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Wow. Rude, much! I’m seconds from telling this tyrant to fuck off when he adjusts his stance, and I cop a look at a weapon slid casually into the back of his fitted trousers. He moved on purpose, knowing I would notice. My eyes slam to his, and they flash with satisfaction.
“I’m looking for my friend,” I tell him, ensuring every ounce of fear is hidden deep inside. Men like him thrive off fear, binge on power, and wallow in others’ misfortune.
“Mr Winters is busy,” he announces, pushing away from the pillar and placing his empty tumbler on the slim mantel. He inhales, and my eyes widen at the sheer power of this guy. There is a lethal grace to how he moves. I have no doubt he can move with speed. His hands could swallow my face whole.
His outfit is beyond rich: handmade, stunning. He looks like a dark dream. And those eyes, they are an endless black abyss of nothing. No emotion. No warmth. Cold and dangerous. Killer. The thought comes quickly, and I want to wash it away, but I know I'm correct in my assessment of him. I’ve met his type before. Cruel. Unscrupulous. I grit my teeth as he moves closer to me, closing the space between us. I try the handle again, briefly turning away, and he joins me, resting himself against my only escape. The door wanes under his weight. Fuck, he’s right next to me. I can feel heat emanating from his body and smell the rich and woody scent of his aftershave. My hand shakes, so I tighten it around the metal of the knob to hide my fear. I keep my back to him.
“Do you always let yourself into unknown places?”
I grit my teeth and mentally slap myself repeatedly at my stupidity for coming in here. Stupid, stupid woman!
Chapter Three
An absurd and sickening thought enters my mind. What iftheyare in here? What if Oscar’s on their side, and this was a trap? My pulse skitters to an unhealthy pace. My mouth dries as dizziness washes over me, sending a cold sweat to break out across my skin. I keep the handle tight in my grip to keep me on my feet.
When I reply, my voice is husky.
“No, I think I should wait in the car,” I say, pulling on the handle, hoping he will be kind and let me go.
“I can’t let you do that,” he rumbles, breathing deeply and slowly.
I’m not short by any means, but this man is tall, so much so that he casts a shadow over me. Twisting slowly, I come to find him still resting against the door, his big shoulder leaning into the frame as he looks down his beautifully cruel face at me.
“You can,” I say in a perplexed murmur, “I shouldn't have come in.”
“No, you shouldn’t. Oscar won’t be long. Come this way,” he says, pushing up. His weight makes the door groan, and I swallow a curse, fighting with myself to climb out the nearest window or follow him. I refuse to let him know I’m intimidated. I push off the door and shake my hair out, hearing him chuckle when I straighten my back.
I narrow my eyes at his enjoyment in all this, keeping my strides even and determined as I follow him. We skirt around the staircase and further into the building, taking a wide arch and heading down another corridor until he suddenly stops. I almost crash into his brick of a back and huff out my annoyance when I hear the gruff murmur of his enjoyment.
“You did that on purpose,” I scold, finding his antics childish. I know they are anything but. This is a man who enjoys tormenting others. His unwavering gaze holds mine, and I can see he is fighting a smirk as he nods at a set of doors, and I frown at him, looking to the wood, then him.
“Ladies first,” he murmurs. I don't trust him, but I push through anyway, telling myself Oscar wouldn't have brought me here if I were in danger. It's the only thing keeping me from losing my cool around the hulk of a man at my back. Again, I can feel the heat of his chest emanating through my dress. He’s so close: too close. I don’t like it. I skip ahead to put some distance between us, ignoring the deep rumble of a laugh rattling about his big chest. His amusement makes me vibrate with anger.
I am so concerned with how close he is to my back that I don’t realise we are standing in an opulent masculine office until my intimidator circles around me and walks over to the drinks cabinet, pulling a bottle of water out.
“Drink?” he offers. I shake my head, but my thick, dry throat argues. “Sure?” He smirks.
I lift my chin.
“Very,” I quip, narrowing my eyes whilst his spark with humour once again. “What’s so funny?” I spit, irritated by his games.
His brow lifts at my challenge.
“Why you are, Zara. I can see how much you want to tell me to gofuckmyself, but you can't—you dare not. And you'd be right not to.” The lid gets twisted off, and he is lifting the bottle to guzzle half the contents, his eyes held fast on mine. The way he saysfuckpropels my mind back to those women downstairs, and my heart flutters wildly.
My fists clench into tiny balls by my side, little fists that would be no match for this man. His palm would dwarf both my hands.
“You always such an arse?” I give him a pointed look, deciding to show a little fight. More stupidity on my part, I’m certain. The urge to do exactly as he mentioned is burning on my tongue, and I hate that he can read me so well, hate that he knows I don't dare give him a very honest piece of my mind.
“More so than not.” He swigs the last bit of water before dropping it in the bin.
I have no idea what possesses the next question to leave the safety of my mouth. “And when you’re not?” This has him smiling darkly.
“Stick around and find out.” His chin lifts, daring me to do so. Oh, he is enjoying this so much.
“No thanks, where is Oscar?” I look away, unfazed, yet I’m anything but. I feel sick, and I’m trying to think of everything to leave. Maybe I can make a run for the door. I look around intently, and my eyes linger there.
“Busy.”
