Chapter thirteen
643 Words
The jet hummed steadily beneath Lena’s feet as she settled into the leather seat, clutching the folder of documents Adrian had handed her.
A business trip. Forty-eight hours in Chicago. Just the two of them.
She told herself it was professional. Necessary. But when she glanced across the cabin, Adrian’s profile carved sharp against the glow of the city lights below, her heart betrayed her.
He hadn’t spoken much since they boarded, only occasional clipped instructions. His silence wasn’t unusual—but tonight it was heavier, weighted with everything unsaid.
She opened her folder, trying to focus on the contracts. But the numbers blurred. Her thoughts kept circling back to his hand brushing her hair the other night. His voice when he said, Then I’ll have no excuse left.
The jet hit a pocket of turbulence. She startled, grabbing the armrest.
Adrian’s gaze snapped to her. “You’re safe,” he said, his voice low but steady.
“I know,” she whispered. Her grip loosened, but her pulse didn’t slow.
His eyes lingered on her a moment longer before he turned back to his laptop. But the air between them was charged now, impossible to ignore.
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The hotel was glass and steel and understated luxury. Adrian moved through the lobby like he owned it, Lena trailing behind, trying not to feel small in his shadow.
At the desk, the concierge smiled warmly. “Welcome, Mr. Blackwood. Your suite is ready.”
Lena frowned. “Suite? As in… one room?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “There was a booking error. The conference filled the hotel.”
Her stomach flipped. “So what—?”
“We’ll manage,” he said flatly, as if that ended the discussion.
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The suite was vast—two bedrooms separated by a living area. Relief flooded her as she realized they wouldn’t be forced into the same space. Still, the intimacy of sharing walls felt far too close.
She dropped her bag on the bed and pressed her palms against her flushed cheeks. Get it together, Lena.
But when she stepped into the living area, Adrian was there, jacket off, glass of whiskey in hand. The city lights spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting him in shadows and fire.
“You should rest,” he said, his voice deep, weary.
“I’m not tired.”
His gaze swept over her, lingering, then snapping away. He downed the whiskey in one swallow.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Where should I be?” she asked softly.
“Anywhere but near me.” His voice roughened. “Because every second you’re close, I forget the rules I built my life on.”
Her chest tightened. She stepped closer, heart pounding. “Maybe the rules aren’t working anymore.”
His eyes darkened, storm breaking loose. “Careful, Lena.”
But she didn’t stop. She closed the distance until she was standing right in front of him, her breath shallow, her pulse wild. “I don’t want careful.”
For a long, taut moment, he just stared at her, every muscle in his body tense with restraint.
Then, with a curse, his control shattered.
His hand cupped her jaw, his mouth crashing against hers in a kiss that stole her breath, her thoughts, everything.
It wasn’t gentle. It was fire and hunger and all the things he had been holding back, finally unleashed.
She clung to him, her fingers tangling in his shirt, her body pressed against his as if she’d been waiting for this moment forever.
When he finally tore his mouth from hers, his breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against hers.
“This is a mistake,” he whispered. “But God help me, I don’t care anymore.”
And for the first time, Lena realized—neither did she.
- Writer
