Page 54 of Carnal Games

“Um… do I need to knock or…?”

She shakes her head. “He’s waiting for you.”

The rapid pounding of my heart can be heard in my ears as I summon some courage and stride toward the double doors. Damn! Since when did doors become intimidating? Just the thought of my scary reaper being on the other side makes me weak in the knees. How the heck am I supposed to hold a conversation with him?

I did not see this twist coming.

At the max, I had hoped to fix a date for the interview.

Fuck me and my big mouth.

Pressing my palm on the dark gray wood, I push until it soundlessly opens. I enter with a soft exhale and hear it shut automatically behind me. Except on the next inhale, I become dizzy as Kian’s intoxicating scent fills my veins. His cologne swirls in the air, drugging me with his pheromones.

My eyes bug out at the view of the skyscrapers and the blue sky. Guess he does have floor-to-ceiling glass walls to regard mere mortals from up in his tower.

My greedy gaze briefly scans the large expanse of the spacious room with its wide regal desk and two rectangular couches facing each other from opposite sides. One has a small coffee table in front of it.

The office’s interior is formal, minimalist, and cutting-edge.

In other words, impersonal and mechanical.

It has one purpose, and it’s running a multinational corporation. There’s not even a plant to breathe fresh air and make the ambience inviting. Or a sole picture frame to add a personal touch.

My fingers twitch with the urge to use my lipstick and mark the surfaces with the maroon color. Just to splash some color in the otherwise monotonous room.

The swift urge vanishes when a shiver dances down my spine.

Ifeelhim before I see him.

A second later, his throat clears behind me, and I whip toward the sound.

Distracted by the view in front of me, I completely miss the small attached conference room to my right, meant for top-secret meetings from the layout of it.

At the head of the long conference table sits an imposing Kian with his intense gray eyes staring right at me. Jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to reveal sexy forearms, and one fist resting casually under his chin, he scorches me with a single impassive look.

He still wears his hair in a sexy buzz cut that makes his features more defined and scarier in their ruggedness. Like a savage lurks behind his reserved persona.

I teeter on my heels and swallow the ball of lust that slams into me hard.

Just like in his childhood bedroom, he doesn’t say a word.

Because I’m an obsessed nutcase around him, his silence turns me the fuck on.

I desperately wish I had the power or knew a magic trick to read his mind. His expression is completely unreadable. Those laser-sharp eyes don’t even stray from mine, not even for a cursory glance at my clothes.

Or maybe he’s being a gentleman by refusing to check out his brother’s fiancée.

It would be inappropriate. Scandalous. Carnal.

Nonetheless, there’s something deliciously wicked about being forbidden to him. The thrill from the fact that we shouldn’t desire each other, yet the pull is too strong to resist.

I want to snap this icy billionaire’s tight-knit control.

Smither it into pieces.

Because for years, I’ve been out of control, consumed with thoughts of him. He ought to feel the burn and suffer through the same ordeal.

I can’t imagine him being cold when he fucks. An unbidden flash of jealousy rips through my chest at the idea of him with other women. I crave to erase the touch of every woman he’s slept with from his memory until I’m all he sees, lives, and breathes.

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