Page 229 of Love Me Stalk Me
Amanda winks, her eyes sparkling with suggestion. "You tell me."
I throw a pen cap at her, a childish gesture that betrays how off-balance she's made me feel, but she dodges effortlessly, cackling as the plasticbounces harmlessly off the wall behind her.
Before I can fire back a response that would surely be inadequate, a voice crackles through my earpiece.
“Izzy, we need you on the floor."
I push back from my desk. "Guess I'm up."
Amanda waves me off, settling more comfortably into her chair. "Go be a boss. I'll be here, holding down the fort." She picks up my discarded pen cap and places it neatly on my desk, a small gesture of order in the chaos to come.
Midday brings the store to life. Shoppers drift between carefully curated displays, their voices overlapping with the low sweep of classical music that plays just loud enough to fill the silence. The lighting is intentional, casting everything in the best possible version of itself.
I weave through the aisles with practiced ease, stopping occasionally to straighten a display or check in with a staff member. My smile is polite, professional, the right balance of friendly and distant that high-end retail demands. I make my way toward the personal shopping suites, rehearsing greetings and contingency plans in my head.
And that's when I feel him.
I don't even have to see him to know he's close. My skin prickles with awareness, every nerve ending suddenly alert, like my body is a compass and he's magnetic north.
Cal has this energy—commanding, possessive, electric. It's like he exists in my peripheral vision before I even turn my head, like the air around him is charged with something only I can feel.
His dark button-down stretches across broad shoulders that taper to a narrow waist, the fabric expensive but not flashy. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to expose his tattooed forearms. His hair is slightly tousled, like he's been running his hands through it.
I try to keep it professional.
I really do.
I attempt to maintain the same composed expression I've worn all morning, the same measured pace as I cross the floor, the same polite nod I give to all my colleagues.
But the moment I move past him, his hand snags my wrist—calloused fingers wrap around me and suddenly?—
I'm against the wall.
Cal's body presses against mine. His chest rises and falls against mine, his breath slightly uneven, his eyes darkened with desire.
His lips crash into mine without warning, hungryand deep, his hands gripping my waist like he can't stand for us to be apart. There's no gentleness in this kiss—it's raw, primal, full of the pent-up energy of hours spent apart but aware of each other's presence.
I gasp into his mouth, my fingers fisting the material of his shirt, wrinkling the expensive fabric. My heart hammers against my ribs as I feel his restraint snapping, the careful control he usually maintains slipping away like water through fingers.
He pulls back, just enough to murmur against my lips, "I've missed you today."
His voice is rough, deeper than usual, sending shivers down my spine. This close, I can see the way his pupils dilate as he looks at me.
I’m playing at a confidence I don't entirely feel. "We've both been a little busy."
He tilts his head, eyes dark, lips brushing against mine as he murmurs, "Doesn't mean I didn't want to drag you somewhere and keep you to myself."
Heat surges through me, low and heavy, making my knees threaten to give. But I play it cool, lifting a brow in challenge, refusing to let him see how completely he’s unraveling me.
"Well," I say, running my fingers down his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the thin fabric, "you can keep missing me until you fuck me."
Cal goes still.
His body goes rigid, eyes flashing wide before narrowing with lethal focus.
There's something feral in him, barely restrained.
"Be careful with what you say, pretty girl."
