Page 16 of Shatter Me

“Like you weren’t counting on exactly that.” I close the door behind me, the lock engaging with a soft click.

“You’re insufferable.” Her hands clench at her sides. “You think you can just corner me whenever you want?”

“Still, here you remain, in a private office rather than the main gallery.” I stalk closer. “If you truly wanted to avoid me, you’d have stayed where there were witnesses.”

Color floods her cheeks. “Maybe I wanted privacy to tell you to go to hell.”

“Is that what you want to tell me?” Another step. “Because your body’s saying something very different.”

“My body doesn’t dictate my choices.” But her voice wavers as I close the distance.

“No? Then why are you backing away?” I match her step for step until her thighs hit the curator’s desk. “Why can’t you look me in the eye without your eyes dilating?”

“Because you’re a controlling bastard who?—”

I cage her against the desk, hands planted on either side of her hips. “Who what? Makes you feel things you don’t want to admit?”

“I hate you.” Her fingers curl into my lapels.

"Liar."

Her eyes flash with fury. “You arrogant?—”

I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing her words. She makes a sound of protest that melts into a moan as I tangle my fingers in her hair. Her lips part, letting me taste her anger, her desire. She bites my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and I growl into her mouth, pressing her harder against the desk.

Her nails rake down my neck as I devour her mouth, claiming every defiant gasp. I grip her hips, lifting her onto the desk. Papers scatter. She wraps her legs around me, pulling me closer even as she bites and claws. This isn’t submission—a battle, each kiss a declaration of war.

I tear my mouth from hers to bite the sensitive spot below her ear. Her head falls back with a moan that shoots straight to my groin. “Still hate me?” I growl against her throat.

“Yes,” she pants, arching as I suck harder. “God, yes.”

The sound of voices in the hallway freezes us both. Footsteps approach, then pause outside the door.

Tash shoves me back, smoothing her dress. Her lipstick is smeared, hair falling from its elegant twist. The sight of her disheveled by my touch makes me want to lock that door and damn the consequences.

“Leave. Now.” Her brown eyes are full of steel. “This was a mistake.”

I straighten my tie, licking my lip and tasting blood where she bit me. Without another word, I slip out the side door into the empty corridor.

What the hell just happened? I never lose control like this. Never let anyone affect me. Yet here I am, hiding in a darkened hallway like some lovesick teenager, my body still humming from her touch.

I’ve broken men twice my size and orchestrated billion-dollar deals without blinking. But one sharp-tongued curator has me acting like a buck during mating season—unacceptable.

I check my reflection in a display case. My usually perfect appearance is noticeably rumpled. A red mark blooms on my neck where her nails drew blood.

This ends now. I am Dmitri Ivanov. I don’t chase women and don’t lose control over them.

So why do I still long for her taste to linger on my lips?

8

TASH

Ismooth down my casual denim skirt, feeling oddly self-conscious about showing up in casual wear. The cashmere sweater at least adds a touch of polish, but it’s nothing like my usual armor of vintage designer pieces.

Sofia’s new family mansion looms ahead as my Uber approaches the gates. The security guard waves me through since they know me well by now.

“Tash!” Sofia rushes down the front steps, her face lighting up. She’s also dressed down in a cream silk blouse and tailored pants. “Thank God you’re here. I need backup with all this testosterone.”

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