Chapter 150

Sean POV

I stood frozen in the doorway of my Four Seasons penthouse suite, watching Angela storm away without a word. The elevator doors slid shut on her retreating figure, leaving confusion swirling in my mind.

What the hell just happened?

One minute we were dissecting investment proposals, the next she was bolting like I'd set the room on fire.

Her sudden shift gnawed at me. Unless Had Christopher Blake gotten to her? The thought ignited a blaze of anger in my chest, my hands curling into fists.

No one meddled in my affairs-and Angela, despite our tangled history, was still mine to handle. This wasn't over.

My lips pressed into a hard line as I strode toward the elevator, determined to catch her before she slipped away. Whatever had sparked this, I'd drag the truth out of her tonight.

My phone buzzed relentlessly in my pocket, halting my pursuit. I yanked it out, answering with a sharp,

"What?"-my voice a blade of cold authority.

Silence stretched for a beat before a tentative female voice broke through.

"Sean, it's me."

"Christina." Not a question-a fact.

"Yes. You sound upset. Is something wrong?" Her tone softened. "I've been calling, but you didn't answer."

My mind sharpened instantly. "You've been calling me repeatedly?"

"I called once or twice, but when you didn't pick up, I got worried," she said, her voice syrupy. "I kept trying. You're not angry, are you? I was just concerned."

The puzzle snapped into place. I glanced at my phone-missed calls from Christina lighting up the screen like a neon sign.

Angela must've seen it. Her abrupt exit clicked into focus.

"Don't ever call me like that again," I ordered, my tone leaving no room for debate.

"I'm sorry, Sean. I was just worried something might've happened-"

"Enough." I cut her off. "If something had happened, how would spamming my phone help? You'd just drain my battery when I might need it."

She murmured an apology, but I didn't wait for more. "I have bigger things to deal with." I ended the call and shoved the phone back into my pocket, my strides purposeful as I hit the elevator.

Angela Wilson had just tipped her hand-she still cared. A flicker of satisfaction curled my lips. Her jealousy was a confession scrawled in bold ink.

The hotel parking garage loomed dim and shadowed. I spotted her instantly-her slender frame cutting through the gloom toward her car with that defiant grace of hers.

I reached her in seconds. As she yanked the car door open, I slammed it shut with one forceful shove, pinning her between me and the cold metal in a single, fluid motion.

She squirmed, her hands shoving against my chest.

"Let go of me," she snapped, her voice tight. Her eyes darted to where my fingers clamped her wrist, but she twisted her face away, refusing to meet my gaze.

I wasn't having it. My free hand shot up, gripping her chin firmly, forcing her head back until her hazel eyes locked with mine.

"I need to talk to you,"

Her lips parted, breath hitching. "Fine. Talk."

"You bolted from my suite like it was a crime scene," I said, "Was it those calls on my phone?"

Her jaw tightened under my fingers. "Why would I care about your phone? Your private life's got nothing to do with me."

"Doesn't it?" I pressed, my thumb brushing the edge of her lip, feeling the faint tremble there. "You didn't see anything?"

"No," she shot back too fast, her defiance brittle. "Let me go."

I shifted closer, my hips pinning hers against the car. My cock stirred at the feel of her body wriggling against me, her curves grinding into me with every futile twist.

I tightened my grip on her wrist, the other hand sliding from her chin to brace against the window, caging her in.

"If you didn't see anything," I murmured, voice dropping to a possessive growl, "why'd you turn to ice up there? Don't play me for a fool, Angela."

Her scent-jasmine and heat-flooded my senses, and fuck, it was intoxicating. Her breasts pressed against my chest as she fought to pull away, and I felt the blood rush south, my cock hardening against her thigh.

Five years hadn't dulled the way her body fit mine, like she was carved for me. My breath came heavier, desire tangling with the need to dominate this moment.

"There's nothing between Christina and me," I said, my words a hard, unyielding truth. "Nothing."

Her eyes flared-hurt, anger, something raw-before she masked it. "Why tell me? I don't give a damn about your girlfriend. Just let me go."

"I won't," I said, my voice a vow. My fingers dug into her wrist, and I leaned in, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. "If you don't care, why'd you flip like that?"

"It didn't change," she lied, but the crack in her voice betrayed her. "I've been the same."

"Bullshit." I pressed my body harder against hers, feeling her hips shift, her thighs brushing mine. My erection throbbed, straining against my trousers as her squirming stoked the fire in my veins.

"You've always been cold, but after those calls, you turned hostile. I know the difference."

She went still, her breath ragged.

The night wind whipped through the garage, tossing her hair across her flushed cheeks.

I wanted to bury my hands in it, to yank her head back and claim her mouth, her throat, every inch of her trembling frame. My cock ached at the thought, pulsing with a need I hadn't felt this sharp in years.

I dipped my head, lips hovering over hers, close enough to feel her shaky exhale. "That's the difference, Angela," I whispered, my voice thick with lust and certainty. "Why can't you just admit you're pissed at me over another woman!"