CHAPTER TWO
710 Words
Emma’s hands were still trembling when she returned to her desk. She set her tablet down carefully, hoping no one would notice that her fingers were shaking or that her mouth was still tingling from his kiss.
She took a slow breath, then another. It didn’t help.
Her inbox was overflowing with meeting requests and budget approvals, but she couldn’t focus. All she could think about was the heat of Alexander’s mouth on hers, the rough scrape of his jaw against her skin.
If you stay, I’m going to take you against that door.
She pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks. God help her, she hadn’t wanted to leave.
“Emma?”
Her head snapped up. Chelsea, the brunette who worked reception, was watching her with worried eyes.
“You okay? You look…um…warm.”
Emma swallowed. “I’m fine. Just—work.”
Chelsea didn’t look convinced. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Did Mr. Blackwood say something? He was in a mood this morning.”
He was in a mood, Emma thought, heart fluttering. That was one way to put it.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, a little too firmly.
Chelsea shrugged and walked away, and Emma turned her attention back to her screen, determined to lose herself in something—anything—other than the memory of his hands on her skin.
But half an hour later, her phone buzzed with a new message.
From: Alexander Blackwood
Subject: After hours
Come to my office at seven. We’ll finish our conversation.
She stared at the email, her breath catching.
Finish our conversation.
Her thumb hovered over the delete key, but she couldn’t bring herself to press it.
Instead, she closed her eyes, her heart beating out a panicked, electric rhythm.
She knew she should say no.
But deep down, she already knew she wouldn’t.
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At precisely 6:55 p.m., Emma found herself standing outside his office again. The rest of the floor was dark and quiet, the shadows thickening around her as she tried to summon enough courage to walk away.
This is insane, she told herself. You’re risking everything.
But when she thought about the look in his eyes—something hungry, something that felt like it belonged only to her—she knew she couldn’t walk away.
Before she could second-guess herself, she lifted her hand and knocked.
“Come in.”
His voice was low, rougher than before.
She stepped inside.
Alexander was standing by the tall windows, the skyline glittering behind him. He hadn’t bothered with his suit jacket, and the open collar of his white shirt exposed the strong lines of his throat.
He turned, and the moment his gaze met hers, every excuse she’d rehearsed dissolved.
“You came,” he said quietly.
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
He studied her for a long moment, then crossed the room. When he stopped in front of her, she thought he might touch her again. Instead, he slipped a hand into his pocket and drew out a small, black keycard.
“This is for the private elevator,” he said. “If you decide you want to leave, no one will see you.”
Her throat tightened. “You planned this.”
“I planned nothing.” His voice was low and dangerous. “But I’m not pretending anymore.”
He lifted a hand, brushing her hair back from her face. The touch was gentle, reverent.
“I’m giving you a choice,” he said. “Walk out that door, and we pretend this never happened. Or stay—and understand that I won’t be able to stop.”
Emma’s heart pounded so hard it hurt.
His eyes searched hers, waiting.
Her fingers curled around the cool plastic of the keycard. She could still leave. She could still save herself.
But when she looked at him—so powerful, so controlled, and yet so raw in that moment—she knew she was already his.
Slowly, she set the keycard on his desk.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened, and she felt the air shift, thickening around them.
“Then God help us both,” he murmured, just before his mouth crushed down on hers.
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- Writer
