Chapter 10: The Touch
1062 Words
Amara’s POV
The conference hall smelled faintly of coffee and tension. I had come early, hoping to set up before anyone else arrived, to breathe without feeling his eyes on me. But of course, fate—or something crueler—had other plans.
Kian was already there.
He stood near the long table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, watching the projection screen flicker to life. The light painted his face in pale blue, highlighting the sharp lines that always made him look like he was carved from restraint itself.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The hum of the projector filled the silence between us.
“I didn’t expect you to be early,” I said, forcing my voice to sound calm.
“I could say the same,” he replied, not looking away from the screen. “I like to prepare.”
“So do I.”
He gave a small nod, then turned to face me fully. “We might actually agree on something.”
I almost smiled, but stopped myself. It was too easy with him. Too dangerous. “Let’s not make it a habit.”
He laughed softly, that low sound that used to catch me off guard. I busied myself with the files, aligning them neatly on the table. I didn’t need to look at him to feel his presence. It filled the room like heat.
When I reached for the clicker to test the slides, our hands met.
Just a brush. Skin against skin. Nothing more.
But the jolt that ran through me made my breath catch.
For a heartbeat, the air stopped moving. The sound of my pulse was louder than the faint whir of the projector.
I pulled back instantly, the clicker slipping from my hand and clattering to the floor. I bent to pick it up, but he was faster.
He crouched at the same time I did, our faces suddenly inches apart. His eyes locked on mine—dark, unreadable, but burning with something I didn’t want to name.
“Got it,” he said quietly, holding the clicker between his fingers.
“Thanks.” My voice came out smaller than I intended.
We both stood. My hand brushed against his again as I took the device, and this time I felt it—heat, memory, something that shouldn’t still exist.
I stepped back quickly. “We should start before the others arrive.”
He nodded slowly, though his eyes lingered on me longer than they should have. “Right.”
I turned away, focusing on the screen, on anything but him. My thoughts were a mess. I told myself it was nothing. Static. Habit. A leftover reaction from a version of me that didn’t exist anymore.
But my body didn’t believe the lie.
When the rest of the team arrived, I managed to bury it. I spoke with confidence, made my presentation, even cracked a joke that earned polite laughter. But every time I gestured toward the board, every time he shifted in his seat, I felt it—the echo of that touch.
I avoided his eyes, but it didn’t help. The awareness stayed with me, humming under my skin, stubborn and alive.
And when the meeting ended, I didn’t wait for his usual parting words. I packed my bag quickly and walked out into the hall.
Outside, I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath for an hour.
It was just a touch.
Just a moment.
But it felt like the ground beneath me had shifted, and I didn’t know if I could trust my own balance anymore.
Kian’s POV
Her skin was softer than I remembered.
That was the first thought that came to me, sharp and uninvited, long after she left the room. I sat in the now-empty conference hall, staring at the faint fingerprints she’d left on the clicker. Ridiculous, maybe... but it felt like proof.
She still reacted to me.
It wasn’t wishful thinking. I saw it. The flash in her eyes, the way she caught her breath, the tremor she tried to hide behind professional composure.
And God, I felt it too.
It had been years since something as simple as touch made me lose focus. I’d trained myself to keep control, to calculate before I felt. But that moment—her hand against mine—cut straight through everything I’d built.
I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes.
It shouldn’t have happened. I’d told myself this was about business, about strategy, about winning. But the second our fingers touched, the truth betrayed me.
I didn’t want to win her back. I wanted her.
Completely.
The thought made me restless. I stood and paced the length of the table, trying to shake the image of her out of my head—the way her curls framed her face, the curve of her lips when she tried not to smile, the tension in her voice when she said my name.
She wasn’t the same girl I remembered. She was sharper now, guarded, certain of her boundaries. And maybe that was why I couldn’t stop thinking about breaking them.
I sat down again, forcing my breathing to steady. Obsession was dangerous. I knew that. It was what had driven everything between us to ruin the first time.
But it was also what made her unforgettable.
The logical part of me whispered to stay away, to keep the focus on the deal, to remember the stakes. But the other part—the darker, quieter part—wanted to test her again. To see if the fire between us could still burn through everything else.
I replayed the moment again. The way her hand trembled when she pulled away. The look in her eyes before she turned her back.
She still felt it.
And that meant I wasn’t alone in this madness.
I picked up the clicker, running my thumb over the spot where her skin had touched mine. It was a stupid, pointless gesture. But it grounded me, anchored me in the single, undeniable fact that she hadn’t forgotten.
Neither had I.
The lines we’d drawn between business and desire were beginning to blur again. And the worst part was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop it.
Because for the first time in years, something felt alive.
And it began with a touch.
- Writer
