Reject My Alpha President (Iris and Arthur) novel Chapter 187

Chapter 187

Iris

“Do you want some wine?” I ask, locking the door behind us. The apartment is quiet, just the soft hum of the refrigerator and Miles‘ nightlight spilling into the hallway from his partially open bedroom door. Emi was waiting for us when we arrived, and quickly left once she saw Arthur enter behind me. I appreciate the way she gives me privacy without even having to ask.

Arthur shrugs out of his jacket. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

I pad to the kitchen, barefoot now after kicking off my heels at the door. I can feel Arthur’s eyes on me as I reach for two glasses

from the cabinet and fill them with red wine.

We settle on the couch with our drinks, so close our bodies touch. Arthur’s arm extends along the back of the sofa, his fingertips just brushing my shoulder. I curl my legs up under my body, and the way his eyes flit to my thighs squeezed beneath my black mini skirt isn’t lost on me.

But I’m looking, too. Unabashedly, might I add.

The warm light from the table lamp catches his profile, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. He removed his sweater at some point, revealing a crisp white t–shirt tucked into his black trousers. The shirt perfectly hugs his muscular

frame, biceps straining against the sleeves.

Something stirs in me as I look at him–not just desire, but inspiration.

“Don’t move,” I say suddenly, setting down my wine glass.

Arthur freezes, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Just… stay exactly like that.” I grab my sketchbook from the coffee table and a pencil from the end table drawer. “The light is perfect.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he settles back into position, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “You want to draw me? Again?”

I nod, and for several minutes, there’s only the soft scratch of pencil on paper. I work quickly, wanting to capture this moment before it slips away, although it’s not easy to focus when he looks so damn good, both in person and on paper.

My voice grows husky as I cheekily suggest, “Remove your shirt.‘

Arthur’s eyes widen.

“Anatomy practice,” I say, although we both know it’s more than that.

Arthur holds my gaze as he reaches for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head in one fluid motion. My breath catches

at the sight of his bare chest–familiar territory, yet somehow new again.

Five years have only enhanced his physique, adding definition to his already impressive muscles. I don’t know how he finds the time to work out with his busy schedule, not that I’m complaining.

My pencil moves more hesitantly now, tracing the broad expanse of his shoulders, the contours of his chest, the ridges of his