Page 22 of His Dark Desires

"Am I?" He sets the brush down deliberately and traps me between him and the drafting table, his arms on either side of me. "Tell me to step back, and I will."

The challenge in his voice makes my knees weak. I should tell him to move. I should maintain professional boundaries. Instead, I whisper, "And if I don't want you to?"

"Then you're more interesting than I thought." His cologne fills my senses as he leans closer. "What are you afraid of, Sophia? That I'll see right through you?"

"I'm not afraid," I say, voice breathier than I thought it would be.

"No?" His hands slide together on the table behind me, closing me in tighter. "Then why are you trembling?"

I'm achingly aware of every inch between us. My breath catches as one hand moves toward my face, hovering near my cheek—

A firm knock breaks the spell.

Mara stands in the doorway, tablet in hand, her eyebrow raised a fraction. "Mr. Vale, your 7 o'clock."

Adrian's hand drops smoothly to his side as if nothing happened, but there's a flash of something—frustration? —across his features.

"Ms. Larkin," Mara nods at me, her dark eyes taking in everything—my flushed cheeks, the scattered sketches, the minimal space between Adrian and me. My shabby work clothes and disheveled appearance stand out against her immaculate professionalism.

She doesn't smile, exactly, but there's something knowing in her expression that makes me want to sink into the floor. The way she carries herself, like she's an extension of Adrian's authority, tells me everything I need to know about her role in his life.

She's here to stay.

I fumble with my sketches, trying to gather them while avoiding everyone's eyes. "I should probably go—"

"Stay," Adrian responds immediately, his tone brooking no argument. "Get familiar with the place. I'll come find you when I'm free."

I nod quickly. "Of course, thank you."

My cheeks still burn as Adrian strides out, his confident footsteps echoing through the studio. Mara lingers for a moment, and I busy myself with reorganizing my sketches, desperate to avoid eye contact. When I dare to glance up, she gives me a small, inscrutable smile before following Adrian.

It's like she was waiting for me to look up.

The door clicks shut, leaving me alone with my thundering heart and scattered thoughts.

What just happened?

I sink into the chair by the drafting table, my legs suddenly weak. The memory of Adrian's proximity makes my skin tingle. His hand had been so close to my face, those storm-gray eyes focused entirely on me.

Maybe it's good Mara showed up when she did. The thought of what might have happened sends a shiver down my spine. Would he have touched my face? Pulled me closer?

I press my cool palms against my heated cheeks, trying to calm down. The worst part is, I'm not sure what I wanted to happen. My nerves still crackle from our almost-touch, caught between exhilaration and fear at whatever had sparked between us.

My fingers trace the edge of a sketch, following the lines where organic shapes morph into digital patterns. Just like Adrian's world bleeding into mine, precise and calculated yet somehow magnetic.

I can still smell his cologne, still feel the heat of his body as he pressed in close. He was pushing my buttons, seeing how I would react.

With a deep sigh, I push away from the drafting table and stand. My racing thoughts about Adrian won't help me right now. Better to explore this incredible space he's provided.

There are shelves stocked with every medium imaginable. Oils, acrylics, watercolors—all professional grade, arranged in perfect color gradients. In one corner, a state-of-the-art computer setup beckons. The tablet screen is larger than any I've worked with before. When I tap it experimentally, it comes to life with a soft glow, revealing software I've only read about in art magazines.

"Jesus," I whisper, opening a drawer filled with specialized tools. Some I recognize from my wishlist, others I'm not even sure how to use. The organization is meticulous, everything labeled and arranged intelligently.

I cross to the windows. The view of the city below is dizzying, perfect for finding inspiration. The lighting system Adrian demonstrated earlier responds automatically as clouds pass overhead, maintaining ideal conditions.

I spot a small storage room and peek inside. Canvas stretchers in every size imaginable line the walls, along with rolls of premium paper. There's even a proper ventilation system for working with solvents.

My throat tightens as the reality sinks in. This isn't just a workspace—it's a declaration of faith in my abilities. Adrian has invested more in this studio than I've earned in my entire career. The thought is both thrilling and terrifying.

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