The silence in Darius's penthouse was a living thing, thick and heavy as velvet. Layana stood frozen just inside the doorway, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. The drive over had been wordless, the only sound the hum of the powerful engine and the echo of his threat—I will pluck them from his head—playing on a loop in her mind.
He didn't speak. He just moved past her, his shoulder brushing hers, sending a jolt through her system. The scent of his cologne, of expensive wool and pure, furious man, filled the expansive space. He tossed his keys onto a sleek glass console with a sharp, metallic clatter that made her jump.
"Take off your coat," he commanded, his back still to her as he poured two fingers of a dark amber liquor into a crystal tumbler.
Her fingers, numb and clumsy, fumbled with the buttons of her wool coat. The act felt impossibly intimate, undressing under his silent, searing judgment. She finally slid it off and draped it over a nearby chair, feeling exposed in her simple work dress.
He turned then, leaning against the bar, swirling the liquid in his glass. His dark eyes raked over her, from her shaky hands to the nervous tremor in her knees, and she felt utterly transparent."Why did you do it, Layana?" His voice was deceptively quiet, a stark contrast to the storm in his gaze.
The defiance that had fueled her in the café was gone, evaporated under the heat of his focused attention. All that was left was a confusing mix of fear and a thrilling, terrifying curiosity. "You were with her," she whispered, the words sounding weak and childish even to her own ears.
A dark brow arched. "Her? Ah. Isabella Ricci. Head of Mergers and Acquisitions for our largest competitor. A business lunch to discuss a potential... collaboration." He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. "Does that require your punishment, sposina? Do I need to seek your permission for my appointments?"
She flushed, heat creeping up her neck. "It's not that. It was the way she was... touching you."The admission hung in the air, raw and honest. Darius's intense stare didn't waver, but something in it shifted. The outright fury banked, replaced by a deeper, more predatory heat. He pushed off the bar and started toward her, a panther closing in.
"And how was she touching me?" he purred, stopping just a breath away.
"You know," she murmured, her eyes dropping to the floor.
"Look at me." The command was soft, but absolute. She forced her gaze up to meet his. "Tell me."
"She had her hand on your arm. She was leaning into you. Laughing at everything you said."
Each word was a confession, pulling something secret out of her.
"And this... irritated you?"
"Yes."
"Why?" He was so close now she could see the flecks of gold in his dark irises, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
"I don't know," she breathed, though the lie was pathetic. She knew. The hot, acid feeling in her stomach had been a map to a truth she was afraid to read.
"I think you do." His free hand came up, not to touch her, but to hover beside her cheek, his knuckles almost grazing her skin. She could feel the heat radiating from them. "I think the sight of another woman claiming my attention, even for a moment, ignited a fire in that innocent little chut of yours. And instead of bringing that fire to me, you tried to douse it with that behenchod intern."
Her breath hitched at the dirty, foreign word, at the stark, crude imagery. It should have offended her. It should have made her run. Instead, a pulse of pure, white-hot need throbbed deep within her, a direct response to his rough possession.
"You don't... you can't talk to me like that," she protested weakly.
"I can," he stated, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper that vibrated in her bones. "I will. I will talk to you in whatever way makes you understand what you are. Who you are." His hovering knuckles finally made contact, brushing ever so lightly down the line of her jaw. The touch was electric, a spark that lit up every nerve ending. "You are the girl who pulled my hair and followed me everywhere. And you are the woman whose mumme tighten under a cheap dress when I look at her. You are a contradiction that has driven me pazzo for years."
His thumb traced her lower lip, the pad slightly rough against her soft skin. Her lips parted on a shaky exhale, and she saw his eyes darken, his focus dropping to her mouth.
"That fire you feel? The jealousy?" he murmured, his face so close now his breath mingled with hers. "That is mine. It has always been mine. You will not give it to anyone else. You will not waste it on a foolish, public kiss."
He leaned in, and for a heart-stopping second, she was certain he would finally close the agonizing distance between them. She could almost taste the whiskey on his breath, feel the promise of his mouth on hers.
But he stopped. A hairsbreadth away.
His eyes held hers, a silent question and a devastating promise burning in their depths. The tension was a live wire, thrumming between them, pulling her toward an edge she desperately wanted to fall over.
He didn't move.
He was waiting.
