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My heart stalls as his heat bites through my skin. I don’t know whether to slap him or…reallyslap him. “W-What?”
“Your arms.” He gestures with his free hand until I warily oblige. Then, without loosening his grip on the bra strap, he maneuvers himself to stand behind me and snatches up the other strap. “These things tend to be versatile, Evelyn,” he explains, right before his fingers drift down… Too low. The pads of his thumbs graze my shoulder blades as they slide beneath the back of the gown. Goosebumps prickle my flesh. My heart stops beating. I stop breathing.
His touch is felt in snatches through the lacy material of the bra—manicured fingers hunting for something alongside the tiny fastenings. I feel two of his fingertips meet, hear a small click, and suddenly one of the straps is looser than before. He does the same to the other side, grunting under his breath as the mechanism resists him for a few seconds.
“It’s a new design implemented specifically for convenience,” he mutters. It takes two firm tugs on the bra’s frame before he gets his way. I’m swaying on my feet by the time he steps back.
“Turn,” he tells me. I gape over my shoulder to find that he’s even making a circular motion with his finger. When I don’t move, he circles me himself. In the blink of an eye, he’s in front of me, his breath basting my throat, his gaze fixed much lower than it should be. He reaches for my shoulders, and I finally regain enough control over my body to jerk out of his reach.
“What the hell is wrong with you? First your erratic behavior the past few days, and now this.” I don’t even recognize the breathless voice that comes out of me. I feel along my side only to remember that, given his current position between me and my things, he’s holding my bag hostage, along with my emergency stash of protein bars. “I think you need to eat somethingnow,” I tell him, pointing a shaking finger in his direction. “Or I’m not going anywhere.”
“Seriously, Evelyn.” He cocks his head and approaches me before I can stagger back. His hands graze my shoulders… and then dip beneath the neckline of the gown, hunting for the straps. With a well-timed flick of each thumb, they come off altogether. Frowning, Mr. Bellamy holds them out to me, and only then do I register the unspoken meaning hidden within that gruffly uttered “seriously”—Seriously, Evelyn, as if I would even deign to grope someone like you.
I’m still gaping when he tosses the discarded bra straps onto the desk after I don’t move to take them. His hands come for me again, tugging at the red satin until the front falls smoothly. He doesn’t avoid any erogenous areas, instead sweeping his palm along the side of my ribcage to readjust the bra. His face, however, is the pure picture of suave professionalism.
For a second.
Then, it’s as if a shadow falls over those flawless features. His eyes narrow as they skim over my shoulder and along my exposed throat. A muscle in his jaw twitches. I swear I feel his fingers slip, drawing a gasp from me as they ghost along the bare skin right beside where the straps fall. My brain plays a dangerous game, imagining what those same fingers would feel like if they drifted lower, beneath the material of this dress and…
“There,” Bellamy declares while stepping back, apparently satisfied by my appearance. “Now we can go.”
He strides for the door, but I remain frozen in place. Too many thoughts clamor in my mind for me to make sense of any of them. Graeme Bellamy just put his hands on me. He saw me partially naked.
Admittedly, one of those events was entirely my fault. Regardless, I inhale and exhale a harsh breath. My world is changing—rearranging—and I’m not sure whether or not this is really all some distorted nightmare.
“Evelyn.” Bellamy lingers in the doorway with his back to me. I half expect him to snap his fingers to complement the harsh tone.
For the first time, I realize that he’s already changed into a deep, ebony suit—the one he usually paired with a navy tie to offset the color of his eyes. He’s opted for a gray one tonight, once again changing his predictable routine.
“Dinner,” he reminds.
The commanding way he says it finally makes my throat work again. “Have… have you lost your mind?” I’m actually concerned. Without a decent breakfast or lunch, his blood sugar is probably reaching dangerously low levels. For all I know, he could be delirious.
“No. The only thing I am in danger of losing now is mypatience, Evelyn.” He flicks his collar before marching out into the hall.
I watch him, digging my heels into the polished floor. “You need an energy bar,” I say with a note of challenge in my voice. “I’m not going anywhere until you eat something.Now.”
Without glancing back at me, Bellamy reaches into his pocket, angling his body so I can’t miss the small energy bar he withdraws from his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, he tears the package open and then rips off a bite with his teeth. “Come,” he barks after swallowing.
My mind is in a daze as I stagger after him and into the elevator he summons to take us to the lower floor. When the elevator doors open, we draw eyes from every breathing organism in the lobby. The receptionist pauses mid-phone call to gape while a group of executives heading to the door freezes open-mouthed. Ironically, the focus of their attention isn’t Graeme Bellamy, who cuts a disgustingly handsome figure in his suit, despite the half-eaten snack bar in his grip.
No, this time, they’re staring at me—Evelyn King, the current object of the CEO’s scorn.
Hemusthate me, for some unknown vengeful reason. These past two days are punishment for something—some slight I don’t remember or some insult I committed against him. Believing that was so much more comforting than the alternative—Graeme Bellamy is acting out of character because he knows something I don’t. Something about Adrian Riley and this club. Something that has him… anxious.
I try my best to combat the thought as I follow Bellamy into the Mercedes. James attempts to beat the rush hour traffic, but we get stuck in the thick of it only a few blocks from the office. Amid the resounding barrage of honking horns and drivers shouting from car windows, I almost don’t notice when Bellamy speaks.
“You can stop pouting now, Evelyn,” he tells me gruffly. With one last bite, he finishes his snack bar and tosses the wrapper aside. “As promised, I will explain.”
“Really?” I sit straighter, folding my hands over my lap. So many pressing questions jockey for precedence over my tongue. Before he can speak again, I pick what seems to be the most vital of mysteries to unravel. “So, who is Adrian Riley?”
I’m holding my breath, though I don’t realize until his eyes cut in my direction, and I choke out a startled exhale. It could be a trick of the waning daylight, but the expression on his face almost looks… human for once—uneasy.
“An old familyacquaintance,” he says. It’s not exactly an in-depth bio, but it’s enough to satisfy my curiosity. For now. “We have a long history, Riley and I—”
“History? Wh-what kind? If you don’t mind my asking.” Were they childhood friends, perhaps? Though, honestly, I can’t picture Graeme Bellamy as a child. That would require him to have, at one point in his life, been vulnerable. Innocent, even—which is far from how he looks now.
Blue eyes ablaze, he watches me for a moment. “Let’s just say it isn’t exactly a pleasant one.”
