Fire Between Two Flames

CHAPTER 2

The impact of his gaze was physical. Actual, tangible force that hit me square in the chest and radiated outward, making my n*****s tighten against the lace of my bra and sending a pulse of heat straight between my thighs. His eyes were dark—so dark they were almost black in the filtered light from the floor-to-ceiling windows—and they held an intelligence that was somehow more unsettling than simple attraction.

He was assessing me. Taking inventory. And I had the disturbing sensation that he could see through the armor of my designer suit and carefully applied makeup to the exhausted, overwhelmed woman beneath.

I wanted to look away. Every instinct screamed at me to break eye contact, to submit, to acknowledge his dominance in this space. Instead, I held his gaze and continued my presentation, even as my pulse thundered in my ears and my palms grew damp against the clicker in my hand.

His lips curved. Just slightly. Just enough to let me know he'd registered my defiance and found it... interesting.

The scent of him reached me then, carried on the recycled air from the vents above. Something expensive and complex—Louis Vuitton, maybe, with a darker scent underneath that I couldn't identify. Masculine and rich and so potent it made my head swim. I breathed through my mouth, trying not to let it affect me, but it was too late. My body had already responded, already recognized something in his scent that called to a part of me I'd thought I'd buried years ago.

I clicked to the next slide, but I'd lost my train of thought. The numbers swam before my eyes. My throat felt tight, constricted, and when I swallowed, I saw his gaze drop to my neck, tracking the movement with predatory focus.

"Ms. Legend." His voice was exactly what I'd expected—deep, cultured, with the faintest trace of a Southern accent that did nothing to suggest his expensive international schools and multiple languages that he speaks so fluently. It rolled through the room like smoke, and I felt it in my bones. "Perhaps you could elaborate on the projected shortfall in Q3?"

It wasn't really a question. It was a test.

I met his eyes again, and this time I saw the challenge there. He wanted to see if I would crumble, if the heat between us—because yes, it was between us, thick and oppressive and undeniable—would make me stumble.

"The shortfall," I said, and was grateful my voice came out steady, "is due to the delayed shipment of the Davis project. As you can see from the adjusted timeline—" I clicked to the relevant slide, "—we've reallocated resources to ensure a Q4 launch that will more than compensate for the temporary dip."

"And if it doesn't?" He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the polished mahogany table, fingers drumming a slow rhythm that I felt echo in my pulse. "If the shipment fails?"

My jaw clenched. I could feel the eyes of every man in the room on me, waiting to see if I would fold under pressure. The only woman in the room and they all worked for me. Yet, here I was, being questioned like an intern who hadn't done her homework. The anger felt good. It burned away some of the inappropriate heat, sharpening my focus.

"It won't fail," I said, and let an edge of steel enter my voice. "I don't do failure at my company, Mr. Wolfe."

Something flashed in his eyes. Approval? Arousal? Both? His fingers stilled on the table, and the corner of his mouth lifted again in that almost-smile that made my stomach flip.

"No," he murmured, so quietly I almost didn't hear it. "I don't imagine you do."

The air between us felt charged, electric. I was acutely aware of my body in a way I hadn't been in years—the weight of my breasts, the press of my thighs together beneath the table, the dampness gathering in my panties that I absolutely could not acknowledge. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

I was the boss in this room, and that fact had never felt more insignificant. His gaze on me wasn't just a professional assessment. There was heat in it, hunger, a ruinous promise that made every nerve ending in my body light up with warning and want in equal measure.

I forced myself to continue the presentation, clicking through slides on autopilot while my mind raced. Who the hell was this man, and why did my body respond to him like he'd flipped some switch I didn't know I had?

Twenty minutes later, I concluded my overview and returned to my seat, grateful for the chance to sit before my trembling legs betrayed me. My hands shook slightly as I set down the clicker, and I pressed them flat against my thighs, willing them to steady.

Across the table, I could feel him watching me. Not obviously—he was looking at the current presenter, asking pointed questions about supply chain logistics—but I felt the weight of his attention like a hand on my skin. Every time I shifted in my seat, every time I crossed or uncrossed my legs, every time I reached for my water glass, I swore I could feel his awareness tracking the movement.

It was maddening. Infuriating. And God help me, arousing in a way that made me want to scream.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession. I ignored it. Whatever it was could wait. I was not going to be the person who checked their phone in the middle of a board meeting, especially not with Ahmir Wolfe's dark eyes cataloging my every move.

The buzzing continued. Insistent. Urgent. My stomach dropped. The kids. It had to be about the kids, Zaran or Malik's school. I pulled out my phone as discreetly as possible, angling it below the table. Five missed calls from the Elementary school. Three texts from a number I didn't recognize.

Your son Malik has been injured. Please call immediately.

The blood drained from my face. My hands went cold, fingers suddenly numb as I tried to unlock my phone to call back. The room tilted slightly, and I had to grip the edge of the table to steady myself.

"Ms. Legend, everything alright?"

His voice cut through my panic. I looked up to find every eye in the room on me, including his. But where the others showed irritation at the interruption, his expression was unreadable. Assessing.

"I apologize," I managed, my voice tight. "I need to take this. It's an emergency."

I didn't wait for permission. I was already standing, already moving toward the door, my phone pressed to my ear as I dialed the school back. Behind me, I heard the murmur of voices, someone making a comment about "this is why we never get anything accomplished" that made my jaw clench so hard my teeth ached.

Then, just as I reached the door, I heard him dismissing the board. Not loud and demanding, but clear enough that there was no mistaking it, "Go. We'll continue this meeting later. I can't very well consult on a company's progress without the CEO present. "

Authority suits him too well. I step back inside the room gathering my things, ignoring the curious stares. When the room was cleared of all personnel except us, he spoke again—quietly enough for only me to hear. “You should learn to delegate sometimes, let someone else take control once in a while, Ms. Legend.”

I freeze. My pulse kicks hard against my ribs, heat flashes under my skin in an infuriatingly unwelcome and electric way. I turn slowly, eyes locking on his, lips curving in a slow, deliberate smile. “I’ll let that happen the day someone proves they can handle me.” For a heartbeat, the mask slips. There, a spark, dire , ravishing, amused. Like he likes that I bite. Then I walk away my heels sharp, spine tall, pulse unsteady from my heart pounding, chaos waiting on the other end of my phone call.