I’d bow down and worship on my hands and knees.
I might have to, actually, to beg for his mercy.
Each step he takes is slow and methodological, his shoes clacking on the polished floor as he approaches me.
Okay. Was it really necessary for him to getthisclose?
His hot breath bristles my neck as he bends down, holding eye contact, to retrieve the little pin I dropped.
“Here,” he says, the sound husky and dark, like it’s coming from the deepest part of his chest. “You’ll be needing this.”
He brushes his hands against mine, handing the wrench back.
Then, he steps back and keeps watching me.
“Um,” I mutter again. “Thanks.”
I return to the door, fixing both pins in my hands. I’m shaking like a leaf. This time, I’m close to droppingbothpins. I’m acting like a mess. He’s so intimidatingly handsome that it’s making me nervous.
Get yourself together, Joy.
I won’t let a man be the reason I get arrested. Igor has already done too much damage. This second man isn’t gonna stop me from cleaning up the damage.
I bet he wants me to be scared. He’s probably used to people acting this way.
I’ll be the first to put him in his place. Show him he’s not as intimidating as he thinks he is.
I return my attention to the lock, tugging again. Thanks to the adrenaline, I’m able to get somewhere. The lock snags.
Finally, progress.
I channel more adrenaline into each pull.
One… Two…
An impossible force slams me up against the wall before I have time to count to three.
The man has other plans as he sizes me up and down. His eyes really are that blue. But there’s no warmth in them.
They’re colder than the coldest day of the year. Which makes no fucking sense, as a hot bead of sweat drips down my back.
I can feel his breath charring my neck again.
Heat rushes between my legs, causing my clit to swell.
Fuck.
Those dark eyes really do speak for themselves as he takes his time drinking me in, igniting a fire in my belly just from looking at me.
I try to shove the man off, even if it’s useless. “Get your hands off me.”
“You’re Igor’s fiancée, aren’t you?”
“Ex-fiancée,” I correct. “Which is why I’m trying to get into his apartment—to grab the rest of my stuff.”
“Hm,” grunts the man, tilting his enormous head in assessment. “You were breaking in.”
“Call it what you want.”