Marcus looked up at her with the startled expression of someone who'd been completely absorbed in his own drama and hadn't noticed the shift in atmosphere. "Oh, Ms. Sharp, I was just.."
"Now," Victoria said, the single word cutting through Marcus's explanation like a blade through silk. There was no anger in her voice, no overt hostility, but the command was absolute and non-negotiable.
Marcus scrambled to his feet immediately, his earlier desperation temporarily forgotten in the face of Victoria's executive presence. "Of course, sorry, I didn't realize.."
"Close the door behind you," Victoria added as Marcus hurried toward the exit.
James watched this interaction with growing fascination and anxiety, recognizing the casual exercise of power that Victoria wielded so effortlessly. She'd dismissed Marcus without rudeness but with complete finality, establishing her territorial claim over both James's time and attention.
The soft click of the door closing seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden silence, and James realized with a start that Victoria had turned the lock. The sound of the mechanism engaging sent heat spiraling through his system, making him hyperaware of the fact that they were now completely alone and isolated from interruption.
Victoria turned to face him, and James felt his breath catch at the intensity of her gaze. She was looking at him like he was something she owned, something she had every right to examine and assess at her leisure.
"Good morning, James," she said, her voice carrying undertones that made his name sound like an endearment.
"Good morning," he managed, his voice slightly hoarse despite his best efforts to sound normal.
Victoria moved toward his coffee machine with the kind of fluid grace that made every step look intentional and choreographed. James found himself following her movements with helpless fascination, his naivety with romantic dynamics leaving him completely uncertain about how he should behave.
Should I stand up? Should I say something about the tie? Should I acknowledge what happened Friday night, or wait for her to bring it up?
The questions cascaded through his mind in rapid succession, each one highlighting his complete lack of preparation for this moment. In all his fantasies about Victoria pursuing him, he'd somehow skipped over the practical realities of how such interactions actually worked.
"Coffee?" Victoria asked, holding up a mug as the machine finished brewing.
"Thank you," James said, his voice still carrying that slightly strained quality that seemed to be his default setting whenever Victoria was in close proximity.
She prepared the coffee with the same precise attention to detail she brought to everything else, adding cream and sugar in exactly the proportions James preferred. The fact that she knew his coffee preferences so specifically sent another surge of heat through his system, evidence of how closely she'd been observing him long before Friday night's declaration.
Victoria crossed the office toward his desk, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor in a rhythm that seemed to match his accelerated heartbeat. She placed the mug on his desk within easy reach, then remained standing close enough that James could smell her perfume, something subtle and expensive that made him want to lean closer and breathe her in.
"I like your tie," she said, her voice carrying just enough warmth to make the compliment feel intimate rather than professional.
James felt heat flood his cheeks at the acknowledgment, his fingers automatically moving to adjust the silk knot at his throat. "Thank you," he said, the words coming out slightly breathless despite his efforts to maintain composure.
The simple exchange felt loaded with significance, an acknowledgment of the gift and his acceptance of it, of her pursuit and his willingness to participate. Victoria's eyes remained fixed on his face as he spoke, cataloguing every micro-expression with the kind of attention that made James feel simultaneously thrilled and exposed.
She moved around his desk with casual confidence, her fingertips trailing along the edge of the wooden surface as she circled toward his chair. James remained seated, his body rigid with anticipation and uncertainty, unsure whether he should stand or remain where he was.
When Victoria reached his chair, she turned to face him fully, her proximity making his pulse hammer against his collar. Without warning, she reached out and touched his lapel, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his vest with the kind of casual possessiveness that made his breath catch.
"Perfect fit," she murmured, her attention apparently focused on some minor adjustment to his clothing.
However, James was hyperaware of how close her fingers were to his skin, how the simple touch sent electricity racing along his nerve endings. When her hands moved from his lapel to his exposed forearms, trailing along the corded muscle revealed by his rolled-up sleeves, James felt his entire body respond with an intensity that left him dizzy.
Goosebumps erupted along his skin at her touch, his breathing becoming shallow and quick as Victoria's fingers explored the landscape of his forearms with obvious appreciation. The sensation was overwhelming, no one had ever touched him with such deliberate sensuality, such clear ownership of his physical responses.
James flushed red from his neck to his hairline, the unfamiliarity making every sensation feel magnified and overwhelming. He could feel his pulse hammering beneath Victoria's fingertips, could see the way his skin responded to her touch with involuntary reactions that betrayed his arousal.
Someone could knock on the door, part of his mind whispered frantically. This is your office, during business hours. Anyone could see.
However, even as that rational voice protested, James found himself completely helpless to pull away from Victoria's exploration. Her touch was confident, possessive, making it clear that she had every right to touch him however she pleased.
"How was your weekend?" Victoria asked conversationally, as if she weren't currently running her fingers along his skin in ways that were making coherent thought nearly impossible.
James struggled to form words, his mind scattered by the contrast between her casual tone and the intimate nature of her touch. "It was... quiet," he managed, his voice coming out rougher than intended.
"Mine as well," Victoria replied, her fingers continuing their exploration of his forearms. "Though I spent quite a bit of time thinking about Friday night."