Page 15 of Mine to Ruin

“Sweet? Never heard that one.” His nose crunches, and I suppress a smile. He dips his head and pecks me on the lips, and tingles erupt all over my body.

His thumbs wipe at the corners of my mouth, his brow knotted in concentration, while amusement curves his lips. He grabs my hand, and at the door, he peeks outside. When no one is in sight, we rush straight to the elevator.

“Where are we going?”

“To clean up.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I say, “It was a spur of the moment thing. It won’t happen again.”

“If you say so.”

“Hey!” I fake indignation, and he waggles his brows, playfulness clear in his features.

“I thought we agreed—I bring out the worst in you.” He winks at me, and this flirtatious side I would pick over any other.

“I’m sorry,” I say and bite down my lower lip.

His gaze is more tender than I’d expect. “Don’t be.”

“We have to stop.”

Why does the thought of that make my heart constrict? We should. We will. This was the last time. I slip my hand from his and backtrack to the other side. His face transforms into a scowl, the previous ease vanished as he tugs at his shirt. The silence blares in my ears and I open my mouth.

“You’re right. The painting is about you. I have no idea why I painted a woman, too. Please don’t read too much into it. My paintings are very subjective and a result of a spontaneous emotion. But I still believe there are a lot of layers to you.”

His eyes bore into mine, conflict brewing inside them, and my heart pulls me to him, but I stay put. This, whatever it is, has to stop.

I lower my head and stay like that until the elevator doors slide open, and I ask, “Where are we going?”

“My place.”

Chapter 5

Ellia

Kian inserts a key card, and the door clicks open. I step inside, and my eyes widen at the vast open space, floor to ceiling windows. Every piece of furniture and decoration looks handmade.

I follow him into a bathroom that’s larger than my entire apartment. He wets a towel and dabs at the corners of my lips. At his delicate touch, contentment blankets my heart. Even with the red line painted on across his cheeks, he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen, the only one to affect me this deeply. All rational thought short circuits in his presence.

When he’s done, he grips the sink, his eyes filling with restraint. I rewet the towel and cleanse his carved face. The towel drops, and my hands go on an exploration around his face. I trace a small, white line under his right eyebrow. My finger trails down his straight nose. I reach the small bow curving over his upper lip and brush his fuller lower lip. A hint of stubble grazes my fingers.

His face is a piece of art I could gaze at and explore repeatedly. I would never get my fill. His eyes keep me under his spell and bind me to him.

“Angel, stop or go on, but this is fucking torture.” His thumb caresses my lower lip, and his hands shoot to my ass. He lifts me on the sink, parts my legs, and settles between them. We stay looking at each other for moments that trickle by too fast.

I whisper, “I thought we weren’t going to do this again.” We draw closer, but he hesitates as he studies me for the briefest moment.

He erases the inch between our lips, igniting an unfamiliar frenzy. I can’t escape his pull, cording around my body, dragging me to him.

Our lips part, but our eyes stay locked, and at the broody intensity behind his, my heart somersaults. I never thought this is how my first day at work would be, kissing my stranger who turns out to be my boss. This is all surreal.

I play with the button of his jacket.

“Looks like we’re clean now.”

“Very astute observation, Miss Dewine.”

“One of my many talents, Mr. Reyes.”

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