Heat radiated through Lucas's thin white shirt, overwhelming Nina's senses. She remained pinned against his broad chest, her spine arched slightly backward, her heels practically lifting from the polished marble floor. Her breath hitched, coming in short, uneven gasps that sounded incredibly loud in the massive, open foyer.
She wanted to look away… desperately needed to pull her eyes from his, but his gaze suffocated her, locking her in place with a heavy, unblinking intensity that made her entire body feel weak. A tremor ran through her arms, betraying the composure she fought to maintain.
"Let... let me go, Mr. Grant," she whispered, her voice lacking any real corporate authority. She had meant for it to sound like a firm command, a professional boundary drawn in stone. Instead, it came out as a fragile, breathless plea that made heat rise to her cheeks.
