Rules of Engagement

by Lily White

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After spending half an hour in Donovan’s office, staring at him from across his desk as he typed out his plans for the day and how they involved me, I walked into the back area of the main room and sat down at my desk. My heart had slowed its rhythm while Donovan had fired off his commands, and my head was less addled by the terror I’d felt to know somebody had been watching me sleep.

  While shuffling through the stacks of paper that would keep me occupied until Donovan needed me again, I briefly considered moving to a new apartment, changing my entire identity in order to escape Dark Realities. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the money it would take to go into hiding, and thus, I didn’t have the option of running away from all my bad decisions with firm plans not to make any more in my life.

  The morning hours shuffled along as I grouped records into files, my thoughts erratic and distracted before my tablet beeped, stealing my attention.

  I just drafted a contract with Security Solutions and saved it into the main drive. Please print it and have it ready for me to review and finalize.

  The stray hairs around my face blew out from the breath I expelled, my thoughts once again focused on work rather than the nightmare that waited for me on the sidewalks outside this building. At least here I was safe. I highly doubted Donovan would allow a strange man to sneak in to harass me. That was his job.

  Turning my chair, I booted up the computer. It fired to life, a cheerful sound ringing through the small room as the computer finished loading. Finding the drive Donovan had earlier described to me while I’d been in his office, I found the document he needed and hit print. An icon spun and spun as my eyes traced between the screen and the large black and silver printer sitting beside it. Nothing happened, so I hit cancel and print again.

  Still, nothing happened.

  My eyes clenched shut and opened again, frustration eating away at every last bit of patience I had left for this day. Pushing out of my chair, I checked to make sure the printer was plugged in and operational. Hitting the test button, I watched as it fired to life, a page printing out with random letters and numbers across it in multiple colors. As far as I could tell, the printer was working, and as such, it should print Donovan’s contract. But it didn’t. No matter how many times I clicked.

  Another wave of frustration burst through me, crawling from my toes up my body and attempting to claw its way out of my throat. The minutes ticked past, one after the other, so many in fact that Donovan grew impatient, his door popping open behind me, his steps heavy against the floor.

  My tablet beeped. Is there a problem?

  “Yes,” I answered, my voice distracted. “The printer won’t work with the computer. I used the test feature to print out a page and that-“

  My voice cut off as soon as I felt his body press against mine from behind. A shiver coursed through me at the contact, half of me demanding I force him away, the other half wanting nothing more than for him to stay right where he was. The masculine scent of his cologne wafted past me, a scent that smelled wealthy, that smelled powerful. It made my knees weak, part in fear, part in something I couldn’t quite name.

  Frozen like any mouse would be when trapped by the starving cat, I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t so much as blink until he reached around me to check the cables at the back of the printer.

  Perhaps what he was doing was simply to help me, but the feel of him said different, the heat that radiated off his chest against my back despite how frigid his blue eyed stare could be. Stunned and immobile, I placed my palms against the surface of the desk as he pressed closer, his hand continuing to mess with cables at the back of the printer as his breath trickled down my neck forcing a reaction in my body that was foreign to me.

  Turning his head so that his lips were dangerously close to my ear, he breathed evenly. It only made my erratic breath more noticeable, my flailing heartbeat more pronounced. A click sounded at the back of the printer as warm air escaped over his lips to tease the fine hairs at the side of my head. Closing my eyes, I willed my body to remain still, to not push back against him in search of something more.

  This contact between our bodies should have sent me screaming for the nearest room where I could be alone and out of reach, but for some odd reason, being near Donovan felt like I was playing with fire and not giving a damn that touching his flame would only get me burned.

  He pulled away from me as suddenly as he’d touched me, his steps unhurried as he returned to his office and closed the door. My lungs released the breath I’d been holding since the moment I felt his body against mine, and I didn’t want to think about the way my thighs had tightened together to a point of discomfort.

  Reaching a shaky hand over to the mouse of the computer, I clicked the button to print the document. The printer fired to life, the contract spilling out on warm paper as the ink continued to dry. It felt like every cell of my body had come to life as easily as the printer - and all because of the touch of a man who still hadn’t spoken a word to me.

  Questions rushed through my head about Donovan, about why a man as powerful as him would choose to cut himself off from the world. But before I could get lost along that train of thought, my tablet beeped drawing my attention.

  Please bring the contract into my office.

  The additional instruction wasn’t necessary, but I assumed he’d grown bored of watching me melt to the ground in front of his cameras. I needed to pull myself together again, and this time for an altogether different reason.

  Flustered, I wiped my palms down the front of my green skirt, my eyes gazing down to notice that I’d worn mismatching shoes as I left the apartment that morning. Eyes widening to realize that embarrassing error, I snatched the contract from the printer and wondered what else could go wrong.

  Still, mismatching shoes or not, I spun on my heel and marched into Donovan’s office to find him sitting on the front edge of his desk, his fingers flying over the surface of his tablet. He looked up as I walked in and with a crook of his head, he indicated for me to take the seat in front of him.

  My knee brushed his as I moved to sit down, his blue gaze tracking me like a hawk. Tapping out whatever messages he was sending, he waited for my tablet to beep from the other room before cutting a pointed glare my direction.

  My expression fell, but my body was too tired to handle another panic attack. By that point, I was pretty much done with it all.

  “I’m sorry,” I breathed out. “I didn’t know I needed my tablet. I’m not used to dealing with a person who refuses to -“

  Cutting myself off before that disaster of a statement could leave my mouth, I moved to stand from my chair but was shoved back into the seat. Peeking up at Donovan, I couldn’t help the way my thoughts spun, the way my breath held to see him staring down at me, his mouth pulled into a tight line, his broad shoulders tense. He was dressed in head to toe black, the collar of his shirt pulled open, the tailoring of his slacks so perfect that there was no doubting the strength of his long legs. If I’d had an extra quarter lying around, I would have sworn it could be bounced off his abdomen, or the cheeks of his ass.

  What do you think you know about me?

  Brows shooting up my head, I watched his hands move perfectly as he signed the question to me. It didn’t matter that my jaw was hanging open, didn’t matter that my eyes had widened and I must have looked like a fool to be staring at him dumbstruck, the simple fact was that Donovan Stone had relinquished his ridiculous rule that tablets were to be used for all forms of communication between us.

  “You know sign language?”

  Amusement sparkled behind his eyes, but it did nothing to vanquish the unsettling cold that always froze me within his gaze. I know seven languages, ASL being one of them.

  Seven languages? He had to be brilliant on top of gorgeous to know that many. Jackson had made it sound like Donovan was the unfortunate heir to a multinational corporation he didn’t want. He’d made it sound like Donovan was
just some spoiled rich kid that didn’t care about the world outside video games and whatever types of trouble rich kids got into. But none of that factored in to how he’d learned to speak seven languages. That wasn’t something taught to people who cared little about the world, to people that had little interest in communicating with those around them. The more I learned about Donovan Stone, the more enigmatic he became.

  “That’s impressive,” I admitted, completely ignoring the question he’d originally asked me.

  His brow arched in question. And although I’d forgotten the question he’d asked, he hadn’t. Tell me what you think you know about me.

  The problem with ASL is that, sometimes, the tone of voice, and even emotion, can so easily get lost in translation. Yet, somehow, Donovan had been able to saturate his signed words with exactly what he was thinking and feeling, so much so that when I heard his voice in my head, the cutting edge of it sliced right through me. Donovan was angry, and I wasn’t sure why.

  “I know that you own Stone Industries. I know that this is only a satellite office, and I know the main hub is on the other side of town. I know-“

  His palm covered my mouth, the warmth of his skin like electric fire against my lips, the salt of his skin seeping down until it was a flavor against the tip of my tongue. Waiting until he was satisfied I would stay quiet, he pulled his hand away slowly, his eyes searching mine.

  It hadn’t been easy to remain still while he was touching me. It had been damn near impossible not to attempt to move away. But there was a tangle of opposites that tripped me up every time I was in this man’s presence - my issue with human contact versus my instinctive desire to get as close to him as I could. Somehow, I thought Donovan could see the war of reaction inside me, that he enjoyed making me question myself.

  Signing slowly as if to ensure I couldn’t miss a single word he said, Donovan demanded, Tell me what you think you know about me. Not what you know about my company, about this office, or about the city I live in. What do you know about me?

  Very little, when it really came down to it. But my hesitation to answer wasn’t a result of how much or how little I knew, it was because I wondered why he was so interested to know. Was Donovan hiding something? What could I possibly know that would make him so heated about the topic?

  “I don’t know much,” I whispered. Clearing my throat so that I could add some strength to my voice, I answered, “I know that you own this company. I know you distance yourself from people -“

  How would you know that?

  Not knowing whether what Jackson had told me was meant to stay between us, I fumbled for a response I could give that would appease Donovan. But the expression of his face told me he knew something, saw something, that made it impossible for me to lie to him. A surgeon wouldn’t be better at utilizing a scalpel than Donovan, not when it came to slicing a person open and extracting all their secrets.

  Why don’t you like being touched?

  Slapped from the opposite side by that question, I was stunned again, my brows pulling together as I stammered over my response. “Because I don’t. Not that it’s any of your business. How do you know I don’t like being touched?”

  Knowledge flashed behind his eyes, some unspoken decision that I somehow knew he would never reveal. Donovan was driving me up a wall and back down again with seemingly random questions that were giving me whiplash. Give me the contract, Ms. Jennings.

  On autopilot, I obeyed. My hand reached up as I struggled to untangle my gaze from his, but it was impossible. Chancing my job, I asked my question again. If he could demand answers, so could I. “How do you know I don’t like being touched?”

  Just as I asked the question, he snatched the paper from my hand, but not before brushing out with his finger to run the tip along mine. Pulling my hand back to my body, I stared at him hating the way his brow arched again as if he’d just proven his point.

  Setting the papers on his knee, he signed, You can leave my office now. At least until I need you again. Lips pulling into a grin, he dismissed me with the ease of a Master dismissing a lowly servant.

  Smart enough to know where I wasn’t wanted, I left his office, taking care not to brush his body with mine as I stood from my chair. I’d shut the door and was halfway to my desk when my tablet beeped from the surface of the desk.

  Your shoes don’t match. Rough morning, by chance?

  I stilled to read the message, my eyes narrowing on a thought that nagged at my mind. Unable to put my finger on it, I forced my thumbs over the screen and had started to respond when something loud crashed behind me. A scream tore from my lips, my body spinning as my hand flew to my chest. Jackson stood near a corner shelf, computer equipment in his hands and by his feet.

  “Sorry, I thought you heard me come in.”

  Forcing my fingers to stop gripping the material of my shirt, I released a shaky breath, attempting to make it sound more like laughter than the wail that it was. “No problem. I should have been more observant.”

  Jackson’s head cocked to the side, his amber eyes pinning mine with suspicion lit behind them. Glancing between Donovan’s door and me, he lowered his voice to ask, “Is everything okay? Did Donovan do something to upset you?”

  When didn’t Donovan do something to upset me? I was beginning to believe the man spent all those hours tucked behind his door silently plotting how he could drive me crazy with the next set of loaded questions or rude comments he wanted to make. Shaking my head, I forced a smile. “No. Just having a rough day.”

  As soon as the words left my mouth, relief flooded me. Donovan hadn’t asked his last question because of something he knew personally, he’d asked it because I’d told him when I walked in that my morning had been rough. How stupid was I to believe that Donovan somehow knew I had a stranger in my room, that I’d awoken to a rose and note that sent shivers coursing across my skin?

  Still unsure, Jackson continued studying me, but finally shrugged a broad shoulder and explained, “I have an installation job I’ll be working over the next few days, so I’ll be in and out of the office. Has my delivery arrived yet? Trevor said he’d have it here before noon.”

  Where Donovan was lean and toned, Jackson was bulky and rugged. I wouldn’t bet against either of them in a fight, but the differences between them were becoming more apparent as the days passed. Donovan was like the iceberg that sunk the Titanic while Jackson was more like a bear that would eat you alive. Both were dangerous, but at least Jackson had the warmth of a living body.

  “Haven’t seen him. If you need to leave now, I can send him to wherever you’re performing the job once he gets here.”

  He shook his head, the shaggy brown hair framing his face blowing out with the motion. “That’s fine. I can wait. I need to speak with Donovan anyway.”

  Smiling awkwardly, I nodded and returned to my desk to continue filing away paperwork. I heard Donovan’s door open and close behind me, heard one loud voice speaking before the room behind the door went silent again.

  Unsure what that was about, I decided to keep my head down. Whatever was going on with those two didn’t involve me, so it was better I stayed out of it.

  Another hour flew by while Jackson was in Donovan’s office, the lobby door eventually opening as Trevor stepped through with a bundle of packages in his hand. His bright smile was enough to diminish the chill in the office, his gleaming eyes glittering with humor and warmth.

  “Morning, Mia. Is Jackson around? I promised him these parts before noon.”

  Nodding my head, I held up a finger to ask for one second as I knocked on Donovan’s door, but before I could reach it, the door popped open and both Jackson and Donovan stepped out.

  “Finally,” Jackson breathed out as he stepped toward Trevor. With my gaze locked to those two, I hadn’t realized how close Donovan had stepped toward me. It wasn’t until a fingertip softly traced down my spine that I noticed him, and the small, surprised sound that escaped my lips drew everybody’s
attention. Trevor and Jackson scowled, and when I turned to look at Donovan, he simply stared ahead at the other two men while casually tucking his hands in his pockets.

  It appeared that Donovan was enjoying toying with my dislike of touch, and that another game had begun that didn’t involve missing computer sites and sexual fantasies I didn’t want to take part in.

  Turning to glare at him, I didn’t miss the smirk that pulled at his perfect lips.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The rest of the day sailed by smoothly. Donovan neither messaged nor exited his office, but still his silent presence behind his door made me feel better about the danger that lurked outside the safety of Stone Industries. It was a few minutes to five and already my stomach was tying itself in knots, dread sliding down my throat to lodge itself in my chest and pulse with each passing second I had left before I had to navigate the city sidewalks back to my car.

  Packing my things, I was shutting down my computer just as Donovan stepped out. Thinking he needed one last thing before I left, I turned toward him. He didn’t look in my direction. Instead, he walked to the half wall, flipped the main lights off and returned to his office beneath the glow of the orange security lights. I was beginning to believe that turning off the lights was his way of telling me it was time to go home.

  Shaking my head, I ignored his games. They were nothing compared to the other game I was playing, the one that held me in its terrifying grasp during the hours I wasn’t under Donovan’s control.

  My legs shook as I made my way through the lobby and out the door, as I descended the three flights of stairs and stood just inside the main glass doors staring out into the half empty streets. I hated this side of town only because it felt so empty, left me feeling far too exposed to whoever was watching from shadowed corners.

  The last thing I wanted to do was walk out there, but having no choice, I pushed the door open and ran to my car, ignoring the way my ankles protested to be running in heels. Making a mental note to bring sneakers with me in the future just for these mad dashes between buildings and my car, I didn’t breathe easy until I was home again and I was done locking the deadbolts and sliding the chain into place over the door.