Page 55 of Guarded King

He smirks, a little curl of his lips that’s becoming more familiar. “I think you know me better than that, Miss Callahan.”

I should try to get things back to normal after our almost-kiss, so I give him a smile. “It’sChloe. And you’re right, I do. What was I thinking?”

He searches my expression, lingering a little too long on my mouth. My body hums with awareness and I almost sway forward. Before I can, thank god, the elevator comes to a halt, and with a ding, the doors sweep open.

He holds out one arm to let me exit in front of him.

Once we get back to his office, rather than collect my things, I pull my tablet out of my bag and sit at my desk. But Roman braces his hands on top of it and leans forward.

“I wasn’t kidding, Chloe. I want you to go home. Phillip’s waiting for you.”

My stomach flips. “I don’t feel right leaving early.”

His brows lower, as does his voice. “I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

The intensity with which he’s looking at me has me questioning whether he’s talking about tonight, with the weather the way it is, or if he means he doesn’t want to have to worry about me at all. Or maybe… maybe he doesn’t want to worry about me after what happened in the elevator.

As much as that moment was unprofessional and wrong, the idea that he thinks it might cause a problem between us makes my throat tighten. So rather than protesting further, I nod, pull my purse from the locked bottom drawer of my desk, and forceout some hopefully professional-sounding words. “I’ll work on the arrangements for France from home.”

I stand, the move causing him to back up and give me room to round my desk. As unwelcome tears prick at the backs of my eyes, I keep my face averted to hide the reaction and hustle down the corridor toward the elevators. I shouldn’t feel so hurt. Roman is right; we need to put our moment of craziness behind us. But I have no idea how I’m going to do that.

When the elevator doors open to the garage level, I start toward the car waiting for me. Halfway there, I remember that I was supposed to pull the EcoTech due diligence file for Roman to look over tonight.

I detour to the driver’s window, and as Phillip lowers it, I clasp my hands in front of me. “I’m sorry, do you mind waiting a few more minutes? I forgot to do something upstairs.”

He grins. “No problem. I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

When I get back to my desk, I pull the file, then make my way to his office and knock softly on his door. There’s no answer, and when I try the handle, it’s still locked. He probably went to see one of his brothers. I tap in the code and push my way in, set on leaving the file on his desk. As I near it, I’m distracted by the light shining from the partially open door at the far end of the room—the one that opens into his luxurious private bathroom.

As if I’ve lost complete control of my senses, instead of calling out and making sure he’s not in there, I step forward, just enough so I can get a glimpse inside.

At the sight on the other side of the door, a blaze of electric heat sears through me. Roman is facing the sink, shirtless. His head is thrown back, while his belt is unbuckled, and his pants sit low on his hips.

His right forearm flexes slowly and rhythmically.

Desire curls hot and heavy in my stomach. I’m not exactly sexually inexperienced, but I’ve never seen a man doing this inreal life. I never thought I’d find it as entrancing as this—as arousing. His muscles move smoothly under his skin, and my body ignites in response. How would those muscles feel working like that under my fingertips? If I pressed my hands against his back? Slid them around and down over his abs? Slid them even lower?

A need more potent than I’ve ever experienced builds low in my core, intensifying into a deep, insistent throb. I have to back away. I have to sneak out of here before he catches me. Before he realizes that I’ve seen him in this moment of vulnerability. But my legs are too shaky to force my frozen feet to move.

Unable to resist, I focus on his reflection in the mirror, drinking in the sight of his muscular chest and sculpted abs. The bulk of his body and his arm block most of my view, but the little I can see causes a sudden rush of wetness between my thighs. Roman’s erection is long and thick, straining up toward his belly button. The veins in his big hand bulge as he works it leisurely, as if he’s taking his time, drawing out his pleasure.

An image of being filled by him assaults me, along with a phantom sensation so visceral it causes a full-body shudder. God, I can only imagine what it would be like. How he would stretch me, how I’d relish every inch of him as he pushed inside.

A moan threatens to escape me at the thought. Before it can, I snap my mouth shut, suddenly pulled back to myself in a rush of embarrassment.

How am I still standing here?

I need to go.Now.

His head is still tipped back, and it looks like his eyes are closed. If I can get out of here quietly enough, he’ll never have to know that I was watching him.

I take a single, silent step back, the pounding of my heart in my ears so loud it drowns out everything else. But then, almost as if he senses my presence, Roman’s heated stare locksonto mine in the mirror’s reflection. I freeze again, my heart slamming hard against my ribs.

I expect him to yell, to shove himself back in his pants and storm out to tell me off for my voyeurism.But instead, he merely slows his movements, his body still taut with purpose, his arm continuing its steady, deliberate flex, every movement just as precise and controlled as before.

His eyelids lower, his molten gaze unyielding as it holds mine. The unhurried rhythm of his motion draws every second out, each one winding my nerves tighter and tighter, until the dark, bass growl of his voice cuts through the charged silence.

“Stay or go, Chloe. Your choice.”

---