himself for wanting me, and I kissed back like it was the only thing keeping me alive.

We staggered backward until my hips hit the desk. He spun me, pressed me down, and for a second I thought he was going to fuck me right there, pinned face-down to his desk, breathing in the dust of his family memories from the box on the desk beside me. I would have let him. I would have begged for it.

Instead, he stopped. Just stopped, hands braced on either side of my body, before lowering his lips to my ear, his breathingleaving me anticipating, excited, internally begging him to put me out of my misery.

I tried to breathe, but my lungs were full of him. "What are you doing?" I asked in a breathless voice I didn’t recognize. I could feel him pressed to my backside, my body screamed for him.

He didn't answer. He just stepped back. I straightened up slowly, turning to face him as he adjusted his tie with shaking fingers, and looked at me like he'd just committed a crime. Maybe he had.

"You're impossible," he muttered.

I straightened my blouse, heart beating a Morse code of panic and need. "So are you."

We stood there, stupid and staring. I thought about leaving, but my legs wouldn't move. I thought about telling him to go to hell, but my mouth wouldn't open.

He watched me, eyes dark. "Come here."

I blinked. It wasn’t a question or an offer, it was a demand.

He held out a hand.

Every survival instinct screamed at me to run. Instead, I put my hand in his.

He pulled me into the center of the room, one arm at my waist, the other lacing our fingers together. He was tall enough that I had to look up, which was mortifying, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything except the heat of his palm and the way my body fit into his, perfectly, like the answer to a question I'd never known how to ask.

He started to move, guiding me in slow, precise circles I remembered from dancing with him before. There was no music, just the sound of our breath and relentless rain. My feet tangled once, then twice, but he caught me both times, his grip never faltering.

"You can relax," he murmured, voice low and dangerous.

"I don't know how," I said.

His mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Neither do I."

We kept moving, round and round, my heart beating so hard I was sure he could hear it. I was dizzy with it, drunk on the closeness, the rhythm of his body against mine. He pulled me tighter, so tight I could feel every ridge of muscle under his shirt, every shudder of restraint, the hard length of him digging into my belly.

I closed my eyes, and in the dark I was safe. In the dark, I could believe that this would last.

He slowed, then stopped, but didn't let go. Instead, he bent his head, mouth at my ear. "I'm going to ruin you," he said. "You know that, right?"

My heart slammed, my thighs clenched, and I internally begged him to do it, here and now.

"Too late," I whispered.