I kissed her.
No, correction. She kissed me first, but then I—Adrian Cole, a man who prided himself on restraint—kissed her back.
Thoroughly.
Shamelessly.
Like I'd been waiting for it all along.
And God help me, I enjoyed it.
Even now, hours later, the taste of her lingered. Sweet. Bold. Messy. Everything I never allowed myself to want.
I was supposed to keep this "relationship" fake. Safe. A convenient arrangement we could both walk away from without complications. But the moment her lips brushed my cheek, all of that flew out the window. I hadn't thought. I hadn't calculated. I hadn't even breathed.
I'd just acted.
Impulsively.
Me—Adrian Cole—the man whose entire empire ran on strategy and foresight.
Scandalous.
And yet… I couldn't bring myself to regret it.
Not one bit.
That night, I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw hers—wide, startled, shining with that mix of innocence and daring that made her so dangerously irresistible.
I wanted more.
And I knew, with an unsettling clarity, that I was ready to take this further. No more pretending. No more staged appearances. I wanted Amara. For real.
But I also knew myself. When I wanted something, I had a tendency to devour it—completely, recklessly. I couldn't afford to do that with her. She deserved slow. She deserved care. She deserved more than being consumed by me.
So, I told myself, patience.
For once in my life, patience.
The next morning, work called me back. A board meeting with international partners. Contracts, numbers, investors—the usual battlefield where I thrived.
Except today, I was failing miserably.
I couldn't concentrate. Not when I knew Amara was at home with a sprained ankle, probably brushing it off like it was nothing when I had seen the pain on her face myself.
I wanted to be there.
Instead, I sat in a glossy conference hall, pretending to listen while men in tailored suits droned on about quarterly projections. My phone sat on the table beside me, screen dark but begging to be checked.
For the hundredth time, I resisted the urge. Then failed.
I unlocked it under the table, scrolled through my messages, half-hoping to see a text from her. Nothing.
Good. She was probably resting.
Still, I checked again five minutes later. And again. And again.
Until I realized the room had gone quiet.
I looked up to find half a dozen pairs of eyes staring at me.
Someone cleared their throat. "Mr. Cole, is… everything alright?"
I blinked, caught, then dropped my phone. Literally dropped it. The sharp clatter echoed across the polished table, bouncing off the glass walls.
Professional. Very professional.
I cleared my throat. "Yes. Everything's fine. Continue."
But the stares lingered, curious, almost suspicious. I ignored them, straightened my tie, and tried—really tried—to focus.
I lasted ten more minutes.
The second the meeting adjourned, I didn't wait for the post-meeting chatter. I gathered my things and left, moving faster than my assistants could keep up with.
On the way to her place, I stopped at a store and picked up a basket—fruits, snacks, bottled juice, anything that might make her smile. The woman at the counter asked if it was a gift for someone special.
"Yes," I heard myself say.
The word felt too simple for what Amara was becoming to me.
When I arrived at Sophia's building, my chest tightened in a way that was utterly foreign. Nerves? Me? Unbelievable.
I knocked, basket in hand.
The door opened, and there she was.
Amara.
Her hair was a little messy, her ankle still wrapped, her expression caught somewhere between surprise and shyness. And for the first time since I'd known her, she couldn't meet my gaze.
She was… shy.
Because of me. Because of the kiss.
A slow warmth spread through my chest.
I held out the basket. "For you."
Her fingers brushed mine as she took it, and she finally looked up—just briefly. That was all it took. My restraint wavered.
Her lips. Those same lips that mine had been on less than twenty-four hours ago.
I wanted them again.
But not here. Not yet.
So instead, I gave her a small smile, the kind that carried the weight of everything I wasn't saying.
"I should go," I said softly.
Her eyes flickered, disappointed, though she tried to hide it.
I lingered one last moment, memorizing the curve of her mouth, the flush in her cheeks, the way her eyes darted back to mine and then away again.
With one final glance—longing, restrained, deliberate—I turned and walked to my car.
Inside, I gripped the steering wheel, exhaled slowly, and allowed myself a smirk.
"Good job," I muttered under my breath. "Self-control."
Because if I hadn't left when I did, there would have been no restraint at all.
And next time…
Next time, I will Kiss her thoroughly.