Chapter 4 SOMEONE IS WATCHING

Alex's Pov

Monday morning arrived too quickly. I sat in my car in the Cross Industries parking garage, trying to calm my racing heart. The weekend had been a blur of tangled sheets and whispered confessions. Now I had to walk into that building and pretend Damien Cross was just my boss.

My phone buzzed. A text from him: "My office. Nine sharp. Bring the Henderson file."

Professional. Cold. Exactly what we'd agreed on. So why did it make my chest tight?

I grabbed my briefcase and headed inside. The elevator ride to the executive floor felt eternal. When I reached his office, his assistant waved me through without looking up.

Damien sat behind his massive desk, every inch the powerful CEO in his tailored suit. He didn't look up from his computer when I entered.

"Close the door, Carter."

I did, my palms sweating. "You wanted the Henderson file?"

"I wanted to see if you could handle this." His eyes finally met mine, cool and assessing. "Can you?"

"Handle what?"

"Being in the same room with me and acting like I didn't have you screaming my name two nights ago."

Heat flooded my face. "Jesus, Damien..."

"Mr. Cross," he corrected sharply. "In this office, it's Mr. Cross."

I clenched my jaw. "Fine. Yes, Mr. Cross, I can handle it."

He stood and walked around the desk, stopping just inches from me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne, the same scent that had been all over me this weekend.

"Good." His hand brushed against mine as he took the file, so brief anyone watching would miss it. "Because I need you on the Singapore project. You'll be working directly with me for the next month."

My eyes widened. "What?"

"Problem?" His expression was neutral, but I saw the challenge in his eyes.

"No, sir. No problem."

"Excellent. We have a meeting with the team in ten minutes. Conference room B." He returned to his desk, dismissing me. "That's all."

I left his office fuming. A month of working directly with him? Of pretending we were nothing but professional while remembering exactly how he tasted? This was going to be torture.

The day dragged on with meetings and emails. I caught glimpses of Damien across conference rooms, his attention always on business, never on me. By five o'clock, I was wound so tight I thought I might snap.

My phone buzzed as I was packing up. Another text: "Lexington Grand. Suite 4012. One hour."

I shouldn't go. I should set boundaries, demand we slow down. Instead, I went home, showered, and drove straight to the hotel.

Damien opened the door already in just his dress pants, his shirt discarded somewhere. The controlled CEO from this morning was gone, replaced by something hungry and possessive.

"Get inside," he said roughly.

I barely cleared the threshold before he was on me, pinning me against the closed door. His mouth crashed into mine, all teeth and tongue and desperation.

"Do you have any idea how hard today was?" he growled against my lips. "Watching you in those meetings, knowing what you look like underneath that suit?"

"You're the one who made us work together," I shot back, yanking at his belt.

"Because I'm selfish." He bit down on my neck, hard enough to mark. "I want you close, even if I can't touch you."

He stripped me efficiently, then dropped to his knees right there in the entryway. The sight of Damien Cross on his knees for me was almost enough to make me come on the spot.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he said, taking me in his mouth without a preamble.

I banged my head back against the door, my hands tangling in his hair. He was relentless, taking me deep, using his tongue in ways that should be illegal. When he slid a finger inside me while he sucked, I nearly lost it.

"Bedroom," I gasped. "Now, before I come."

He stood and led me to the bedroom, pushing me onto the bed. "On your back. I want to see your face this time."

I sprawled across the sheets, watching as he stripped off the rest of his clothes and retrieved supplies from the nightstand. He'd clearly been planning this, had everything ready.

He settled between my legs, slicking his fingers and opening me up with practiced ease. He knew my body already, knew exactly how to make me fall apart. Two fingers became three, stretching and preparing until I was rocking back against his hand.

"Please," I begged. "I need you inside me."

He rolled on a condom and pushed inside in one smooth thrust. We both groaned at the sensation. He hooked my legs over his shoulders, changing the angle, going impossibly deeper.

"Look at me," he commanded, starting to move. "I want to see you fall apart."

I met his eyes, dark with desire and something deeper I wasn't ready to name. Every thrust hit perfectly, building pleasure that radiated through my entire body. He reached between us, stroking me in time with his movements.

"You're so beautiful like this," he said, his voice rough. "Taking everything I give you."

"Harder," I demanded. "Stop holding back."

Something snapped in him. He pushed my legs further back and started pounding into me with abandon. The headboard slammed against the wall, the sound of our bodies meeting obscenely loud in the quiet room.

"Touch yourself," he ordered. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

I wrapped my hand around myself, stroking fast and desperate. The combination of his relentless thrusts and my own hand pushed me closer to the edge.

"Damien, I'm...."

"Say my name when you come," he growled. "Let everyone in this hotel know who's fucking you."

I came with a shout, his name ripping from my throat as pleasure crashed through me. He followed moments later, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep and found his release.

We stayed locked together, both trembling and gasping for air. Finally, he pulled out carefully and collapsed beside me, pulling me against his chest.

"This is insane," I said when I could speak again. "Sneaking around, pretending at work...."

"I know." He kissed my shoulder. "But I'm not ready to give this up. Are you?"

I thought about walking away, about making things simpler. But the truth was, I was already in too deep.

"No," I admitted. "I'm not ready either."

"Then we make it work." His arms tightened around me. "Whatever it takes."

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it and froze at the message displayed on the screen.

"What is it?" Damien asked, sensing my tension.

I turned the phone so he could see. The message was from an unknown number: "I know what you two are doing. We need to talk."