Valerio's Secretary

Chapter Ten: The Descent

Zara's POV



The elevator doors just start to close when a large hand shoots between them, forcing them back open.

Valerio steps inside.

My stomach drops. After everything that has happened tonight—the massage, the almost kiss, the way his fingers had lingered on my collar like he had every right to touch me—I’m not ready for more. Not tonight, not when my body is still humming from his closeness and my mind is screaming at me to keep my walls up.

He doesn’t say anything, just presses the button for the underground parking garage, and stands beside me, close enough that our arms brush. There's plenty of space, but he makes it feel tiny. His presence feels every inch of space, sucking the air out until all I can hear is the low hum of the machinery and the sound of my own heartbeat.

The doors close, and we start descending, neither of us speaking.

I keep my eyes fixed on the glowing floor numbers, eager for them to drop faster. Twenty-three…twenty-two…But he shifts slightly, and his shoulder presses against mine, and he doesn’t move away.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy.

“You’re avoiding looking at me, Zara,” he says finally, voice low and rough in the confined space.

I swallow. “It’s late, and I’m tired.”

“Bullshit.” The word comes out soft, almost gentle, but there is frustration underneath it. “You’ve been avoiding me all night. Even when my hands were on you.”

Heat floods my face. I can feel the ghost of his thumbs pressing into my shoulders, the way his breath had brushed my ear when he called me bella. My n*****s tighten again at the memory, and I cross my arms over my chest, hoping he won’t notice.

The elevator continues its smooth descent. Eighteen… seventeen…

He turns towards me, his body towering over me, though I am wearing heels, the scent of his cologne wrapping around me like a trap.

“Look at me,” he commands quietly.

I don’t want to, but something in his voice pulls my gaze up anyway.

His steel-gray eyes are dark and stormy, and his jaw clenches tight. That same unsettled hunger I’ve seen for days now burns brighter. His breathing has changed; it's deeper, slower, like he is trying to control himself and failing.

“You feel this too,” he says coldly. “This thing between us. It’s driving me f*****g crazy, Zara. I barely sleep. I can’t focus, and every time you walk into a room, I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.”

My pulse thunders in my ears. The elevator feels smaller with every floor we pass.

Twelve… eleven…

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I whisper.

“Say you feel it.” He steps closer, and our bodies are almost touching now. His chest brushes the front of my blouse, sending electricity racing across my skin. “Say I’m not losing my mind imagining how perfectly you’d fit against me.”

I can’t breathe properly. My back presses against the cool mirrored wall, and he follows, caging me without using his hands. One arm braces beside my head, while the other hangs at his side, fingers flexing like he is fighting the urge to touch me.

Our faces are inches apart.

His breath mingles with mine — warm, tinged with coffee and that faint whiskey he likes. I can see the faint scar near his hairline from the accident, and my heart aches with everything I can’t say.

“Valerio…” My voice comes out shaky.

“Dimmi la verità, cara,” he murmurs. (Tell me the truth, darling). His forehead nearly rests against mine. “Tell me why your body reacts every time I get close. Why you know exactly how I like my coffee, and why you say my name like you’ve moaned it before.”

My knees weaken, and memories flood in — his mouth on my neck, his hands gripping my hips as he took me on his desk after hours, the way he used to whisper filthy Italian praises in my ear while driving deep inside me.

I let out a shaky breath. Our lips are so close now. One small movement and we’ll cross the line we’ve both been dancing around.

His free hand finally moves.

His fingers brush my waist, then slide slowly up my side, not quite gripping but claiming. My breath hitches audibly, and his does too.

The tension is unbearable, sweet, addictive, yet painful.

His thumb traces the underside of my breast through my blouse, feather-light. A small, helpless sound escapes my throat, and his eyes darken further. His body presses fully against mine now, and I can feel it all. Hard chest, strong thighs, and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against my stomach.

“f**k the rule,” he growls under his breath.

My hands come up instinctively, fisting in his shirt, and I don’t push him away. I hold on like he is the only solid thing in my world.

The elevator slows, and a soft ding echoes through the small space.

The doors begin to open.

He doesn’t move at first. His forehead presses against mine for one final second, eyes squeezed shut like he’s in pain, his breathing ragged, matching mine.

Then, with a harsh curse, he shoves himself back. "This is a mistake," he says, voice sharp, and my skin prickles. "Coming down here with you. Don’t expect it to happen again."

The cold air rushes between us as he steps away, jaw locked tight, fists clenched at his sides. Anger at himself rolls off him in waves, and he looks furious and tormented, like he hated how much he wanted me.

The doors open fully to the dimly lit parking garage, and he doesn’t spare me another glance as he strides out, his long legs carrying him away fast, shoulders rigid like he can’t get away from me, from us, fast enough.

I stay frozen against the elevator wall for several long seconds, legs trembling, body aching with unfulfilled need, while my lips still tingling even though we didn’t kiss, my skin burns where he’d touched me.

Finally, I step out on shaky heels.

He’s already at his black SUV, yanking the door open. He pauses before getting in, glancing back at me across the empty garage, and even from a distance, I can still see the storm in his eyes.

He looks like a man at war with himself.

I turn and walk quickly to my own car, not trusting my voice if he calls out. Not trusting myself not to run back to him.

And as I slide behind the wheel and start the engine, one terrifying truth settles deep in my bones.

The pull between us isn’t just getting stronger.

It is becoming impossible to fight.

I grip the steering wheel tight and drive into the night, heart heavy and body still burning.

How much longer can I keep running from a man who is starting to chase what is already his?