CHAPTER 13

A Dangerous Game

Naarah had made a decision.

She wasn't going to think about Peter today.

Not about the way he looked at her like she was a puzzle he was determined to solve.

Not about the way his voice dropped to a teasing murmur, sending shivers down her spine.

And definitely not about the kiss—the one that had left her mind spinning and her heart hammering in ways she refused to analyze.

No.

Today, she was going to focus.

Work.

That was all that mattered.

Yet, the moment she stepped into the sleek glass entrance of the building, she felt it.

His presence.

It wasn't something tangible. There was no announcement, no grand display. But she felt it, deep in her bones, like a shift in the air.

And then she saw him.

Peter stood near the elevators, his tall frame exuding effortless power, dressed in a dark charcoal suit that fit him too perfectly. He wasn't talking to anyone, wasn't doing anything particularly attention-grabbing—just standing there, scrolling through his phone.

But somehow, he commanded the space like he owned it.

Which, technically, he did.

Naarah swallowed hard, forcing her steps to remain steady.

She would not acknowledge him.

She would not let him know he affected her.

She walked straight past him, head held high.

"Naarah."

Damn it.

His voice—low, rich, and unmistakably amused—made her pause despite herself.

She took a slow breath before turning halfway. "What?"

Peter slipped his phone into his pocket and closed the distance between them.

"You're avoiding me," he said, his tone light, as if he found the very idea entertaining.

"I'm working," she countered, keeping her expression neutral.

Peter's lips twitched like he was fighting back a smirk. "So you're not thinking about me?"

She arched a brow. "Why would I?"

His dark eyes gleamed with challenge. "No reason," he mused, stepping just close enough that she had to tilt her head up slightly to hold his gaze. "Except for the fact that I kissed you."

Heat shot through her, unwanted and frustratingly undeniable.

She schooled her features into indifference. "That? I've already forgotten about it."

Peter let out a quiet chuckle. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then, slowly—deliberately—Peter leaned in, his breath whispering against her ear.

"Then why are you blushing, darling?"

Naarah's entire body went rigid.

Oh, he was insufferable.

And worse?

He was right.

Because her cheeks were warm, and her heart was pounding entirely too fast.

Gritting her teeth, she took a step back, putting much-needed space between them.

"I have work to do," she said, turning on her heel.

Peter didn't stop her. But just as she reached the elevator, his voice reached her once more.

"See you later."

She refused to look back.

Even as the doors slid shut, even as her reflection stared back at her, one thought swirled in her mind.

She was losing.

And Peter knew it.

---

Later That Day

Naarah spent the next few hours drowning herself in work, determined to shake off the encounter.

But he wouldn't leave her alone.

Not physically—Peter had meetings all day, keeping him occupied elsewhere—but mentally?

He was everywhere.

Every time she paused, his voice echoed in her head.

Then why are you blushing, darling?

Ugh.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she focused on her screen.

But just as she was making progress, her phone buzzed beside her.

Her pulse spiked.

She shouldn't look.

She shouldn't.

But she did.

Peter: I'm still waiting for you to admit it.

Her stomach flipped.

Naarah: Admit what?

Peter: That you're thinking about me.

She exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around her phone.

The worst part was that he wasn't even being arrogant. He was just stating a fact. A fact that she hated.

He's playing with you.

Don't fall for it.

Naarah: I have better things to think about.

A minute passed before his response came.

Peter: Liar.

Her breath hitched.

He's so sure of himself.

And that was exactly why she couldn't let him win.

Smirking, she typed back:

Naarah: If I'm lying, why don't you prove it?

This time, he took longer to respond.

She imagined him narrowing his eyes at the screen, trying to decide if she was challenging him or setting a trap.

Peter: Careful, sweetheart. You might not like the way I prove things.

Her heart skipped a beat.

But before she could reply, a knock sounded at her office door.

She looked up—

And her stomach dropped.

Peter.

Standing in her doorway, a slow, knowing smirk curling his lips.

Oh, hell.