The storm had passed by morning, but inside the penthouse, tension still burned hotter than any lightning strike.
Amelia lingered in the kitchen, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup, every nerve in her body still alive with the memory of Alexander’s kiss. His touch. His breath. The way his walls had crumbled, if only for a moment.
She heard him before she saw him—the steady sound of polished shoes against marble. When he appeared, dressed sharply for work, his expression was composed, controlled… as if last night had never happened.
Her chest tightened. “So we’re just going to pretend it didn’t mean anything?”
He paused, his eyes flicking to hers. For a split second, she saw it—the heat, the hunger, the same ache that kept her awake all night. But then he looked away.
“It wa
