Page 12 of Billionaire Alien Boss Daddy

I step closer, towering over her. She doesn’t back down, though. If anything, she tilts her chin up, like she’s daring me to intimidate her. It’s infuriating—and, I hate to admit, impressive.

“You signed a contract,” I remind her, my voice a low rumble. “You agreed to obey.”

Her lips part, a flicker of defiance in her eyes, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she nods slowly, like she’s conceding the point—but not the fight.

“I did,” she says quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m blind. Or stupid.”

I stare down at her, my mind racing. Veritas protocol demands I erase her memory or lock her up, but the thought of doing either makes my stomach churn. And not just because of the risk.

“Claire,” I say her name softly, almost a warning. “This isn’t a game. The things I deal with—the things you’ve stumbled into—they’re dangerous. You don’t understand what’s at stake.”

She doesn’t flinch. “Then explain it to me.”

I bark out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “You’re not cleared for that.”

Her eyes flash, and she takes a step closer, closing the distance between us.

“Well, maybe you should clear me,” she says, her voice firm. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not until I get answers.”

The audacity of it—the sheer brazenness—catches me off guard. And then, before I can stop her, she reaches out, her fingers brushing the edge of my holographic disguise. Her touch is light, tentative, but it sends a jolt through me.

“Answers,” she repeats. “Or I start making some very loud phone calls.”

I grab her wrist, halting her movement, and her breath hitches again. My grip isn’t tight enough to hurt, but it’s firm enough to make her look up at me, her green eyes wide.

“Very well,” I say, not releasing her wrist. My voice is low, edged with the kind of authority that doesn’t leave room for debate. “I will attempt to explain it to you. But first, I must make sure you are not carrying concealed listening devices.”

She blinks up at me, her green eyes wide with something between indignation and panic. “You still don’t trust me?”

I snort, my lips curling into a sneer. “I trust one person in the entire galaxy.” My grip tightens just enough to make her flinch. “You’re looking at him.”

Claire doesn’t argue. She doesn’t fight. She lets me guide her to the glass wall of my office, her heels clicking against the polished floor. The city sprawls below us, a patchwork of neon lights and shadows. I release her wrist and step back, folding my arms across my chest.

“Hands on the glass,” I command, my voice sharp. “And spread your legs.”

She freezes for a moment, her back stiffening. Then, slowly, she complies. Her palms press against the cool surface, fingers splayed like she’s trying to steady herself. She shifts her weight, her feet sliding apart. The movement is hesitant, almost shy, but she does it.

“What are you doing, Sir?” Her voice is soft, trembling with a mix of fear and something else—something I can’t quite place. Anticipation? Eagerness? It’s maddening.

“I am about to reveal secrets which could level mountains,” I say, my tone clipped. “I must ensure you are not going to record what I say in any fashion.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders relaxing as her eyes squeeze shut.

“I understand, Sir,” she murmurs. “And I will obey.”

Damnation. My cock throbs at her words, heavy and insistent, and I grit my teeth. This isn’t the time. I force my attention back to the task at hand, stepping closer until I’m right behind her. My hands hover for a moment, then I start the search.

My palms glide along her arms first, slow and deliberate. The fabric of her blouse is smooth under my touch, but her heat exudes through the silken fabric. She tenses as I move inward, her breath quickening when my hands find her waist. Her chest rises and falls in a rhythm that matches my own pounding heartbeat.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. Focus, Shomun. This is business, not pleasure. I slide my hands down her hips, then back up, my fingers splayed to cover as much ground as possible. If she’s carrying Grolgath tech, I’ll find it. Their devices are subtle, but they’re not invisible.

I glance up to see her reflection in the glass. Her eyes are still closed, her lips parted just enough to let out soft, uneven breaths. Her cheeks are flushed, her skin glowing in the dim light. I can’t tell if it’s fear or something else that’s making her react like this, but it’s distracting.

“Stay still,” I growl, my voice rougher than I intend. My hands move lower, skimming the curve of her hips and down her thighs. Her skirt clings to her legs, the fabric whispering against my palms. She’s trembling now, her fingers twitching against the glass.

“Sir,” she whispers, and there’s that tone again—that mix of fear and something else. It’s driving me mad.

“Quiet,” I snap, though my voice lacks its usual edge. My hands move back up, skimming the sides of her torso and tracing the curve of her ribs. She’s soft, warm, and every inch of her feels like a distraction I don’t need right now.

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