Page 50 of Darkest Deception

“Why would I when this company was supposed to be mine?” Her jaw tics, but her voice is firm and laced with loathing.

“And where is that written in your dear father’s will?”

She blinks, and her eyes burn brighter than ever.

“You—” She jabs a finger into my chest, but I grab hold of it and pull her, making her smash against my chest.

“Let go!” She struggles, but she can’t match my strength, and I smirk.

“Stop fighting, Emerald. Let the company go, and we can both live peacefully.”

She rises to her tiptoes and narrows her eyes at me. She’s five-foot-nine and doesn’t come close to my six-foot-two, even with her heels.

“You will never win, Mr Nashwood.”

I lean forward, dangerously close to her. Our lips hover right next to each other. Our breaths mingle. Her perfume dances with my cologne. And I catch her pulse throbbing on the side of her neck.

“Let… go,” she whispers. Her eyes drop to my lips for a fraction.

“Never,” I murmur, letting her feel the words against her lips.

Something electric stings my lips as they graze against hers. My fingers twitch, wanting to touch her, to rake my hands through her hair, wishing those perfect lips were wet like the last time I’d seen them this close.

I lose against my fight and raise my finger to her lips, feathering my fingertip across them. Her mouth opens in a gasp. My heart explodes in a pounding clamour; I can feel each beat against my chest painfully.

“Ambrose, you—” My back meets the elevator walls.

Blinking, I realise she pushed me.

Her chest heaves as she mindlessly touches her lips.

“You…you touched me!” she stammers.

My ears are still drumming, so I shut my eyes and let my head fall back to rest against the elevator wall. I open my eyes after a second and watch her frown, biting her lip.

God, I should be the one doing that. I was close. So close.

“Stop biting that lip, Ambrose, or I will not stop this time.”

Her eyes snap to mine but not in anger this time. In those champagne orbs, fire boils, drowning out the loathing and letting her desire for me show.

She instantly lets her lip go and crosses her arms.

“I would like to see you try. Don’t touch me again.”

I hold in my remark, hold in the words that could have us standing with hands around each other’s throats. Spending a few moments alone with Ambrose is equivalent to summoning death and madness upon myself.

If she is fire, then I am the oil that feeds its flames.

If she is life, then I am the reaper.

All of that ends in death and destruction.

Never destined to be together.

Enemies.

We only are good against each other, ready to stake a claim and fight over anything we desire. And as in every war, there is only one winner, and I will be damned if it isn’t me.

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