Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I have worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to throw it all away now. My position in Goldenbell did not come easy. I clawed my way up, kept my head down, proved I could handle the ugly parts without flinching. Personal feelings have no place here. Especially not with Poe. Not with the way he looks at me like I’m more than just the woman holding the leash. Like maybe, if things were different, he could actually trust me.
God, I wish I had someone I could trust.
Someone like him.
The thought slips in before I can stop it. The way he watches me, the way he pushed back just now instead of blindly obeying, tells me he’s not like the others. He has lines he won’t cross, even when his sister’s life is on the line. That kind of loyalty is rare. Dangerous. And far too tempting.
I can’t let my guard down. Not even for a second.
Poe exhales sharply and steps back, running a hand through his dark hair. “I need a break. I can’t sit here and keep digging into Maddox. Not right now.”
I should argue. I should remind him of the deadline, of Enley, of what happens if we stall. But the truth is I get it. I understand why he can’t do this. Hacking Maddox would destroy everything he has built, everything his friends rely on. And some stubborn part of me doesn’t want to watch him break his own rules.
“Fine,” I say, voice steadier than I feel. “We both need air. Let’s go outside for a bit.”
He looks surprised, but he nods. We head out the back door into the fenced yard. The late afternoon sun is warm on my skin, the grass soft under my bare feet. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the leftover heat from being so close to him in the office.
Poe watches me, arms loose at his sides. “You know kung fu or something?”
I almost smile. “Something like that. It helps clear the head. Want me to show you a few moves?”
He shrugs, that half-grin tugging at his mouth. “Sure. Why not? Might as well learn how to fight back properly while I’m stuck here.”
I step into the open space and motion for him to face me. “First, stance. Feet shoulder-width, knees soft. Weight centered.”
He mirrors me, movements surprisingly fluid for someone who has spent most of his life behind a keyboard. I move behind him, adjusting his posture with light touches to his shoulders and hips. My fingers linger a second longer than necessary on the warm skin of his back. He tenses under my hands but doesn’t pull away.
“Good,” I murmur. “Now watch.”
I demonstrate a simple sequence: block, strike, pivot. He follows along, copying the motion. We go through it a few times until he starts to get the rhythm. Then I face him again.
“Try it on me. Slow at first.”
He steps in, throwing a careful punch. I deflect it easily, stepping inside his guard and tapping his ribs with the heel of my palm. “Too wide. Keep your elbow in.”
We keep going, the movements getting faster, more natural. Sweat starts to bead on his forehead. His breathing grows heavier. Every time our bodies brush, every time my hand lands on his arm or his chest to correct him, that same spark from the kitchen flares back to life.
He catches my wrist mid-strike, holding it gently but firmly. Our eyes lock. The air between us goes still.
“You’re holding back,” he says quietly.
“So are you.”
His thumb brushes over the inside of my wrist, right where my pulse is racing. “Maybe I don’t want to hurt you.”
I laugh softly, but it comes out breathy. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”
His gaze drops to my mouth again. We’re close. Too close. The same pull from earlier is back, stronger now, out here in the open air with no desk between us. I can see the sweat glistening on his collarbone, the way his chest moves with each breath. I want him to close the distance. I want to feel those hands on me for real, not just in my dreams. I want to stop pretending I don’t feel this thing crackling between us.
But I know better.
I’ve worked too hard for my position. Too hard to let one man, no matter how sexy or loyal or tempting, derail everything.
I step back, breaking the contact, and force my voice to stay even. “Again. This time with more intent.”
Poe watches me for another heartbeat, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he nods and resets his stance.
We keep training, the sun dipping lower, the movements flowing easier between us. Every block, every strike feels like a conversation we’re not allowed to have out loud. He’s good. Quick learner. Strong. And every time he lands a light tap or I spin him around, I feel that dangerous warmth spreading through my chest.