Bound to the Ruthless Billionaire

Chapter 10: The Master of the Game

The walk from the Bentley to the private lift was the longest sixty seconds of Claire’s life. Her lips were still swollen, tingling with the ghost of Dominic’s "Gentleman-is-gone" kiss, and the heavy midnight-blue velvet of her dress felt like a lead weight. She expected him to touch her again, to grab her waist or pull her back into his arms the moment the lift doors closed, but he didn't.

Dominic stood at the opposite side of the small, mirrored space, his hands shoved into his pockets, staring at the floor numbers as they ascended. He looked perfectly composed, his breathing even, as if he hadn't just tried to devour her in the back of a speeding car.

The silence was a physical pressure, ringing in her ears. Claire caught her reflection in the mirrors. She looked thoroughly wrecked. Her hair was a mess of blonde silk, her lipstick was smudged, and her eyes were wide and glazed with a hunger she didn't want to admit to. She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly claimed, while he looked like a man who had just finished a routine business meeting.

When the lift doors hissed open into the penthouse, Dominic stepped out without a word. He didn't wait for her. He walked straight to the bar, poured himself a finger of neat scotch, and loosened his tie with a sharp, impatient tug.

"Dominic?" she whispered, her voice sounding small in the vast, marble expanse of the living room.

He didn't turn around. "Go to bed, Claire."

The coldness in his voice was like a slap. "Go to bed? After what happened in the car? You can’t just... You can’t just act like that and then dismiss me like a servant."

Dominic turned then, his eyes tracking her from her messy hair down to the hem of her velvet gown. For a split second, the "Shark" reappeared, his gaze dark and hungry, but he suppressed it with terrifying speed.

"Nothing 'happened' in the car, Claire. I made a point. You understood it. That’s the end of the transaction." He took a slow sip of his scotch, his expression unreadable. "I have a merger to finalise with Tokyo. I’ll be in my study for the rest of the night."

"A transaction?" Claire’s Sterling pride flared, hot and sharp. She marched toward him, her heels clicking aggressively on the marble, but she stopped several feet away, afraid of the fire she saw in his eyes. "That kiss wasn't a transaction, Dominic! You were jealous! You were furious because another man looked at me, and you couldn't stand it!"

Dominic didn't respond immediately. He set the glass down on the marble counter with a definitive, bone-chilling clack.

Then, he moved.

He didn't just walk; he prowled. He crossed the distance between the bar and where she stood in three long, predatory strides. Claire’s breath hitched as he invaded her personal space, forcing her to tilt her head back just to keep his gaze. He kept coming until he was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his chest through the thin fabric of his dress shirt.

He leaned forward, his face inches from hers, his shadow completely swallowing her. He didn't touch her, which felt like a torture all its own, but he towered over her, his presence a heavy, suffocating weight.

"I was protecting my investment," he rasped, his voice a low vibration that seemed to rumble in her very bones. "Julian Vane is a liability. You are a Thorne asset. I don't like liabilities touching my assets. Don't confuse my territorial nature for... whatever it is you’re imagining."

Even as the cold words left his lips, his hand rose, his fingers hovering just a fraction of an inch from her cheek. Claire’s heart leapt, her body instinctively leaning into the ghost of his warmth, desperate for the heat she had felt in the Bentley. She closed her eyes, waiting for the touch that would set her soul on fire.

But at the last possible second, he pulled his hand away, merely using the tip of his finger to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. It was a clinical, distant gesture that felt like a bucket of ice water.

"You’re frustrated," he murmured, a slow, cruel smile touching his lips. "I can see it in your eyes. You want me to finish what I started. You want me to take you to that bed and prove that I own you."

"I don't…"

"Liar." He straightened up, his eyes gleaming with the triumph of a man who had just won a high-stakes gamble. "But I don't reward rebellion, Claire. You smiled at him. You broke the rules of the gala. So tonight, you sleep alone. Enjoy the silence. I’m sure it’s exactly what an 'Old Money' girl like you prefers."

He turned his back on her and walked toward his glass-walled study, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that made Claire want to scream.

Claire lay in the massive, charcoal silk bed, but sleep was impossible. The penthouse was too quiet, the air-conditioned chill too sharp. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt his tongue against hers, his hand on her bare thigh, the raw, primal "Mine" he had growled into her mouth.

Her body was humming, a restless, aching fire that refused to go out. She felt like a string on a violin that had been pulled too tight and left to vibrate.

Driven by a restless energy she couldn't name, Claire threw back the covers. Her bare feet were silent on the cold marble floors as she crept toward the hallway. She told herself she was just thirsty, but her steps led her straight toward the soft glow of light spilling from the study.

She stopped in the shadows, her breath catching. Dominic was there, his jacket gone and his white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing the hard, corded muscles of his torso. He wasn't looking at a screen; he was hunched over a file, his pen scratching against paper with a focused, lethal intensity.

From this distance, the "Shark" was gone, replaced by a man of raw, terrifying brilliance. Claire found herself fascinated by the power he radiated even in repose. She realised with a jolt of terror that she wasn't just his prisoner anymore, she was a moth drawn to his flame.

Suddenly, Dominic’s head snapped up. His eyes scanned the dark hallway, landing precisely where she stood hidden in the gloom. Claire froze, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

He didn't call out. He didn't ask what she was doing. He simply stood up, his chair scraping back with a harsh, metallic sound that made her flinch.

Claire turned to flee back to the bedroom, but before she could take three steps, a large, warm hand clamped onto her arm. Dominic spun her around, pinning her back against the hallway wall. The scent of scotch and sandalwood overwhelmed her as he leaned in, his body a wall of heat.

He reached up, his thumb catching a single, stray tear on her cheek she hadn’t even realised had fallen. He brushed it away with a pressure that was both a caress and a command.

"I told you to sleep, Claire," he rasped, his voice vibrating in the quiet space between them. "But if you’re going to stay awake and watch me like a hungry little ghost, you’re going to do it where I can keep an eye on you."

Before she could protest, he scooped her up. It wasn't a gentle carry; it was a move of absolute possession. He marched into the bedroom and dropped her onto the charcoal silk sheets, his eyes gleaming with a dark, triumphant hunger.

"You wanted to see the monster?" he whispered, his hand gripping her ankle and pulling her flush against his side as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Now you have to sleep with him. Don't move until I tell you to."