Chapter 3 MIDNIGHT TEMPTATION
1419 Words
Sleep refused to come.
The penthouse was too quiet, the bed too large, the silk sheets too smooth against my skin. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Alexander’s fingers on my wrist from earlier that evening—the firm grip, the quiet “For now” that hung in the air like a promise or a threat.
I hated how those words replayed in my mind.
I hated how my body still remembered every place his hand had brushed during lunch.
I hated that a small, traitorous part of me wondered what would happen if this arrangement ever stopped being fake.
By 1:47 a.m., I gave up. My throat was dry, my thoughts too loud. I slipped out of bed, grabbed the first comfortable thing my hand found in the dark closet—an oversized white button-down shirt that carried a faint trace of cedar and something unmistakably masculine—and padded barefoot down the hallway.
The penthouse was bathed only in the glow of the city lights streaming through the massive windows. No lamps on. Perfect. I could grab water and vanish back to my room without seeing him.
I reached the kitchen, opened the huge fridge, and stared at rows of bottled water, fresh juices, and things I didn’t recognize. I pulled out a plain bottle and was twisting the cap when the overhead lights suddenly flicked on.
I spun around, clutching the bottle to my chest.
Alexander stood in the doorway.
Shirtless.
My breath caught in my throat. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed—dark hair tousled, gray sweatpants riding low on his hips, every line of his chest and abs on full display. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp as they took me in.
Slowly. Deliberately.
From my bare feet, up my legs, to the hem of the shirt that barely reached mid-thigh, to the open buttons at the top revealing more skin than I’d intended. His gaze lingered there before finally meeting mine.
Heat rushed to my face—and everywhere else.
“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was low, rough from the night.
I tightened my grip on the bottle. “I was thirsty.”
He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward me, each step slow and unhurried. The kitchen, massive as it was, suddenly felt tiny. I backed up until the cold marble island pressed against my hips.
He stopped close—too close. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, smell that faint cologne mixed with sleep-warm skin.
His eyes dropped to the shirt again. “That’s mine.”
“It was in the closet,” I said, hating how defensive I sounded. “Everything else was brand new. This looked… comfortable.”
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “It looks better on you.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He tilted his head, stepping even closer. One hand braced on the counter beside my hip, caging me in without touching me. “Tell the truth?”
“Flirt.” The word came out sharper than I intended. “We have rules.”
“We do.” His voice dropped lower. “But you’re the one walking around my kitchen at two in the morning wearing nothing but my shirt.”
“You’re the one standing there half-naked.”
“Fair point.” His gaze darkened. “But I live here.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and electric. I could hear my own heartbeat. I could see the steady pulse at the base of his throat.
He reached past me for a glass in the cabinet above. His arm brushed my side, and I sucked in a sharp breath. He filled the glass with water, took a slow drink, eyes never leaving mine.
Then he set it down and leaned in, his mouth near my ear.
“You should go back to bed, Ava,” he murmured. “Before I forget why I’m supposed to keep my hands off you.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m not afraid of you.”
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “You should be.”
For one endless moment, we stayed like that. The air felt charged, ready to ignite. All it would take was one small movement—one lean forward—and the rules would shatter.
I ducked under his arm and fled, water bottle forgotten, the shirt fluttering against my thighs as I hurried back to my room.
I shut the door and leaned against it, chest heaving, an unwelcome ache throbbing low in my belly.
What was happening to me?
The next morning, sunlight poured through the windows, and my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A text from Aunt Linda.
**Aunt Linda:** Surgery was a complete success! Grandma’s in recovery and already bossing the nurses around. The doctor said it was the best surgical team in the country. They won’t say who paid, but everything is covered, Ava. Every single bill.
Relief hit me so hard I had to sit on the bed. Tears pricked my eyes.
He’d done it. Before I’d even fully moved in, he’d arranged the top surgeons and paid for everything.
I hated that I felt grateful.
I showered quickly, pulled on simple jeans and a soft sweater, and headed out.
Alexander was in the kitchen, dressed now in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks, scrolling through his tablet over coffee. He looked up when I entered.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.” I poured myself coffee, trying to act normal.
He watched me for a moment. “Your grandmother’s surgery went well.”
“I know.” I met his gaze. “Thank you.”
Something flickered in his eyes—brief, unreadable—then disappeared. “It was part of the agreement.”
“Right,” I said. “The agreement.”
We drank in silence for a minute.
“I thought we’d visit her this afternoon,” he said. “Together. The press will expect the new Mrs. Blackwood to care about family.”
Of course. Image.
But the chance to see Grandma awake and recovering…
“I’d like that.”
He nodded. “Car leaves at two.”
The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and fresh flowers. Grandma looked fragile in the bed, but her eyes lit up the second I walked in.
“My sweet girl.” Her voice was weak, but warm.
I sat beside her, taking her hand. “You scared me half to death.”
“I’m too ornery to leave you yet.” She squeezed my fingers, then looked past me to Alexander. “And who is this?”
I hesitated. We hadn’t rehearsed this part.
Alexander stepped forward smoothly, taking her other hand with surprising gentleness. “Alexander Blackwood, ma’am. Your granddaughter’s husband.”
Grandma’s eyebrows shot up. “Husband?”
“It’s recent,” I said quickly, forcing a smile.
She studied us both, sharp even through the medication. “He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room.”
Alexander didn’t deny it. “Because she is.”
My stomach flipped.
Grandma smiled softly. “Then I approve.”
We stayed an hour. Alexander was… different here. Quietly attentive. He spoke to the nurses about her recovery plan, ensured the private suite had everything needed, even arranged for more flowers to be delivered.
When Grandma dozed off, we stepped into the hallway.
“That was kind of you,” I said quietly.
“She’s important to you.” Simple. No embellishment.
It landed harder than it should have.
In the car on the way home, my phone buzzed. At the same moment, Alexander’s phone lit up on the console between the seats.
A preview popped up.
**Victoria:** Miss you already. Dinner tomorrow? Just us. Like old times. 😉
My stomach twisted into knots.
I looked out the window fast, but not before he noticed my reaction.
His jaw tightened. He picked up the phone, typed something quickly, and set it face-down.
“Nothing to worry about,” he said, voice low.
I didn’t answer.
I stared at the city blurring past, the warmth from the hospital visit turning cold.
He could play the perfect husband all he wanted.
Victoria was proof that some things never changed.
And I would do well to remember that this was only a contract.
Nothing more.
- Writer
