19.1

He gives me a shove, sending me toward the stairs. I take hold of the railing and turn in time to find him swinging a hinged bar into place, which I guess serves as a way of keeping outsiders from opening the door. “You weren’t flirting? Laughing at that asshole’s jokes? Why did you hang around the bar when your friends were dancing?”

I can’t keep track of everything coming at me at once. There’s only one thought that rings out in my overwhelmed mind.

He was watching. My intuition was right.

“Go up the stairs.” His jaw works, his words grunted through clenched teeth. “Now.”

Instinct tells me to move my ass, but I wonder what would happen if I didn’t. Would he throw me over his shoulder and carry me up the stairs? I wish the idea wasn’t so appealing.

This is a very dangerous man, but right now, the only danger is slipping on what’s soaking through my panties.

At the top of the stairs is the office I imagined sitting behind the tinted window. It’s sleek and masculine, with a large desk