Chapter 4: A Dangerous Dance
549 Words
Liam wasn’t a man used to being ignored.
Yet here he was, watching Ella Moreau slip away from him for the second time.
His jaw tightened.
His pulse drummed.
And for the first time in years, he was the one doing the chasing.
But if Ella thought she could just walk away, she was about to learn a lesson.
He followed her through the grand hall, his steps slow, deliberate. He didn’t rush—the hunt was half the pleasure. The gala crowd barely noticed as he navigated the room, his attention fixed on the woman in emerald silk who had dared to challenge him.
Ella stopped near an abstract painting, pretending to admire it, but Liam saw the way her shoulders stiffened.
She knew he was there.
He stepped in behind her, so close that the heat between them was a promise of things to come.
“What are we looking at?” he murmured against her ear.
Ella took a slow sip of wine, unbothered. “A masterpiece.”
Liam glanced at the painting. It was a blur of colors, wild and unpredictable. His gaze shifted back to her.
“Fitting,” he murmured.
Ella’s lips twitched. “Why?”
He reached out, his fingers barely grazing the delicate curve of her spine. “Because you’re just like it.”
She turned to him then, her dark eyes unreadable. “Messy?”
“Unpredictable,” Liam corrected, his voice low, heated. “A storm trapped on canvas.”
Ella held his gaze, her breath shallowing for just a second before she masked it with another sip of wine.
Liam smirked. He had felt that.
“I see what you’re doing, Liam,” she finally said, tilting her head.
He leaned in, his lips almost touching the shell of her ear. “And what’s that?”
She turned fully, placing her free hand on his chest—not to push him away, but to keep him right where he was.
“You think because you’re powerful, because women fall at your feet, that I’ll be just another name on your list.”
Liam’s smirk vanished.
He grabbed her wrist, bringing her hand up between them. His fingers brushed against her palm, his touch slow, teasing.
“You really think this is about a list?” His voice was quiet, dangerous.
Ella’s breath hitched as his fingers traced lazy circles against her wrist. “Isn’t it?”
Liam chuckled darkly, pressing her hand flat against his chest, letting her feel the steady, dangerous rhythm of his heart.
“If it was,” he whispered, “you wouldn’t be here right now.”
Ella’s lips parted, a flicker of hesitation flashing in her eyes.
But then—
“Mr. Sinclair,” a voice interrupted.
Liam didn’t move, but his jaw clenched. Victor.
Ella used the moment to slip free, stepping back.
“Saved by the interruption,” she mused.
Liam’s gaze darkened. “For now.”
She smiled—a slow, teasing promise. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd once again.
Victor exhaled. “You’re playing a dangerous game, boss.”
Liam’s smirk returned, slower this time.
“Good,” he murmured, eyes still locked on where Ella had vanished.
He liked danger.
- Writer
