The dining room of the luxury hotel glittered with crystal chandeliers, polished silverware, and the quiet hum of corporate power. Ava Cole straightened her dress for what felt like the hundredth time, forcing herself to appear composed. She had done countless client dinners before, but this one felt different. Not because of the potential business at stake—but because of the man seated across from her.
Adrian Black.
He was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at the breadth of his forearms. He had that infuriating, confident smile that made her want to glare, groan, and melt all at once.
"Relax," he murmured as she adjusted her napkin. "You're going to be fine. Unless, of course, you're more nervous about me than the clients."
Ava's lips pressed into a thin line. "I am not nervous about you," she said, though the faint tremor in her voice betrayed her.
He chuckled softly, eyes glinting with amusement. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."
The waiter approached, taking their drink orders, and Adrian leaned slightly closer, his elbow brushing against hers. The contact was deliberate, electrifying, and maddening. Ava's pulse skipped.
Throughout the dinner, Adrian alternated between charming the clients with smooth professionalism and subtly dominating Ava with small touches, teasing glances, and whispered comments.
"So," he said in a low murmur while the client's attention wandered, "tell me how you're coping with working under me again. Enjoying the view from the top… or dreading the attention?"
Ava's cheeks flamed. "I am managing, thank you very much."
"You're managing just fine," he said, voice low, almost a growl. "But your heartbeat tells a different story. I hear it every time you glance at me. Admit it, Ava—you're thrilled."
She blinked, trying to maintain composure, but the heat in her chest betrayed her. She wanted to shove him, to glare, to walk away—but she couldn't. Not with the magnetic pull he had over her.
As the dinner progressed, Adrian continued to test boundaries. A casual touch on her hand to emphasize a point. A whisper in her ear that made her stomach flutter. Every small interaction was layered with tension, with teasing, with unspoken desire.
At one point, when the clients' attention drifted to another topic, he leaned closer. "You still taste like the coffee from this morning," he murmured, voice low and intimate. "Sweet. Sharp. Absolutely… distracting."
Ava's breath hitched. She looked down at her lap, praying she didn't show any sign of the effect he had on her. He smirked knowingly, as if reading every involuntary reaction.
The dinner ended with applause for a successful pitch. As the clients left, Adrian leaned back in his chair, eyes locked on hers with the same magnetic pull that had haunted her for days.
"Not bad," he said, voice soft, but his eyes burned with an intensity that made her pulse race. "But the real fun begins once we're alone."
Ava's stomach fluttered nervously. She wasn't sure whether to feel exasperated, infuriated, or excited—or perhaps all three. The lines between professional and personal were already blurred, and Adrian Black seemed determined to erase every boundary.
As they exited the hotel, walking side by side, he brushed a hand ever so lightly against her lower back—a subtle, intimate touch that made her knees weaken. She looked up, and he grinned, perfectly aware of the effect he had.
"You'll be thinking about this all night," he murmured, leaning closer so their shoulders brushed.
Ava exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to lean into him. "You're… insufferable," she whispered.
"And you," he said, voice low, playful, dangerous, "are exactly where I want you. Right here. Right now. Just try to deny it."
Her chest heaved. She wanted to argue, to maintain control, to insist she was above it all—but her body and heart betrayed her in ways words never could. She knew that tonight, alone, things would change. That the tension built over weeks would find release.
And Adrian Black… was already two steps ahead.