Bound By Fire

Chapter Four

Amelia

The courtroom was colder than usual, or maybe it was just me. My palms were damp where they rested on the polished oak table, my notes spread before me like a shield I wasn’t sure would hold. I hated that I was nervous. I hated even more that I knew exactly why.

That kiss.

One reckless second in an empty corridor, and now I couldn’t breathe without remembering the press of Damian Blackwood’s mouth against mine. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the heat of him, the dominance threaded into the way he had taken what he wanted.

And damn me, the way I had kissed him back.

I clenched my jaw and forced my gaze toward the opposite table. Victor Hayes was seated there, Damian’s attorney, the so-called silver fox of litigation. His reputation preceded him, brutal cross-examinations, a mind like a scalpel, and a voice smooth enough to lull a jury into his pocket.

But it wasn’t Victor who stole the air from my lungs.

It was Damian.

He was sitting just behind his attorney, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that fit him like sin. His dark hair was slicked back, his mouth curved in that insufferable half-smile. And he was looking at me. Not at the judge, not at Victor, not at his files. At me.

The kiss flickered through my memory again, sharp and unwelcome. I gripped my pen harder, trying to steady myself. I was not going to let him rattle me. Not here. Not in my domain.

“Miss Cross,” Victor Hayes began smoothly, his voice carrying across the room. “Shall we?”

I lifted my chin and met his gaze. “By all means, Mr. Hayes. Let’s dance.”

The first round was brutal, the way I knew it would be. Victor was methodical, patient, slicing into my arguments with calm precision. But I was ready for him, countering with my own barbs, twisting the narrative back into my favor. Every time he thought he had me cornered, I slipped through, turning the blade on him instead.

Still, my composure was fraying, and it wasn’t because of Hayes. It was because every time I delivered a point, every time I raised my voice, I felt Damian’s gaze burn into me. Like he wasn’t watching the trial at all. Like he was watching me.

And damn him, I could still taste him.

When the session broke for recess, I shoved my papers into my briefcase with more force than necessary. I needed air. Space. A moment to gather myself.

But as I rose, I felt him before I saw him. Damian. Sliding out from behind his chair, stalking toward me like a predator who knew exactly how cornered his prey was.

I didn’t turn. Not until he was close enough that his voice brushed against my ear.

“You’re still thinking about it.”

My spine went rigid. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, Amelia.” His chuckle was low, dark. “You kissed me back. That wasn’t a dream.”

I whirled on him then, eyes flashing, ready to scorch him into ash. But he was too close. Too damn close. The scent of his cologne wrapped around me, rich and intoxicating. I hated how my pulse betrayed me, hammering against my throat.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I hissed.

His smile widened. “Good. I like danger.”

-------------------------------------------

Damian

Watching Amelia Cross fight in court was… exquisite.

She was fire wrapped in silk, all sharp retorts and steady poise, and I had to remind myself that Victor Hayes was technically the one sparring with her. Not me. Not yet.

But I couldn’t look away. Every flick of her wrist, every icy glare, every sharp inhale, she was magnificent.

And that kiss…

God, I’d had women before. Plenty. But none of them burned into me the way she did with a single stolen kiss. I could still feel her trembling against me, still hear the sound she made when she let herself forget we were enemies.

It had been enough to tell me one thing: she wanted me. She hated it, but she wanted me.

Which meant the real game could begin.

Victor was handling the case exactly as I expected, ruthless and polished, keeping Amelia on her toes. But I could see it, the tiny cracks forming in her armor. The way she stiffened every time she realized I was watching. The way her pen tapped a fraction too fast.

She wasn’t just fighting Victor. She was fighting herself.

And I was going to make damn sure she lost.

When recess was called, I followed her. She tried to walk away, her shoulders squared in that infuriatingly proud way, but I knew she’d hear me out. She couldn’t not.

“You’re still thinking about it,” I said, my voice deliberately low, meant only for her.

The way her body stilled told me I was right.

She spat denial, of course. Amelia wouldn’t be Amelia if she didn’t bare her claws. But the heat in her eyes when she turned, the way her lips parted on a sharp breath, oh, she remembered. She was haunted by it, just as I intended.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” she said.

I leaned in, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her, close enough to remind her how easily I could break her composure.

“Good,” I murmured. “I like danger.”

Her breath hitched. Just slightly. But I caught it.

And that was all the confirmation I needed.

This wasn’t just a case anymore. This was war. And in war, you exploit every weakness. Amelia Cross’s weakness just happened to be me.