Rowan kissed her again like a man surrendering to something inevitable.
Slowly.
Deeply.
Without hesitation this time.
And Emma realized—with sudden, terrifying clarity—that whatever existed between them had crossed a line neither of them would ever be able to uncross again.
The city glittered beyond the balcony windows, silver and gold reflections dancing across the dark river below, but the world outside the suite had become irrelevant hours ago.
Because Rowan Blackwood was holding her like she mattered too much already.
One hand rested against her waist.
The other cradled the side of her face with surprising gentleness for a man capable of reducing boardrooms to silence with a single glance.
And the dangerous part?
Emma didn’t want him to let go.
Not even slightly.
His mouth
