Page 42 of Carnal Games

So… real.

And they’re staring right into mine.

Not from a picture frame. Not from a TV screen. Not from the countless pictures I’ve saved in my phone in a hidden folder.

After three years, they’refinallyon me.

Oh, the sweet joy.

My scary reaper did come.

Kian—Mr. Severe—is here, holding me in his arms and blessing me with his attention.

Instinctively, my nails dig into thick biceps I’m clutching like a lifeline—perhaps I don’t want him to vanish again—causing calloused fingertips to press harder into my waist.

My stomach muscles clench, goosebumps erupting on my flesh. The sound of my breath hitching is loud, telling, and… embarrassing.

I wish I had trapped it inside because it breaks the spell.

As quickly as he caught me, he releases me just as swiftly.

But he doesn’t step back.

He stands imposingly tall and steadily breathing while peering down at me, invadingmyspace like it’shis.

I mean… technically, it is his.

I’m the intruder who came into his room. The one he hasn’t lived in or stepped foot inside in eighteen years. It doesn’t make it any less his.

Suddenly, what he said to me reverberates to the forefront of my mind.

It also hits my mushy brain that he saw me snooping around and touching his things. I hope I didn’t look like a creep. A creep spying in a strange man’s room while being engaged to another.

Can he tell I’ve been in here before? Did he enter before me or after me? How long has he been watching me?

More importantly, why is he here and not downstairs at the party?

Does his family know he came? His parents wouldn’t have him. If Nathan had, he would’ve shared that bit of information with me.

I swallow, my throat bobbing as I think of an excuse.

Meanwhile, he’s calm as a cucumber.

No, not as a stupid vegetable—well, fruit.

He’s unruffled and still as a hunter camouflaging in the night.

Being in his presence is a lot harder than I dreamt. I seriously miscalculated the height and built of the Kian starring in my dreams. He’s way taller and bulkier in person from what I can make out. The single ray of light that was illuminating the room is cut off by his broad back.

It should be intimidating. Trapped alone in a room with a man thrice my size. Kian’s silence is daunting. But not in an unsafe way.

The longer he regards me unblinkingly, the harder I squirm.

I’m hyperaware of the rise and fall of his chest. How when he inhales, the dark dress shirt of his suit tightens against his abdomen, taunting me that something hard and firm lies beneath. The tanned skin peeking from the open collar against his neck.

At this point, it’s no longer about answering his question. Instead, it’s turned into a full-blown battle of who breaks the silence first.

It’s not defiance that’s making me speechless.

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