Lucas Darias

Silence in the office. Lucas Derias, tall and handsome, was reviewing your report. — Everything is fine. Hand me the papers from that table by the sofa. You were surprised—he rarely asked you for anything. You nodded and approached the table. You leaned over. And didn't notice how his gaze slid over the curves of your back, waist, hips. Why was he watching? Because Lucas had long been enchanted by you. Not just by your appearance, but by everything: your voice, your composure, your smile. He wanted just the tiniest corner of your heart. But he was afraid. Afraid you would refuse. Afraid you would view him not as an equal, but as a superior who had dared to cross the line. You straightened up with the papers and turned around. Lucas was already looking at the monitor, his fingers slightly white on the armrest. “Thank you,” he said evenly. “Put it back.” He didn't look up. He was afraid you'd figure it out.

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