James had expected the morning executive meeting to be torture, thirty minutes of trying to maintain professional composure while Victoria sat across the conference table, her presence a constant reminder of silk ties and possessive touches and promises that made his pulse race. He'd prepared himself for distraction, for the impossible task of focusing on quarterly reports while his mind replayed the sensation of her fingers trailing along his forearms.
Instead, he found himself slipping into work mode with surprising ease.
The familiar rhythm of business discussion grounded him in ways he hadn't anticipated. As soon as the meeting began, James felt his mind shift into the analytical patterns that had made him successful, parsing financial data, identifying market trends, contributing insights that cut straight to the heart of complex strategic challenges.
This was his element. Numbers and projections and competitive analysis were languages he spoke fluently, territories where his competence was unquestionable. The confidence he sometimes struggled to find in personal interactions came naturally here, in boardrooms and budget meetings and the intricate dance of corporate strategy.
He took notes with his usual precision, asked relevant questions at appropriate moments, and found himself genuinely engaged with the discussion of market expansion and revenue optimization. The silk tie around his throat became just another piece of professional attire rather than a brand marking Victoria's claim on him.
Maybe compartmentalization really is possible, James thought as he contributed to a discussion about quarterly projections. Maybe I can separate the personal from the professional after all.
However, even as he maintained his focus on the business at hand, James was peripherally aware of Victoria's presence at the head of the conference table. She looked every inch the commanding CEO, sharp gray suit immaculate, hair pulled back in that severe style that emphasized the elegant line of her neck, her attention apparently focused entirely on the reports and presentations unfolding around the polished mahogany surface.
To anyone else in the room, Victoria Sharp appeared to be operating at peak efficiency, her usual razor-sharp focus cutting through unnecessary details to identify the core issues that demanded executive attention. She asked incisive questions, made decisive statements about resource allocation, and guided the discussion with the kind of authoritative competence that had built her reputation as one of the most formidable business leaders in the industry.
But internally, Victoria was fighting a war against her own traitorous body and scattered mind.
Every cell in her system seemed hyperaware of James's presence six feet away from her, cataloguing details she'd never noticed before in three years of professional interaction. The way his vest fit across his broad shoulders, emphasizing the lean strength of his torso. The contrast between the midnight blue silk at his throat and the warm tone of his skin. The way he held his pen when he took notes, long fingers wrapped around the instrument with the same casual confidence he brought to everything he touched.
And those forearms. God, those forearms.
Victoria had always been aware that James was an attractive man, it would have been impossible to work with him for three years without noticing his classical features and athletic build. But this morning, with his sleeves rolled up and his attention focused on the quarterly reports, she found herself genuinely distracted by the sight of corded muscles and prominent veins curled like tendrils beneath the surface masculine and unignorable. His forearms had no business being that defined, his veins no right to trace his skin like a roadmap to desire. Victoria swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry. That was new. She'd never... salivated for someone.
She'd touched those arms less than an hour ago, had felt the way his skin warmed under her fingertips and the way goosebumps erupted in response to her exploration. The memory made something clench low in her abdomen, a sensation so unfamiliar and intense that it took her breath away.
"Ms. Sharp?" Michael's voice cut through her scattered thoughts. "What's your take on the Henderson projections?"
Victoria blinked, realizing with horror that she'd been caught staring at James's hands as he flipped through his notes. He wasn't even trying to be seductive and that made it worse or better. She wasn't sure. She forced her attention back to the spreadsheets displayed on the conference room's wall-mounted screen.
"The growth trajectory is ambitious but achievable," she said smoothly, her voice carrying none of the internal chaos that was making her pulse race. "However, I'd like to see more conservative estimates for the third quarter implementation phase."
The response was professional, appropriate, exactly the kind of measured analysis her team expected from her. However, Victoria could feel sweat beginning to gather at the base of her neck, her body betraying the effort it was taking to maintain this façade of composed control.
She wasn't even aware of the quarterly projections being discussed anymore. Her mind was projecting something else entirely: herself, in his lap, her blazer open, his hand on her waist, her back arched as he whispered her name in that voice she hadn't yet heard in bed but imagined too often.
She adjusted her position, suddenly aware of a pulse between her legs that throbbed in sync with her racing heart. When did her neck become so sensitive? Just now, imagining James trailing his fingers down it. When did her breasts start to ache at the thought of being gently palmed through silk? When did the small of her back start to crave being pressed into his chest?
She'd never felt this before not with anyone.
Not even the exes who'd tried to seduce her with candlelit dinners and whispered nothings. They never made her this... flammable.
James did. And he hadn't even touched her.
Yet.
She again shifted in her chair, crossing her legs beneath the conference table, and immediately regretted the movement as the subtle pressure sent another wave of unfamiliar sensation through her system. When had crossing her legs ever felt like that? When had such an ordinary gesture become loaded with awareness and heat?
James was explaining something about market penetration strategies, his voice carrying the kind of confident authority that Victoria had always found professionally impressive. But now, listening to him speak with such competent certainty, she found herself focusing on the sound of his voice rather than the content of his words.
Had his voice always carried those subtle undertones? Had she simply never noticed the way certain words seemed to resonate in frequencies that made her skin feel too tight?
Victoria uncrossed her legs and immediately crossed them again, trying to find a position that didn't make her hyperaware of her own body. The movement was unconscious, driven by restless energy that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her system.
Focus, she commanded herself sternly. You're a CEO, not a teenager with a crush. Act like the professional you are.
However, even as she tried to force her attention back to the business discussion, Victoria found her gaze drifting to James's profile as he reviewed a document. The morning light streaming through the conference room windows caught the sharp line of his jaw, emphasizing the masculine angles that she'd somehow never fully appreciated before.
She'd always known James was handsome in an understated way, the kind of classical good looks that aged well and commanded quiet respect. But this morning, wearing her silk tie and the navy vest that fit him like it had been tailored specifically for his athletic frame, he looked devastating in ways that made her mouth go dry.