Page 71 of When Hearts Ignite

“I’m assuming some rich guy gave you a hefty tip?” Which happens often as Camille, with her sunny disposition and California bombshell looks, frequently has men throwing themselves at her feet.

“No! Some rich dude bought out the entire place for the evening. Paid for all the girls for the night. Said we can use it as vacation. But…” She bites her lip, and her large eyes appearing a tad guilty. “His only request is you have to stay. Sorry, Gen.”

Fucking Steven Kingsley. I’d bet my life it’s him.

My lips flatten as heat rushes up in my chest. My heart breaks into a sprint, making laps inside my rib cage. Whether it is from anger or in celebration, I can’t tell. Part of me is furious at him forcing his way into my life again despite my rebuffs, but a tiny piece of me, tucked carefully away with the girl who once believed in wishing stars and interesting facts of the world, flickers alive, sending out shivers of anticipation through my veins.

He cares about me enough to try again.

Swallowing the sandpaper in my throat, I force out a smile. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll see what he wants from me. Enjoy your night.”

“Rock his world and let loose! Remember, you hold all the power,” Camille calls after me before dissolving into chuckles.

With my breath lodged firmly in my chest, I step into the darkened lounge, finding Steven Kingsley, in all his modelesque physique, looking far too good in a black, slim fit suit, sitting man-spread on one of the tufted sofas in the back, with the sole spotlight of violet hues shining on him, as if I’d miss him.

The King of Wall Street in full force.

I heard from Elias he got promoted to Chief Operating Officer at Pietra three months ago, the youngest man to head up the most prominent investment bank in the country.

But he looks tired. Haunted. Alone.

I don’t miss how he seems to be more haggard than nine months ago, or the pain reflected in those piercing hazel eyes. I don’t miss how there’s a day’s worth of scruff on his usually clean-shaven face or how his tie is not perfectly knotted and is slightly askew. His beautiful lips are flattened, like he’s trying to leash in his emotions.

The same lips that took me in savagery at the casino event and made me forget about everything around me.

My heart seizes and clenches, much like the way it did when he said my name in the hallway as he passed by my cubicle to his office. Except now it’s much worse. The butterflies, which I thought to have long disappeared, flap their wings wildly inside me as I walk toward this intimidating man who has stolen my heart without my permission.

I need to calm myself and put some mental distance between us until I can figure out what I want from him, if anything.

“Grace.” His deep, rumbly voice, sexy and smooth like the finest whiskey, ghosts over my skin, sending shivers down my body.

Letting out a small exhale, I fight the urge to clench my legs and instead stand up straighter and sway my hips for good measure as I approach him, the pearls of my dress colliding together in a soft rhythm. His eyes darken as they drag down the length of my body, his nostrils flaring, and I can see the rippling in his corded throat as he swallows.

“Mr. Kingsley. I thought I told you not to come back.” My voice is huskier than I’d like. It seems like my body disobeys me whenever I’m in his presence.

I stop two feet in front of him, watching his gaze trail up from my legs, pausing at my heavy breasts, then up to my face. Instead of feeling gross like I usually do when other men focus their attentions on me, my skin feels hot and my nerve endings spark with sensations as heat travels to my core.

His posture is deceptively relaxed, like a king lounging on his throne, assessing his empire before him. But a vein pulses on his forehead and I see the quickening of his breathing.

“I don’t give up.” His voice is a low rasp. “I need to know what happened, Grace. Why did you quit out of the blue and disappear? Why are you here now?”

I bite my cheek before responding, the wings flapping even more violently in my gut. My body wars with two impulses, to tell him to fuck off and to crawl onto his lap, bury my face in his chest, and breathe in greedy gulps of ocean breeze and leather.

I hold on to the first emotion arising from his question.

Pride.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

Steven sits up, his gaze sharpening as the predator wakes up inside him. “Did someone threaten you? Please, tell me. Let me help you. It can’t be because of the job offer, right? I told you I was going to put out recommendations for you.”

“I’m here voluntarily. That’s all you need to know. I don’t think we have anything in common anymore, Mr. Kingsley. I’m no longer working for you. I’m no longer your employee. I don’t owe you anything.”

My body spins away as I ball my hands into fists. Distance, that’s what I need, and the madness will dissipate. It’s always the woman that gets hurt in the end. I take one step toward the dressing room.

“Aren’t you my friend?”

The words are soft, and yet they sound the loudest of them all. Heartbreak seeps into those simple four words, and I roll my lips inward to stem a sob choking me in my throat. My chest clenches, the pain of a thousand cuts threatening to cave me in, but I remain standing.

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