The hotel door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud — a quiet sound, but it echoed loud in the silence between you and him.

You hadn’t even taken two steps in when you felt it. His stare. Heat blooming against your back like a fire with no oxygen left to breathe.

“Turn around,” Rhys murmured. His voice was calm — too calm. The kind of calm that only came before a storm.

You turned, heart pounding, and found him standing there. Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled. The kind of mess that made you forget he was your boss and remember he was a man.

A very dangerous, very handsome man.

“You looked breathtaking in that meeting today.” He said it like a confession, like a warning. “All confident. Calm. Untouchable.”

You blinked. “Thank you—”

“I hated it.” He stepped forward. “Because I wanted to touch you the entire time. And I couldn’t.”

Your breath hitched.

“Now,” he whispered, brushing past you — slow, deliberate, until you were pressed against the wall, your body singing from the nearness. “Now, I want to ruin that look.”

His fingers traced the buttons of your blouse, the edge of your pencil skirt. He looked at you like a man who’d waited hours — weeks — for this moment. For you.