Page 7 of Secret Baby for a Damaged Billionaire

“Emily, stop,” he demands. But I ignore him, grabbing my coat. And just as I push on the door, his hand grips my shoulder. “Stop, please.” His voice more of a whisper. “I’m an asshole. Can we just start again?”

I slow my pace and turn to look at him, ready to tell him to fuck off. But he looks tired, the lines around his eyes more pronounced. He’s clearly going through more than I realize.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

I nod stiffly. “You want to talk more about the campaign? Now?”

“It’s not about the campaign.” He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I owe you an apology. I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”

Surprise flickers through me at his admission. “Oh.”

“I shouldn’t have implied you’re not needed here. That was unfair, and untrue.” His gaze lifts to mine, blue eyes piercing. “The truth is, I need your help. Please stay.”

I know I should leave and not look back. He’s too unpredictable and explosive. And at the same time, he’s too charming and likable. It is a terrible combination. But I see the look in his eyes, the need for loyalty and support.

“Fine,” I state, turning back.

His shoulders lower from their tense position at his neck. He takes my jacket and hangs it again.

Pressing his lips together, he finally says, “Are you worried about our upcoming negotiations?”

The quick switch back to business gives me whiplash.

“Not worried,” I say. “Just focused.”

He nods. “Same.” And he glances at my clothing, as if assessing something. “Sounds like we could use some distraction, channel our intense focus elsewhere.”

My brows knot together in confusion, sensing his returned arrogance oozing off of him.

Lucas walks into the middle of the mat, demonstrating a choke hold on an invisible sparring partner. His muscular arms flex as he secures the fake hold, and a wave of heat washes over me. I clench my jaw, pushing the unwanted attraction aside. We have work to do, and now is not the time to derail this partnership.

He signals for me to join him on the mat.

I shake my head, pushing off his invitation. “I wanted to get started.” I tip my folders at him. “We have a lot to cover if we’re going to make progress before the meeting.” I grin, hoping he can’t see the nerves twisting in my stomach.

“We can start by reviewing the contracts I’ve already secured and the details for expansion. But first, you look tense. You need a quick workout. It’s time you learned a little about the art form you’re representing.” His lips quirk up on one side, a glint of challenge in his eyes. “Unless you’re afraid you can’t keep up?”

I scoff, indignation overshadowing my attraction. “In your dreams. Just because you’re some big, bad military general doesn’t mean I can’t wipe the mat with you.”

“Prove it.” He holds up his hands, moving into a fighting stance. “Come at me with everything you’ve got.”

My pulse leaps as I kick off my shoes and move onto the mat, mirroring his stance. Here we go again, letting our competitive natures get the better of us. But I can’t back down from a challenge, and neither can he. This is the push and pull that both frustrates and thrills me. I just hope I don’t do something I regret.

Like kissing that smug grin right off his face.

I strike fast, aiming a kick at his ribs that he deflects easily. He retaliates with a series of quick jabs I dodge by a hair’s breadth, my heart pounding as I duck and weave around him.

“Too slow,” he taunts, and it’s all the motivation I need to attack again, fueled by irritation. Our bodies clash and grapple, each fighting for the upper hand, and I’m acutely aware of every point of contact between us. The strength in his hands as he grabs my wrists, the solid warmth of his chest against my back when he pulls me against him, his breath hot on my neck—

I wrench away with a growl, chest heaving as I put space between us. The sexual tension is unbearable, setting my nerves on fire, and I can see the same heat reflected in his eyes. I know he feels this pull as strongly as I do, no matter how much he tries to deny it.

“Well?” He raises an eyebrow, smugness radiating off him in waves. “Have I worn you out already?”

“In your dreams,” I spit again, louder this time to cover the breathlessness in my voice. I launch myself at him once more and we grapple across the mats, each fighting for dominance we refuse to give over.

Until he pins me beneath him, my wrists captured above my head as he straddles my hips. Triumph gleams in his eyes and I buck against him, straining to break his hold, but it’s no use. I’m caught fast in his grip, our bodies pressed together in a way that steals the breath from my lungs.

“Do you yield?” His voice is a low rumble against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. I swallow hard, acutely aware of the position we’re in, and the only thing I can think to yield to is the desire burning through my veins.

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