Jacques

T wo weeks.

It's the longest I've stayed away from her, and every day of it has been hell.

She's all I can think of even when I'm at the office.

I'm out having business meetings or I'm working out at the gym, and none of this makes a difference.

I'm thinking of her 24/7, and the worst part of my day is when I'm in bed, and I have to fight against the urge to jerk myself off to thoughts of her.

Why the hell can't I stop thinking about her?

A call to my office gives me an alibi to end my torture. Joyce handles everything related to the budget and finance of the music department. She says she's found the perfect housing arrangements for our cast, and she wants me to be there when she gives them the good news.

"You think you can make it?" Joyce was my father's secretary, and I've always thought she was the better part of my inheritance. She's one of the few people in my life who isn't intimidated by my wealth. She says it as it is, just like what she's doing now.

"It's been a while since they last saw you. Nobody wants to work for an absentee producer."

"I've been busy," I lie. "But you're right. I'll be there."

"Meet me at Dressing Room C? We'll start with Riri."

I must've said something before I hung up.

Or at least I think I did.

Because the truth is, my mind had shut down the moment I heard her name.

Damn her.

Damn her.

Damn her.

My mood is still black as hell when I get to the university. It pisses me off that the mere thought of seeing her again has my heart thumping like mad.

What the hell is she doing to me?

I enter the dressing room, and the first thing I see is her .

In.

Nothing.

But.

A.

Fucking.

Towel.

It's almost like life is having a shitload of fun torturing me.

Damn her. Damn her. Damn her.

I know the only thing to do now is to walk out of this room.

But instead, I find myself staring.

Because I want her, dammit.

I want her like I've never wanted any other woman.

And right now, I want her more than ever.

I see her long, dark hair all wet and shiny, and I want to grip it in my fist.

I see the creamy swell of her plump breasts, and I want to see if they would fit my palms.

I see the shapely curve of her legs, and all I can think about is the sweet junction between her thighs.

I want to know if she's feeling hot and wet.

I want to know if she's as turned on as I am.

And when I hear her whisper my name---

.

Desire rages in me in a way that it's never done before, and I find myself playing the bastard because it's all I can do to resist the urge to haul her close.

"That's Mr. Carpentier for you."

I glare at her as I snap the words out.

"And will you cover yourself?"

The cruelty and rudeness are deliberate.

I want her to hate me.

Need it actually, since I've finally accepted that there is no way for me to hate her.

But instead of making her back away, she actually takes a step towards me.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She takes another step, and I'm forced to take a step back.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I can barely breathe when the distance between us narrows down into mere inches.

What the hell is she thinking?

But then she walks past me---

Is she leaving?

I'm already turning around at the thought, and that's when I see her lock the door.

Damm her.

She turns to me again, and the gleam of mischief in her eyes makes me want to kiss and spank her bottom at the same time.

Damn her.

I can't believe this is the same girl I once thought was fucking nondescript.

And when I see her bite her lip hard, I know she's trying to keep herself from smiling.

Because she knows, dammit.

She knows how ridiculous things are between us at this moment.

I'm the big, bad wolf, and she's nothing but a harmless little girl in this story.

So why the hell am I the one acting wary around her?