Page 29 of Coldhearted King

“I’m not asking.”

“What was that you were just saying about harassment?”

“This isn’t harassment. I’m your boss.”

“Not after hours.”

She’s so defiant. I want to fuck it out of her. “If you were at home and I called you to discuss the project, you wouldn’t answer? Are you telling me you’re not willing to put in the extra hours?”

She gives me a dirty look. “Fine.”

She turns and walks toward the edge of the dance floor, but I wrap my hand around her arm and guide her the other way, further into the mass of dancers.

When we get to a dark corner, I turn her to face me, moving closer until she’s backed against the wall.

“Did you know I’d be here tonight?” I ask.

Her mouth falls open. “You have got to be kidding me. Do you still think I’m stalking you? I didn’t know this was one of your clubs. I didn’t even know you owned clubs.”

The glittering strobe lights reflect in her eyes, distracting me from her reply, and we stare at each other for a heartbeat that seems to last too long. Then she wets her lips. “What do you want to talk to me about, Cole?”

“You know, your attitude leaves a lot to be desired,” I say.

“So does yours.”

I move closer, tipping my head toward hers and enjoying the way her eyes flare and her pulse flutters in her throat.

“What attitude is that?”

“Constantly accusing me of trying to manipulate you. And never saying you’re sorry.”

“You want an apology?”

Her chin tips up. “It would help.”

“Why?”

She blinks at me. “Because...you’re wrong. And because...” Her gaze dips, then rises to meet mine. “Because you hurt me.” Emotion threads through her voice.

I brush my thumb over her cheek, then press it to the tender skin under her ear as I slide my fingers around the nape of her neck. “How did I hurt you?”

Her eyes dart between mine. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.” And strangely enough, it does.

She releases a ragged breath. “That night we spent together might not have meant anything to you, but...it did to me. I was happy that you were the one I had my first time with. I thought I was lucky to have been with someone who made it so good for me. And then...then we met again and you accused me of trying to use you, and you ruined it all. You made me regret something that I’d held close to my heart.”

What she’s saying shouldn’t bother me. I’m sure it isn’t the first time I’ve hurt a woman’s feelings. But they usually don’t tell me. If they did, I couldn’t guarantee I’d care. In the sphere I live in, admitting to being hurt is admitting to weakness. No one operating at our level will admit to that.

So why does the vulnerability in Delilah’s eyes trigger a tightness in my chest? Why does knowing she regrets our time together make me want to strip her down and give her a new memory to hold on to?

My dick throbs behind my fly, and all I want to do is press her against the wall, slide my hand under the little dress she’s wearing, and thrust my fingers into her. Make her pant and writhe and come for me, right here in the club, in front of everyone.

Make her feel good again.

The urge is so strong, I have to curl my free hand into a fist to stop myself from touching her. Instead of walking away, which is what I should do, I grasp a tendril of her hair, curling the silky lock around my finger.

“Where’s Paul tonight?” I ask.

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