Chapter 9

<p>The days blurred together.</p><p>Adrian and Scarlett worked side by side, poring over financial records, tracing Mendoza Capital's connections, building a case that would hold up in court and in the court of public opinion. They argued over strategy. They debated tactics. They sat in meetings with lawyers and security experts, presenting a united front that fooled everyone except themselves.</p><p>Because the tension between them was becoming unbearable.</p><p>It was in the way Adrian looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching. The way his eyes tracked her movements across the room. The way his jaw tightened when she laughed at something on her phone. The way he stood between her and the door whenever someone entered, his body a shield she hadn't asked for but could not deny.</p><p>It was in the way Scarlett found herself choosing clothes that would catch his attention. The way she leaned closer than necessary when they reviewed documents together. The way her skin flushed when he said her name, the way her breath caught when his hand brushed hers, the way she lay awake at night imagining his body in the room next to hers.</p><p>On the fourth night, it broke.</p><p>They had been working late. Past midnight. The apartment was dark except for the glow of their screens. Scarlett sat on the couch, wearing one of Adrian's discarded sweaters because she had been cold and he had silently handed it to her, and she was trying to read a financial report through eyes that kept drifting shut.</p><p>Adrian sat across from her, shirtless.</p><p>He had discarded his shirt an hour ago, complaining of the heat, and Scarlett had been trying not to stare at his chest ever since. It was lean and muscled, defined by years of discipline, dusted with dark hair that trailed down the center of his abdomen and disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. His scars were visible now. Not just the one on his cheek. There were others. A thin line across his ribs. A jagged mark on his shoulder. The faint discoloration of an old burn on his forearm.</p><p>This man had been hurt. Many times. And he had survived.</p><p>"You're staring again," Adrian said.</p><p>"You're half-naked. It's hard not to."</p><p>"Do you want me to put my shirt back on?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>The word hung between them. Adrian set his laptop down. He stood. He walked to the couch and stood over her, and the height difference, the power of his body, the dominance of his presence, made her feel small and vulnerable and, against all reason, safe.</p><p>"Scarlett." His voice was gravel. "Tell me to go to my room."</p><p>"What if I don't want you to?"</p><p>"Then tell me what you want."</p><p>Scarlett set her laptop aside. She stood up. She was barefoot, and the top of her head barely reached his chin, but she looked up at him with the same defiance she had shown at her launch party.</p><p>"I want to know what you think about when you watch me."</p><p>Adrian's eyes darkened. His hand came up, his fingers threading through her hair, his grip firm but gentle. "I think about your mouth. The way it curves when you're about to say something devastating. The way your lower lip trembles when you're angry. The way it would feel against my skin."</p><p>"And?"</p><p>"I think about your body. The way your hips sway when you walk. The way your back arches when you stretch. The way you would look beneath me, naked and open and mine."</p><p>Scarlett's breath hitched. Her core pulsed with heat. "You said you wouldn't touch me without permission."</p><p>"I'm not touching you. I'm telling you what I want."</p><p>"What if I want you to touch me?"</p><p>Adrian's grip tightened in her hair. He tilted her head back, exposing her throat, and his gaze dropped to her neck like a predator studying prey.</p><p>"Then say it," he growled. "Say the words, Scarlett. Because I have wanted you for five years, and if you tell me to stop, I will stop. But if you tell me to touch you, I will not be gentle. I will not be controlled. I will take you apart and put you back together, and you will never forget who you belong to."</p><p>The words should have terrified her. Instead, they soaked her panties. She felt her nipples harden against the fabric of his sweater, felt her clit throb with a need that was almost painful, felt her entire body lean toward him like a flower toward the sun.</p><p>"Touch me," she whispered. "Please."</p><p>Adrian made a sound in his throat, a growl of pure hunger, and then his mouth was on hers.</p><p>It was not a gentle kiss. It was not a tentative kiss. It was the kiss of a man who had been starving for five years and had finally been given permission to feast. His lips crashed against hers, hard and hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a possession that made her knees buckle. His hand fisted in her hair, holding her still, while his other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against his body.</p><p>She felt the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her stomach, thick and insistent, and she moaned into his mouth at the size of him. He was huge. She could feel it even through his trousers, and the thought of him inside her made her dizzy with need.</p><p>Adrian walked her backward until her thighs hit the arm of the couch. He lifted her easily, his hands gripping her waist, and set her on the edge so that her legs fell open around his hips. He stood between her thighs, his hands sliding under the sweater, finding her bare skin, and she gasped at the heat of his palms against her ribs.</p><p>"You're not wearing a bra," he murmured against her mouth.</p><p>"I was comfortable."</p><p>"You're reckless." His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts, teasing, circling, never quite touching where she needed them most. "And you're beautiful. And you're mine. Say it."</p><p>"I'm yours."</p>