Chapter 4
The sun was barely up when a sharp knock sounded on my bedroom door. I groaned, pulling the duvet over my head, but the door creaked open anyway.
I peeked out from the fabric and froze. Alexander was leaning against the frame, fully dressed in tactical hiking gear that hugged his thighs in a way that should have been illegal. He held a small pile of fabric in his hand.
“Rise and shine, Princess,” he said, his voice smooth and entirely too awake for 7:00 AM.
“Get out,” I croaked, my heart already doing that frantic gymnastics routine it only performed for him. “My parents—”
“Are already at the driving range. Your dad wanted me to ‘look after you’ today.” He tossed the bundle of clothes onto the foot of my bed. “Wear this. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
I looked down at the pile. It was a pair of skin-tight black spandex shorts and a matching sports bra that looked like it barely had enough fabric to cover a postcard.
“I am not wearing this to go hiking with my father’s best friend,” I hissed, sitting up and clutching the duvet to my chest.
Alexander stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The atmosphere shifted instantly. He walked to the edge of the bed and leaned over me, his shadow swallowing me whole. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a familiar pink corner.
The diary.
“Page twenty-two,” he whispered, his eyes scanning my face with predatory hunger. “‘I wonder what he’d do if he saw me with nothing but my skin and my pride.’ Well, I’m giving you a head start on the pride part, Veronica. Ten minutes. Or I’ll come back in here and dress you myself.”
He winked—a slow, deliberate movement that made my stomach flip—and walked out.
The air in the woods was thick and humid, buzzing with the sound of cicadas. I felt exposed, every inch of my skin tingling as if his gaze were a physical weight. Alexander walked ahead of me, his pace brisk, forcing me to huff to keep up.
“Slow down,” I panted, my face flushed.
He stopped abruptly and turned around. His eyes raked over me, from my messy ponytail down to the curve of my hips in those ridiculous shorts. He looked satisfied. Too satisfied.
“You’re out of shape, Ver bear. All that time spent writing ‘fiction’ in your room has made you soft.”
“I’m not soft,” I snapped, stepping closer to him in defiance.
He reached out, his hand lightning-fast as he gripped my waist. His fingers dug into the soft flesh there, pulling me flush against his hard, unyielding chest. I gasped, my hands flying up to his shoulders to steady myself.
“You feel soft to me,” he rumbled, his head dipping low. “Soft. Responsive. Trembling.”
“Alexander, someone could see,” I whispered, even though we were miles into the private trail.
“Let them see,” he challenged. He moved one hand from my waist, sliding it slowly, agonizingly, down the curve of my spine. I arched into him instinctively, a soft whimper escaping my throat.
He stopped his hand right at the waistband of my shorts. “I finished chapter five this morning. The one where you imagine me pinning you against an oak tree.”
He looked around, his smirk deepening. He spun me around in one fluid motion, slamming my back against the rough bark of a massive oak. He caged me in with his arms, his body pressing me into the wood.
“Is this how you pictured it?” he asked, his voice a dark, velvet caress.
“I... I don't remember,” I lied, my breath hitching as he leaned in, his lips grazing my jawline.
“Liar,” he breathed. “You wrote that you wanted to feel the bark against your skin while I took what belonged to me. You wrote that you wanted to be reclaimed.”
He shifted his weight, his thigh sliding between mine, forcing my legs apart. The friction of his heavy gear against my inner thigh made my vision blur. I was falling apart, and he hadn't even kissed me yet.
“Alexander,” I pleaded, though I didn't know if I was asking him to stop or to never let go.
“Say my name again,” he commanded, his hand sliding up to grip my throat—not hard, but enough to make me feel the lethal power behind his restraint. “Say it like you did in the diary.”
“Alexander... please.”
He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against my skin. He leaned in, his mouth hovering a fraction of an inch from mine. I could feel the heat of his desire, the sheer obsession radiating off him.
“You’re ruining me, you little brat,” he whispered.
Just as his lips touched mine—a ghost of a sensation that made my entire body spark—his phone chimed loudly in his pocket.
The spell shattered.
He stiffened, pulling back just enough to check the screen. His jaw tightened.
“Your father,” he said, his voice tight with controlled frustration. “They’re back early. They want us for lunch.”
He stepped away, leaving me leaning against the tree, breathless and aching. He smoothed his hair back, the cold, calculating CFO mask sliding back into place. But as he turned to lead the way back, he glanced over his shoulder.
“We’re only on chapter six, Veronica,” he said, his eyes dark with a promise that terrified and thrilled me. “We have a lot of ground to cover before the summer is over.”