Location:Grand Ballroom, Umbra Operations HQ, Dallas, Texas, USA
Time: 09:58 pm
"Well now," he murmured against her ear, voice like a flame brushing her skin, "You really are a good girl, aren't you?" Indeed, she is polite and proper, even perfectly controlled.
His hand moved higher, trailing slowly from her lower belly up her side, fingers tracing the lines of her body with deliberate, testing slowness.
"But you hold yourself too tight, baby girl." He leaned in closer, breathing warm, his voice almost coaxing."A woman like you," His tone dipped, darker, more amused, "deserves to be taught how to cry under me."
Then, with a whisper of a laugh, as if biting down on his own grin, he added, "Being bad once in a while…doesn't that sound fun?" His words, raw, filthy, were laced with the kind of poison that came dressed in perfect cadence. He thought she would flinch. Blush. Break, if only for a second.
But she still didn't. She merely turned her head, breath brushing deliberately against his jaw. Her voice came soft, but sharp as a blade across the throat. "If I wanted to be bad," she whispered, calm as still water, "I could be, Sir." A pause. Then her words fell with the clarity of a tolling bell."Just not here. Not now. Not with you." And with that, she pulled away. Ending the game, oh no, even better, ending him.
But of course, he didn't let her go. He spoke again. Not with mockery this time, but like a man watching the last thread of control slip through his fingers. "Ah, Darlin'" He dragged out the words, almost sulking, voice laced with frustrated arousal."You're really making this difficult for me."
His grip never loosened. And that smile, wasn't victory. It was hunger. And the ache of knowing he was already losing."You're too perfect," he murmured. "Too polite. Too damn poised. And I just want to ruin you."
His fingers found her chin, thumb grazing along the sharp edge of her jawline, as if tracing something he wasn't allowed to touch, yet couldn't stop craving.
"But it's that exact calm," he leaned in, his voice falling to a hush like midnight wind against a windowpane." That was the part I was most attracted to."
"The colder you get…" His lips ghosted just above her cheek."...the more I want to break that composure, sweetheart. I want to see you come undone.I want to watch you, powerless to fight back."
She didn't flinch. Didn't take the bait. Didn't even respond to the crude provocation. She merely tilted her head slightly, as if growing bored. "Mr. Graves." Her tone was cool, like chilled whiskey. As polite and emotionless as a clause buried deep in a hostile takeover agreement. "If you make one more move or say one more word, inappropriately, the price will increase. Five percent. Per incident. Are we clear here?" And with that, she stepped back. Unshaken. Untouched. Unbothered.
He froze, then let out a deep, theatrical sigh. The kind laced with frustration, protest… and the faintest hint of a sulk.
"Goddamn it…" he muttered under his breath."Your negotiation style is brutal, Ms. Jar." His body still radiated heat against her back, and she could almost feel the subtle tremor of his bruised pride vibrating through his chest."Five percent?" he growled, half laughing. Voice rough. Smoky."Christ, I'm going to go broke before I even get to kiss you."
She had already walked away a few steps when he called out, exasperated but still playful: "Can I get a discount, huh? Five percent's highway robbery, sweetheart." His tone has become softer now. Bargaining like a spoiled gunslinger who'd finally realized, this wasn't just a flirtation. It was a war. He thought the game was over. That she'd shut the door and locked it tight, but then, she turned around.
Her gaze shimmered like light along the rim of a champagne flute, cool, amused, and just a touch too warm. Her tone was soft. Her stance was serene. But behind it all, something flickered, a spark of challenge, just enough to make him chase harder. She spoke at last, calm, unrushed:"How about that kiss… after the deal is done?"
Her voice was soft, almost tender, but still carried that chilling, razor-sharp sense of control. "Call it a celebration dinner date," she added with a faint upward tilt of her lips."Steak. Wine… and me."
He let out a low chuckle, part frustration, part surrender. But there was something unexpectedly gentle in it, like a storm losing momentum. Then he pulled her in, closer, tighter. Lyra's body pressed fully against his chest, caught in the heat of him like a wall of fire. His palm circled slowly at her waist.
This time, the touch wasn't flirtation. It was something quieter. Almost like a truce.
"Of course, Ms. Jar," he murmured, his voice no longer teasing, but edged with something closer to sincerity. He leaned in again, just slightly, his lips brushing against her temple like a silent agreement sealed in heat and quiet restraint.
"I'll behave…be a good boy," he whispered, the softness in his tone enough to make anyone falter."Until the deal is done, I won't lay a finger on you. Even though…" he exhaled, his gaze dropping to her lips,"I really, really want to kiss your pretty lips right now."
She smiled, subtle, unhurried, then gave him a single, deliberate wink. Not flashy, just enough to haunt him. And then, just as deliberately, she stepped out of his arms. His hand slipped from her waist, empty now, but his eyes never left her. She smoothed the dress he'd wrinkled, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and turned with that same composed gleam in her eyes. "Well then, good chat Mr. Graves." she said lightly. "Night."
A pause. "I'll see you at the meeting." Nothing more.
Her heels clicked softly against the floor, unhurried, unbothered, as she walked into the dim-lit corridor, and out of his reach. He froze, just for a few seconds, long enough for her to vanish into the crowd. That look… That damn wink... Nearly buckled his knees.
Nearly knocked the breath out of him. He let out a low grunt, his hand falling helplessly to his side. But his eyes were still chasing her, chasing the sway of her hips, the echo of her heels, the gravity she carried.
"Lyra Jar," he said under his breath. He knew then, this time, he'd met his match.
After Lyra left, Arthur completely lost interest for the rest of the evening. He slipped the business card into his front pocket, waved his teams away, and turned on his heels without a second thought.
It was late by the time he returned to his private estate on the outskirts of Dallas, a place as quiet and composed as he was. Drew a long bath, changed into a dark grey silk robe, and reached for a cigar. But just as the flame flickered to life, he hesitated, then snuffed it out.
That card. It lay silently in his palm. Paper-thin, and yet it seemed to carry the full weight of her silhouette. She was too special, almost unreal.Beautiful in precise proportions, effortlessly sensual, sharp in presence yet elegant in restraint, like a puzzle piece designed just for him.
But it was her eyes that haunted him the most: calm, almost cruel in their clarity.
He'd encountered countless women before, many who melted under his touch, some who begged for his gaze.But this one? Her body welcomed his proximity, every physiological response was real… And yet she remained alert. Still. Intact.
As if the fire never touched her ice. The paradox made his blood sing. He murmured to himself, voice low and a little breathless, "Darlin'… you really are a rival worth stepping into the ring for."
Then it hit him. He couldn't control her. Not in any of the ways he was used to. No pressure, no flirtation, no power move would guarantee submission. And that… That both infuriated and electrified him. Because if she ever did yield, what he would gain wasn't just pleasure. It would be a weapon.
A rare and powerful asset:Chief Financial Officer of The Wind Core Holdings. A core board member who can effect 25% global outsourcing of military resources. A powerful player who, if she chose to, could rewire the supply arteries of every PMC on the map in under 24 hours.
The more he thought of her, the deeper he sank. That image, her faint smile, composed and untouchable, had become a riddle he couldn't stop unraveling. The colder she was, the more addictive it became. He smirked again.
But this time… something fractured in the expression. Something unfamiliar.A crack he hadn't felt in years.A flicker of, God forbid, self-doubt. Then it hit him.
What Lyra truly ignited in him wasn't lust, wasn't conquest. It was insecurity.A sensation so alien it disoriented him.
He'd spent a lifetime mastering control, over people, over battlefields, over entire organisations. He knew how to dominate with power, money, and intimidation.
But she…She was stronger, richer & sharper.
She was more connected, for sure.