GAME OF SEDUCTION

THR MORNING AFYER

The room was bathed in a soft, golden morning haze, the air carrying a blend of crisp sea breeze and the lingering, warm scent of wild cherry blossoms.

I stirred slowly, floating in a cloud of heavy warmth. For a fleeting, dangerous second, my mind drifted through the memory of the night—the weight of Liam's arms around me, the intensity in his slate-gray eyes, and the way every touch had set my skin on fire. A soft smile tugged at my lips as I fantasized about staying in this bubble, safe from eviction notices and double lives.

Then, cold reality slammed into my chest.

Snap out of it, Camila, I ordered myself silently. You are in Liam Lockwood's bed.

Panic spiked through my blood. I carefully began to shift my hips, trying to squeeze myself out of his tight embrace without waking him. I barely moved an inch before a broad, heavy hand settled firmly over my stomach, pulling me back against his bare chest with effortless strength.

"Where do you think you're going?" Liam's low, gravelly morning voice rumbled directly against my upper back.

"I... I have to go," I stammered, my heart hammering against my ribs as I tried to wriggle out of his grasp again.

Instead of letting go, Liam rested his heavy chin on my shoulder, his grip tighten slightly around my waist. He leaned in, taking a soft, teasing nibble of my cheek before burying his face in the crook of my neck, taking a deep, long breath of my scent.

"Too weak," he murmured playfully, his voice laced with lazy warmth. "You're not escaping that easily."

I swallowed hard, my eyes darting toward the nightstand. The digital clock on his dock glowed in sharp red numbers: 7:45 AM.

My breath caught in my throat. Morning lab started at 8:30 AM with Professor Vance.

"Oh, s**t!" I gasped out loud, bolting upright and ripping the sheets away from my legs. "I'm late!"

Liam sat up slowly, the dark silk sheet resting low on his waist as his sharp gray eyes narrowed with instant curiosity. "Late? Late for what, Vixen? It's before eight in the morning."

My heart nearly stopped. The slip-up hung heavy in the air. Camila had a high-stakes chemistry practical in forty-five minutes; Vixen, the elite lounge hostess, had no reason to be rushing anywhere at dawn.

I caught myself just before blowing my cover completely, forcing a nervous, velvety laugh as I threw my feet over the side of the bed. "For... an appointment," I lied smoothly, keeping my back turned as I scrambled to pick up my dark wig and red heels from the floor. "Private client business. I can't be late."

"Let me have my driver take you," Liam offered, standing up and pulling on his dark robe, his gaze studying my rushed movements with intense precision.

"No! No drivers," I said quickly, waving a frantic hand. I looked down at my shimmering dark dress—it was far too recognizable and explicit for morning daylight. "Do you... do you have a big hoodie or a jacket I can borrow?"

Liam watched me for a tense second before walking over to his oversized oak wardrobe. He pulled out a heavy, dark designer jacket with a deep hood and handed it to me. "Keep it."

"Thank you," I breathed, shoving my arms through the oversized sleeves and pulling the deep hood low over my face to hide my wig and makeup.

I didn't wait for him to ask another question. I gave him a quick, breathless goodbye, slipped out of the master suite, and practically ran down the floating glass staircase, leaving his penthouse behind before he could stop me.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sprinting toward the public bus stop three blocks away from his luxury building, my head ducked low inside the heavy jacket.

What I didn't know was that up on the penthouse balcony, Liam was standing with a pair of high-powered binoculars, watching my hooded figure navigate the sidewalk.

A black sedan pulled up to the curb half a block behind me. One of Liam's private security agents slipped out, keeping a discreet distance as he followed my path.

I ducked into the public restroom at the central bus transit station, my pulse racing. In ten frantic minutes, I stripped off the dark wig, wiped away the heavy crimson lipstick, packed the silver dress into my tote bag, and pulled my wire-rimmed glasses onto my face. I walked back out as Camila Hughes—wearing simple jeans, sneakers, and Liam's oversized designer jacket covering my clothes.

Liam's tailing agent lost sight of the glamorous, dark-haired woman in the crowded transit hub. But twenty minutes later, as the agent scanned the perimeter of Houston University, he spotted the distinct, high-end designer jacket entering the science building.

Back in his penthouse study, Liam's phone rang.

"Mr. Lockwood," the agent reported. "We lost her face in the transit station exchange, but we tracked your jacket. She just walked straight into the main hall at Houston University."

Liam leaned back against his desk, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee mug as a dark, dangerous smile spread across his face.

She was a student. His mystery hostess was right under his nose on campus.

"Find out which classes are in session right now," Liam ordered softly into the receiver, his gray eyes gleaming with victory. "I'm coming to campus."