Chapter 3

three

?. . .?

Zander

I watch Chrissy saunter into my office, her curves accentuated by that form-fitting pencil skirt. My eyes linger on the sway of her hips, desire coiling in my gut. The scent of her perfume—jasmine and vanilla—fills my senses as she approaches my desk.

"The quarterly reports, Mr. Shaw," she says crisply, placing a stack of folders before me.

Her professional tone only fuels my hunger. I rise slowly, circling my desk until I'm standing mere inches from her. "Thank you, Chrissy," I murmur, my voice low and husky. "But I think we both know that's not why you're really here."

A hint of pink tinges her cheeks, but she holds my gaze. "I'm not sure what you mean."

I lean in closer, drinking in the sight of her parted lips, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. "Don't play coy with me. I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching. The spark in your eyes, the hitch in your breath." My fingers graze her arm, feeling her shiver at my touch. "I want you, Chrissy. Again ." Fuck, I love the way her cheeks turn pink at the reminder of Halloween night. The night that changed everything for me. "And I know you want me too."

The air between us crackles with electricity. I can almost taste the desire radiating off her in waves. Unable to resist any longer, I pull her into my arms, crushing her soft curves against my chest.

"God, Chrissy," I groan, burying my face in her hair. "I can't stop thinking about you. About that night. The way you felt, the sounds you made." My hands roam her back, memorizing every dip and curve. "Tell me you feel it too. This connection between us."

Her breath comes in short gasps, her fingers clutching at my shirt. I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, seeing my own hunger reflected there. The world narrows to just the two of us, suspended in this moment of unbridled want.

For a moment, Chrissy melts into my embrace, her body molding against mine as if we were made for each other. I can feel her heart racing, matching the frantic beat of my own. But just as I'm about to claim her lips, she stiffens and pulls back, her eyes wide with conflicting emotions.

"Zander, we can't," she whispers, her voice trembling. "This...us...it's not professional." She takes a step back, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the chill of separation. "I've worked so hard to get here, to prove myself. I don't want anyone thinking I got this job by...by sleeping with the boss."

Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water, dousing the fire of my desire. I frown, studying her face. The determination I admire in her is there, but so is a flicker of uncertainty, of longing.

"Chrissy," I say, my voice low and intense. "You're mine . I meant what I said before, and I'm not going to let you go." I reach out, cupping her face in my hands. "Your talent, your drive—that's why you're here. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool."

She bites her lip, her resolve visibly wavering. "But the rumors, the gossip..."

"Let them talk," I growl, pulling her closer again. "I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks. All I care about is you, us ." My thumbs caress her cheeks, feeling the warmth of her blush. "I'm not letting go of the best thing that's ever happened to me, professionally or personally."

I can feel her resolve crumbling, her body softening against mine. But then, with a sharp intake of breath, Chrissy takes another step back. The loss of her warmth is immediate, leaving me aching.

"Zander, please," she whispers, her voice a mix of desire and desperation.

I'm not ready to give up. In one fluid motion, I close the distance between us, grasping her hand. The softness of her skin ignites something primal within me. Without breaking eye contact, I guide her palm downward, pressing it firmly against the unmistakable bulge in my trousers.

A small gasp escapes her lips, her eyes widening. I can see the conflict raging within her—the professional mask she wears so diligently threatening to crack under the weight of her desire.

"Feel what you do to me," I murmur, my voice husky with need. "This is real, Chrissy. We're real."

Her fingers twitch against me, and I bite back a groan. The air between us is electric, and I need her to break. Fuck, I need her . For a moment, time stands still, and I dare to hope...

A sharp knock at the door shatters the tension. Chrissy jumps back as if burned, her cheeks flushed crimson. Frustration courses through me, hot and visceral. I turn towards the door, ready to unleash my irritation on whoever dared to interrupt us.

"Mr. Shaw?" a muffled voice calls from the other side.

I glance back at Chrissy, but she's already moving, her professional mask firmly back in place. As the door swings open, she slips past our intruder, disappearing down the hall without a backward glance.

"Get out!" I bark at my innocent employee. His eyes widen. "Later!" I bark.

He obeys without a word, and I should feel bad about how I've just treated one of my best employees, but I don't give a fuck because the unquenched desire coursing through me is visceral.

Left alone, I clench my fists, the ghost of her touch still lingering.

This isn't over, not by a long shot.