“Tell reception to let her up. My private elevator.”
“As you wish, Mr. Dyson.”
He fixed his stare on the burnished-steel door of his office on the other side of the room. Energy thrummed through his body.
What is she up to?
His gut clenched. His groin tightened. Narrowing his eyes, he snatched up the cut granite paperweight sitting on his desk beside his closed laptop. It was heavy in his hand. Solid.
He turned to the window, bouncing the paperweight on his palm before smoothing his fingers over its surface. Clinton had given him the granite ball as a gift the day he’d graduated with honors from Sydney University, top in both his business degree and communication science degree.
Holding its cool, unyielding shape in his hand reminded him of her power over his brother. It gave him strength to negate the troubling emotions she evoked in him.
Hardened his resolve.
He loved Clinton. Missed him like crazy. Clinton had lived life large, had charged into it with a passion and vibrancy James did not allow himself. The CEO of Dyson Media Corp could not indulge in passions outside of work, and charging into life meant relinquishing a level of control he held with steadfast focus.
Sienna Roberts had robbed him of his brother. For that—
His intercom buzzed. “Sienna Roberts to see you.”
He did not acknowledge the turbulent pressure in his gut. He lowered his gaze to the paperweight, bouncing it again on his palm. “Don’t lose sight of your purpose.” His whisper hung on the silence. “Don’t forget Clinton.”
He sensed when Sienna entered his office without needing to turn. As he drew breath, he inhaled her scent—clean and pure, with that subtle trace of jasmine. It tantalized his senses, played with his body, drew an image in his mind of how incredibly sexy she’d looked that morning, with her snug black underwear and bare limbs…
Desire roared through him. Hot. Elemental. Puissant.
“Mr. Dyson.” Her husky voice floated to him across his office. Confident. Poised. It caressed his tenuous control. Hot tension stole through his core.
“Sienna.” He looked in the reflection of the window, waiting for her to step deeper into the room. Waiting for her to enter his sights.
Silence stretched for long seconds, the air growing heavy with pregnant strain. He didn’t move, waiting for her. He would not make it easy. Whatever she was here for, he would not ease her purpose.
“Let them make the first move, Jamieson.”
His father’s cold advice, given decades ago after he’d lost his first schoolyard fight to an older, bigger opponent, steeled the urge to turn around.
“Always let them show their hand. Show their modus operandi. And then use it against them to destroy them.”
He’d never forgotten the lesson. The next time the bully confronted him in the schoolyard, calling him a “spoiled daddy’s boy,” he’d followed it to the letter, asking the older boy why his father never came to school events, wondering aloud if it had something to do with the fact his father had bought his company and replaced him with someone who knew how to do his job correctly. The incensed boy had chased him, promising “to hurt him so fucking much.” He’d cornered him exactly where James wanted him to—outside the back window of the school’s principal’s office, punching him over and over again, calling him a “daddy’s boy” with each strike. The boy had been expelled that afternoon.
James had been ten.
“Let them make the first move, Jamieson. Show their weakness. Everyone’s got one. Let them reveal it. Exploit it. Use it.”
The bully’s weakness had been his father’s business failings.
Would Sienna’s be so easy to manipulate? And as fulfilling?
Movement in the window drew his attention before he could contemplate the answer. His gaze found the reflection of her walking toward him, and he pulled in a swift breath. Christ, she looked incredible.
She had obviously rushed over here. Her hair fell about her face in an unruly tumble of copper waves, brushing against her cheekbones and jawline and shoulders. The black tank and brief panties were gone, replaced with new attire equally as arousing.
Faded blue jeans hugged her long legs, emphasizing the firmness of her thighs, while the plain white T-shirt that wrapped her torso with such enticing perfection highlighted the upward-thrust of her breasts and the fine column of her neck.