Page 193 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

There was one burn mark on her arm that had faded to a dull sheen and, of course, the implant she wore to replace the tooth he had knocked out, but it was the scars beneath the surface that had lingered longest and had left the most damage. That quiet rage that was always with her. Rage and a stifling shame at having been that woman. There was fear too that it could happen again. That she hadn’t seen the signs then or had wilfully chosen to ignore them. And not understanding why she had let that happen meant that it could happen again.

Noah and the fear his name provoked was the reason she hadn’t dated in five years.

‘No, not really,’ she lied. ‘I just wanted a change of scenery.’

For a moment, his molten eyes rested on her face and she had that same strange feeling that he was seeing inside her head, and she felt a rush of panic. She had never planned on meeting Tiger in person, but now she was in his office, making polite chit-chat with him while lying to his face and stealing from him. It was both surreal and nerve-racking. Every word felt charged, and she was terrified she was going to give herself away.

‘Well,’ she said stiffly after a taut, electric moment she didn’t understand but felt everywhere. ‘I should probably be getting back.’ But she didn’t move, didn’t look away from him even though she knew that she should because it was this man, it was him, Tiger McIntyre. He was making her feel this way. Making her drop her guard, making her ache—

‘Of course. Don’t let me keep you from your work.’ He was already turning away. ‘Oh, just for the record. My preference is for undressed.’

‘Sorry.’ She blinked as his gaze arrowed in on her in a way that made her body feel taut and loose at the same time.

‘The salad. They’ve put dressing on it. I prefer it without.’

Her heart had somehow shifted to her throat, and she stared at him, trying to breathe around it. Was this for real? Did he actually care about his salad? Or was he just making conversation to keep her here? She felt another flicker of panic. Focus, she told herself. Focus on why you’re here. Who you’re doing it for.

‘Sorry, I didn’t know. Would you like me to get you another one?’

But before he could reply, his phone started to ring and he retrieved it from his pocket and switched from English to what sounded like Japanese. His eyes shuttered and he turned away and, recognising dismissal, she turned and walked swiftly out of his office.

For the rest of the day, she kept one eye on her computer screen and the other on the door to Tiger McIntyre’s office. Throughout the afternoon, there was a revolving door of suited executives arriving and leaving his office. Occasionally she would catch a glimpse of the man they had all come to see and she would force her gaze back to her computer.

At some point, Hannah had come over to show her the pictures from her wedding-dress fitting. Staring down at the slideshow of frothy white dresses, Sydney had suddenly felt her skin on her face warm without reason and, glancing up, she had almost bitten the inside of her cheek as her eyes had collided with the shimmering gold gaze of Tiger McIntyre and she had felt that same jolt as before, only this time he hadn’t even been touching her.

Not her, Sierra, she’d told herself quickly. As Sydney, she disapproved of Tiger. His behaviour. His abuse of privilege and power. As Sydney, she would never feel that strange, ungovernable pull of yearning or wonder.

After that she had kept her focus steady on her screen.

Not that it had mattered. It appeared that quietly and without her permission something inside her had turned itself towards him.

She was switching between screens now. The first was for the work she was doing as Sierra Jones, but she had a second incognito screen where she was working through the list of images, searching for the digital fingerprint that Harris Carver had sent her of his IP. It had taken her less than five hours to bypass the firewalls, but the fingerprint had offered not one image but nine hundred and fifty-three.

It was fine. She had come up with a workaround that had reduced that number to just under two hundred. So, assuming there was no other glitch, she would be walking out of here at five-thirty p.m. Then all she had to do was hand over the flash drive to Carver. It was a bit old school but it would leave no trail. Or not one that could be traced back to him.

Glancing up, she scanned the desks. The office was surprisingly empty this evening. Yesterday and the day before there had been quite a few people hanging around but tonight it was just her.

And Tiger McIntyre.

Her pulse twitched as she glanced over at his office to where she could just see his outline dark against the fading light. It was as if her eyes were being pulled to him by some magnetic force and, gritting her teeth, she glanced back down at the computer and switched screens again. Please be done, she prayed silently. But there were still ninety images to go.

Why was it taking so long? Her hands were clammy and her fingers felt fat and clumsy as she picked up her phone and her water bottle and slid them into her bag.

How much time did she have left before she had to be out of the building?

When she glanced up again, her heart stopped beating. Just stopped.

Tiger McIntyre had left his office and was walking towards her and there was something purposeful about him, an intensity of focus that made her pull out the flash drive as a tiny flicker of foreboding snaked down her spine. In one smooth movement, she pocketed it, shut down the screen and got to her feet and, stomach somersaulting, she made her way between the desks to the elevator.

‘Come on, come on,’ she murmured, her heart a dark thud against her ribs, pressing the button frantically. But it was too late. A shadow blocked the light and she turned to find Tiger McIntyre standing beside her, the dark gold gleam of his gaze rooting her to the spot.

‘Sierra, I need you to come with me.’ There was a warning edge of steel to the softness in his voice and she couldn’t breathe for a moment. ‘You and I are going to have a little chat.’

To his left, she could see the exit sign for the staircase and it was almost impossible to stop herself from ducking under his arm and making a bolt for safety.

Not that there was such a thing for her any more, she realised in that moment with a shiver. Once an apex predator caught its prey, the chances of escape were somewhere between remote and zero.

‘Is there a problem?’ she said, trying not to sound as panicky as she felt.

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