Page 31 of Strictly Business

My eyes stay locked on her as she walks away, her hips swaying in a way I can’t help but notice. Her hair, loose and slightly mussed from my hand, bounces with every step. My fingers curl at my side, itching to reach for her again, even as my brain screams at me to get it under control.

She’s treating this like nothing more than business. A job. A role to play for the sake of the contract. And she’d be smart to keep it that way. We both would.

That’s what we agreed on.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop replaying that kiss. The way she tasted. The soft gasp she let out. The way her lips molded to mine like she’d been made for this. For me.

The night isn’t over yet, but as I glance back at her, pretending to focus on the champagne flutes at the table, one thing is painfully clear.

This deal just got a whole lot messier.

The car ride back to Amara’s place is suffocatingly quiet. Amara stares out the window, her fingers fidgeting with her clutch. Since the kiss between us, she’s been trying her absolute hardest to keep her distance, mingling with the women at the gala instead of standing by my side.

Whereas I, like an idiot, spent the entire night trying—and failing—not to look at her.

I couldn’t tell you a single detail about the conversations I had tonight, but I could tell you exactly how many times her eyes found mine.Zero. I can count the times she laughed, the tilt of her head when she smiled, even the way her lips wrapped around the rim of her champagne flute. I memorized it all. God knows why.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, and yet, she’s doing everything possible not to glance my way.

Christ, this ride is taking forever.

I glance at my watch, each passing minute making the unease in my chest grow. My jaw tightens when I notice the streets outside the window, their dim lighting and cracked sidewalks unfamiliar and frankly, sketchy as hell.

When the car slows to a stop, Amara reaches for the door handle without a second thought.

“Amara,” I call out, halting her. I don’t know why I do. Maybe because I’m replaying that kiss in my mind, maybe because she still hasn’t looked at me, maybe because the idea of her getting out of this car in this neighborhood terrifies me… or maybe because… I just don’t want her to go yet.

She freezes, her hand hovering over the handle before she turns her head, her green eyes finally meeting mine.

“I’ll walk you up,” I offer, trying to convince myself this is purely a practical decision.

She blinks, clearly startled, before shaking her head. “That’s really not necessary. I’m fine.”

Fine.

Sure.

Except every bone in my body is screaming that she’s not. Not here, not in this neighborhood, and not after that kiss that we still need to talk about.

“That wasn’t a question.” I open my door, stepping out into the cool night air. By the time I round the car and open hers, she’s staring up at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.

“Nicholas—”

“I’m walking you up,” I interrupt, extending a hand to her.

Her lips press into a thin line, but she takes it anyway, her soft palm fitting into mine as she steps onto the sidewalk.

The walk to the building is quiet, the only sounds coming from the clinking of her keys and the occasional hum of a passing car. When we reach the cracked blue door, she pulls it open with a creak that echoes down the dimly lit hallway.

“This is where you live?” The words slip out before I can stop them, my eyes scanning the peeling paint, the flickering overhead light, and the unmistakable smell of damp.

Her shoulders straighten as she presses the elevator button. “It’s a little old, but it’s fine,” she mutters.

Fine. There’s that word again.

The elevator arrives with a groan, the doors jerking open. Inside, it’s as dingy as the rest of the building, but Amara steps in without hesitation. I follow, the doors closing us into a silence so thick and heavy, it’s unbearable.

“We can talk about it,” I say, cutting through the silence. “About what happened back at the gala.”

---