Page 9 of Falling for My Shifter Boss

And maybe… just maybe, I want him to.

"Are you asking as my boss," I press, my voice lower, almost challenging, "or as something else?"

He goes completely still, like a predator before the strike. In one fluid motion, his hand captures the back of my neck, drawing me close. My breath catches as he lowers his head, running his nose along the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. He inhales deeply, and the touch of his lips—soft, almost reverent—against that same spot sends electricity racing down my spine.

Then, just as suddenly, he releases me. His hand runs over his beard—a rare tell of agitation—as he puts distance between us. "We're done here."

I stand frozen, my pulse thundering in my ears, watching as he retreats behind his desk. Every line of his body screams restraint, but I catch the slight tremor in his hands before he clasps them behind his back.

I should be relieved. This is exactly what I wanted when I first started working here—professional distance, clear boundaries, no complications.

But I'm not.

Because for the first time since I walked into Blackwell Corporation, I've seen behind Adrian's mask of cold control. And what I glimpsed there—the raw need, the barely contained desire—matches something wild and wanting in my own chest.

Adrian Blackwell is losing this battle.

And as I turn to leave his office, my skin still tingling from his proximity, I realize something that should terrify me but instead makes my wolf howl in triumph: I don't want him to win.

Chapter 5

Maya

The office is silent except for the hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the rhythmic tap of my fingers against the keyboard. Even the usual nighttime sounds of the city seem muted from up here, like the building itself is holding its breath.

I glance at the clock. Nearly nine. I should have left hours ago, but the gala preparations are a beast with far too many moving parts, and I refuse to let anything slip through the cracks. The venue contract alone took half an hour to decipher—all that fancy legal language designed to confuse rather than clarify—and I still have to double-check the security arrangements with Sawyer.

I stretch, rolling my shoulders to ease the stiffness settling in. My wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin, eager for movement after being cooped up all day. The building is mostly empty now, the usual office chatter replaced by the occasional creak of the walls settling. I like the quiet, though. No distractions. No one breathing down my neck. Just me, my to-do list, and—

"You're still here."

The low, deliberate voice cuts through the silence like a blade. I jump, my heart lurching as I whirl around to find Adrian standing in the doorway of my workspace. His suit jacket is gone, the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt rolled up to reveal the strong lines of his forearms. His presence fills the room instantly, commanding attention with an effortless intensity that makes my skin prickle.

"Jesus," I exhale sharply, pressing a hand to my chest. "Make some noise when you walk, would you? Not all of us have superhuman hearing."

A flicker of something—amusement?—crosses his face. "The lights were still on."

I blink at him. "Yeah, because I'm working. That's what you hired me for, right?"

Adrian doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he steps forward, and it's only then that I notice the white takeout bag in his hand. The rich aroma of food hits my nose, making my stomach clench. Without a word, he sets the bag down on my desk.

"Eat," he says simply.

I frown. "I don't have time—"

He gives me a look. One of those calm, immovable stares that somehow manages to silence arguments before they even form. "You've been here for fourteen hours. Take a break."

I cross my arms, arching a brow. "Is this you being concerned about my well-being, Blackwell?"

He exhales, the barest hint of exasperation flickering across his face. "This is me ensuring my assistant doesn't collapse from exhaustion before the gala." His eyes meet mine, and there's something else there, something softer that makes my breath catch. "Though I suppose the two aren't mutually exclusive."

I narrow my eyes at him, but my stomach betrays me with a low, traitorous growl. Adrian raises a single brow, and I groan. "Fine," I mutter, standing. "But only because I don't want to listen to you nag."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I don't nag. I direct."

"Right. Because that sounds so much better."

We move to the conference room, where floor-to-ceiling windows offer a stunning view of the city lights spread out below us like scattered stars. I open the takeout bag to find an assortment of high-end dishes. Definitely not from the cheap Chinese place I usually hit up when I'm working late.

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