WHISPERS BENEATH THE SHEETS
Chapter 4
The week after their forced collaboration began, Amelia had sworn she would keep things strictly professional. She told herself she'd show up at the office in her fitted pencil skirts and silk blouses, take notes, exchange only necessary words, and vanish before Adrian could worm his way into her mind again.
But Adrian Blackwood wasn't the type of man who accepted rules set by someone else. Not in business. And certainly not when it came to her.
Their first meeting after she'd decided on distance should have been simple-ten minutes to go over client briefs. Instead, it stretched into an hour of verbal sparring, each word weighted, each glance hotter than it had any right to be.
"You really don't like me, do you?" Adrian asked, leaning back in his chair with that infuriating smile tugging at his lips. He looked relaxed, but Amelia had learned quickly that his ease was a weapon.
"I don't dislike you," Amelia replied coolly, clicking her pen and avoiding his gaze. "I just don't confuse business with pleasure."
The smile widened. "So you do admit there's pleasure to be found here."
She exhaled sharply. "That's not what I said."
"You didn't have to."
......
The game began small.
One morning, she arrived at her desk to find a coffee waiting-her exact order. She froze, glancing around. The sticky note attached read: Fuel for that sharp tongue of yours. � A
She crumpled the note and tossed it, refusing to let her heart skip a beat; it wanted to.
Another time, she found him already seated in the conference room where she usually worked through lunch. He looked up from his phone, his expression maddeningly smug.
"Didn't know this was your sanctuary," he said, gesturing to the seat beside him. "But I suppose I should have guessed. Quiet. Controlled. Perfectly neat. Just like you."
"I'm not sitting with you."
"Of course you are. Because you hate wasting time, and going somewhere else would be exactly that."
Infuriatingly, he was right. Amelia sat, every nerve on edge as he returned to his phone, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he'd already won something.
......
By the end of the week, Adrian had turned every interaction into a tug-of-war.
"Your notes are meticulous," he said one afternoon, flipping through her report. "Almost obsessive. Do you ever let yourself color outside the lines, Amelia?"
She snatched the papers back. "That's called being competent."
"No," he murmured, leaning close enough that his cologne teased her senses. "That's called being terrified of what happens if you let go."
Her throat tightened. She should have walked away. Instead, she held his gaze, refusing to blink first. His smile was slow, deliberate, a predator savoring the chase.
"You'll break one day," he whispered. "And I'll be there when you do."
Her heart hammered. She hated him for the way those words thrilled her.
......
Adrian escalated his game outside the office.
At a charity gala their company sponsored, Amelia had thought she was safe-until she spotted him across the ballroom, perfectly tailored in a midnight-blue tuxedo that made half the women in the room turn their heads.
Her pulse betrayed her. She looked away too quickly, focusing on the champagne flute in her hand.
Seconds later, a low voice brushed her ear. "You're staring."
Amelia spun around, heat rushing to her cheeks. "I was not."
Adrian stood close-too close. He smelled like whiskey and cedarwood, like temptation dressed in silk and danger.
"You were," he said smoothly. "But don't worry, I like it when you look at me like that."
"Like what?" she challenged, even as her body screamed at her to take a step back.
"Like you want to play."
Her breath caught. She opened her mouth to deny it, but his hand brushed hers as he took her empty glass. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt straight to her core.
"You shouldn't-" she began.
"Shouldn't?" he echoed, tilting his head. "Or don't want to admit you do?"
Amelia glared at him, but her silence betrayed her. Adrian smiled like a man who had just tipped the board in his favor.
......
The night unraveled into a blur of charged moments. Dancing. Glances that lingered too long. Adrian whispered something wicked that made her flush before slipping away, leaving her breathless and furious.
She hated that she spent the car ride home replaying every word. Every touch. Every almost.
She hated more than she wanted him.
......
The next day, Adrian pushed further.
"Lunch?" he asked casually, appearing by her desk with a grin.
"I brought mine," she said tightly, not looking up.
"Then I'll sit with you while you eat it."
"You're insufferable."
"Persistent," he corrected. "There's a difference."
She finally looked up, narrowing her eyes. "Why me, Adrian? You could have anyone."
His expression darkened, humor fading into something sharper. "Because no one else fights me the way you do. Everyone else gives in too easily. But you... You make it a game worth playing."
Her stomach twisted. She wanted to believe it was just another line, but the way he said it-low, made it sound like the truth.
She swallowed hard. "Games have rules. And I don't play."
Adrian leaned closer, voice velvet and sin. "Sweetheart, you've been playing since the night we met. You just don't want to admit you're losing."
......
That night, Amelia tossed and turned in bed, replaying his words until dawn broke. She swore she would not give him the satisfaction of winning.
But deep down, she already knew the truth.
She wasn't just resisting.
She was playing.
And Adrian never played to lose.
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