Page 8 of You're Mine Now

I dried my hair, the image of his face flickering in my mind as I laced up my sneakers. This time, I’d be in control. I’d tease him, leave him with a raging hard-on, and walk away without looking back.

I shot a quick text to Emma, letting her know where I’d be, my fingers trembling slightly as I typed.

“If I don’t check in with you later tonight, call the police!”I half-joked.

Her reply came instantly.

“Be careful! He’s bad news, and you know it.”

I brushed off her warning, my resolve hardening.

I knew what I was doing.

At least, I hoped I did.

Chapter Three

At precisely eight o’clock, I tapped on his door, nerves twisting in my stomach. The door swung open, and there he stood. It was infuriating how good he looked. His gym shorts clung to his muscular thighs, and his T-shirt stretched across his chest like it was custom made for him. His presence filled the doorway, radiating confidence.

“Scarlett.” My name rolled off his tongue, low and slow, as his eyes raked over me. “Come in.”

I stepped inside, hyper-aware of his presence, as he shut the door and slid the deadbolt into place. The click echoed in the dimly lit space, and my heart pounded in response.

His apartment caught me off guard. It was nothing like I’d imagined—clean, minimalist, with carefully curated art adorning the walls. Masculine, yet unexpectedly refined.

“It’s like a gallery in here,” I said, unable to mask the genuine awe in my voice.

“I’m a bit of a collector,” he replied, heading toward the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

I wandered through the space, my fingers trailing along the edge of a sleek, modern couch. The paintings drew me in—genuine abstracts, their vivid colors practically pulsing with emotion. Had he chosen these pieces himself? The steely graywalls matched Adrian’s cold demeanor, but the art hinted at something deeper. Something I hadn’t expected.

“Just water if we’re working out,” I said, realizing I’d forgotten why I was here for a moment.

He smirked, his gaze lingering.

“Sure. But maybe I’ll chill a bottle of wine for later. I’ve got all night.”

His voice carried a breathiness that sent a shiver through me, and an ache pulsed low in my stomach. I pushed the feeling away, steeling myself.

“No need for that. Let’s just get this over with.”

My eyes darted around, searching for his workout equipment.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Always in a rush to get away from me,” he said with a sigh. “Fine.”

He gestured toward a door across the room and opened it, revealing a private gym. A squat rack, bench, and weights—clearly a functional space, though a desk and computer hinted at another purpose.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, his tone shifting to something serious.

I approached the squat rack, loading the bar with more weight than I should have. His eyebrow arched in disapproval.

“Start lighter,” he instructed, his voice steady but firm.

I rolled my eyes but complied, stripping a plate from each side. Stepping under the bar, I squared my shoulders and tried to act like I knew what I was doing. I didn’t, but I wasn’t about to let him see that.

He moved behind me, his presence commanding and close. His fingers brushed against my arms, guiding the bar into position on my shoulders.

---