Elara Hart had always considered herself rational, composed, and reasonably competent.
That was before she spent an entire afternoon in a windowless office with Damien Kane.
It began innocently enough. She'd made a minor mistake — a scheduling conflict between two high-profile meetings he had personally approved — and expected a stern lecture. Instead, Damien leaned against his desk, arms crossed, jaw tight, and gave her that look.
The one that could freeze water in a glass.
"Explain," he said, his voice calm, dangerously smooth.
Elara took a deep breath. "I double-booked Mr. Callahan and the international partners. It was my mistake—"
"I don't pay you to make mistakes," he interrupted sharply.
"Nor do I," she shot back, heat rising. "But guess what? I'm human. I'm allowed one error before you start acting like I personally dismantled Kane Corp."
His dark eyes flashed. "One? Hart, this isn't kindergarten. It's business. And you—"
"I know! I screwed up!" she snapped, frustration spilling over. "So maybe you could, I don't know, not look at me like I'm a disaster waiting to happen!"
The room went silent. The air thick with tension, charged, nearly electric.
Damien's chest rose with a slow inhale. "You're… defiant."
"You're… impossible!" she shot back.
And then, as if the universe had conspired to punish her rational brain, he stepped forward. His proximity erased all the careful barriers she had built.
Elara's heart skipped. Her pulse thundered. Her breath caught as she realized just how close he was.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me, Hart," he said, voice low, laced with something dangerous. "You're infuriating. Provoking. Tempting."
She swallowed hard, trying to summon the sass that had survived every boardroom battle and coffee catastrophe. "Oh, please. You've had plenty of temptation in your life. I'm not exactly—"
He cut her off. His hand brushed hers over a stack of papers, and the contact sent a shock straight through her. His gaze dropped to her lips. And then, in a movement so fast she barely registered it, he closed the distance.
Their lips met — fierce, hungry, and impossible to resist.
Elara's hands flew to his chest, instinctively trying to push him away. But she didn't. Not really. Not until the rational part of her brain screamed This is your boss! Stop!
And then… she stopped.
Because the kiss wasn't just desire. It was frustration, tension, heat, and something tender buried under layers of control.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, breath uneven. "That was…" He exhaled sharply, lips brushing her temple. "Forbidden."
"Understatement of the century," she muttered, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
Damien straightened, cool and collected again in seconds, but the fire in his eyes betrayed him. "We can't do this. It's… messy. Complicated."
Elara's chest heaved. "You're telling me this after the kiss?"
"I'm telling you this because I know what happens if we cross the line," he said softly. "I don't mix business with pleasure."
Her heart clenched at the words — déjà vu from the warning she'd overheard weeks ago. She wanted to punch him. She wanted to scream. She wanted to… kiss him again.
Instead, she bit her lip, straightened her blazer, and jabbed a finger at him. "Fine. Consider this… a one-time, catastrophic lapse in professional judgment."
He arched a brow. "You're impossible."
"Right back at you," she shot back.
And yet, as she walked out of his office, adrenaline still coursing through her, Elara couldn't shake the truth: she wanted more.
And so did he.
The problem? Neither of them were ready to admit it — not to themselves, not to each other, not even to the universe that seemed hell-bent on throwing them together.
Which made the tension even more delicious.
Every glance, every brush of hands, every meeting together became a battlefield. Sparks flew, unspoken, and both knew it was only a matter of time before the next kiss — and the next — couldn't be ignored.