When Hearts Ignite: An Angsty Billionaire Office Romance (The Orchid) by Victoria Lum

Author:Victoria Lum [Lum, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eternal Hearts Publishing
Published: 2024-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

Jab. Swish. Jab.

I parry and dodge the foil aiming for my neck and torso from what seems to be multiple directions as Ryland and I move on the piste, the mat in the fencing club next to the boxing gym within The Orchid.

Sweat drips down my hair within my mask. My body, encased in the classic white fencing uniform, is burning with residual energy from last night at Trésor with Grace. She fucking ran away from me again after she came so sweetly on my lap, leaving me with a hard on to end all hard ons even after I came in my pants.

Why won’t she let me help her? Grunting, I block an attack from Ryland, my mind in a convoluted mess.

Then there was the blistering phone call I received from Mother this morning.

“I couldn’t believe it when Linda Winstead told me. You bought out a strip club for the entire night at The Orchid for a dancer? How could you? You’re a Kingsley. This is appalling.”

“It’s none of your business, Mother. I’m not like Emily or Jess, and I won’t listen to you.”

She shrieks in my ear, her voice sounding more desperate, because she knows it’s true. “Listen to me, Steven. You can’t cavort with Grace Peyton. And yes, before you ask, I know all about her, about how she was an intern and now a dancer,” she spits out the word like it’s a curse, “and her background in the slums. You aren’t allowed to be with her, Steven Kingsley, or I’ll—”

I cut her off and hang up. No time for her bullshit when my life is literally in tatters.

Then, to add fuel to a roaring fire, my sources told me Hancock met with Voss early this morning and Hancock subsequently stormed out of the meeting in a fit of anger, his face purple as he sped away in his town car. I’m livid, pulling my hair out in trying to figure out what Voss is doing to get the board members of TransAmerica to dance to his tune.

I should be working, concocting my counterattack, getting on a plane to fly to LA to talk to Hancock and ask him what the hell he’s thinking. But instead, I’m here, restless, unease swirling my insides, permeating every cell, every atom of my body. My mind is filled with fragments of her, twisting, resurfacing, coming together and falling apart again.

Everything is her.

Her smell. Her taste. Her touch.

The way she sauntered toward me, her tight body swaying in a sensual rhythm only innate to the opposite sex. The way those little pearls did the bare minimum to hide her smooth flesh from onlookers, each movement from her earning us a perverse peekaboo of those full tits and curvy hips.

How she felt against me, soft and silky, her scent of jasmine driving me crazy as my lungs clamored to draw in deeper inhales, to commit this sweet fragrance in memory, in case I didn’t get to smell it at the source again.

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