Thanks for the power stone!!
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Elara had always thought of Kane Corp's office as a fortress. Glass, steel, and silence. But since she and Damien had crossed the line, the place felt less like a fortress and more like a minefield.
Every glance risked exposure. Every brush of fingers across a desk was a spark too bright. And every time Damien's voice lowered, rich and husky, she felt like the walls themselves might betray them.
They were careful. Or at least, she was.
Damien, on the other hand, had a talent for making careful feel impossible.
Like now.
The elevator doors slid shut, sealing them in. Floor thirty-five to lobby: forty seconds. Forty seconds of pretending she wasn't pressed against mirrored walls while Damien Kane loomed an inch too close, his eyes roaming over her like she was a puzzle he already knew the solution to.
"This is reckless," she muttered, clutching her folder tighter.
He tilted his head, smirk lazy. "No one's watching."
"That's the point," she hissed. "No one can watch."
The elevator jolted as it slowed, stopping two floors too soon. The doors dinged open—revealing a wide-eyed junior associate.
Elara nearly dropped the folder.
Damien didn't flinch. In fact, his hand slipped casually into his pocket, like he hadn't been about to pin her against glass seconds ago. "Anderson," he greeted smoothly.
"Mr. Kane," the associate stammered, stepping inside. "Ms. Hart."
Elara pasted on her best neutral smile, even as her pulse pounded in her ears. The car descended in excruciating silence, her skin still humming from Damien's nearness.
The second the associate got off on the next floor, Damien leaned down and whispered against her ear, "You're getting good at lying."
Her breath hitched. "And you're getting reckless."
"Maybe I like reckless."
The doors opened to the lobby before she could reply. She stormed out, heels clicking like punctuation marks, praying her face didn't look as flushed as it felt.
---
By late afternoon, she thought she'd escaped. Damien had been locked in back-to-back meetings, and she'd buried herself in scheduling reports. She even dared to relax, just a little.
Until the conference room incident.
It started with her delivering notes for his upcoming pitch. He'd waved her inside, dismissed the others, and the door had barely clicked shut before his hand closed around her wrist.
"Damien—" she whispered in warning.
"You keep avoiding me," he said, voice low and accusing.
"I'm working."
"You're hiding."
She opened her mouth to argue, but his other hand slid to her waist, pulling her close enough to feel the heat of his body. The folder tumbled from her grip, papers scattering across the polished table.
She gasped, half in shock, half in indignation. "This is exactly what I meant by reckless."
"And yet," he murmured, pressing his lips to her jaw, "you're not stopping me."
Her resolve wavered, her body traitorous, leaning into him—
The door handle rattled.
"Elara? Damien? You in here?"
They froze.
Elara shoved at his chest, panic surging. Papers crinkled underfoot as she scrambled to gather them, shoving them into a pile just as the door swung open.
It was Janelle from PR, holding a tablet and blinking suspiciously. "Oh. Sorry. Didn't know this room was in use."
"Just going over the presentation," Damien said smoothly, his tie only slightly loosened, his gaze unreadable.
Elara forced a bright smile. "Yes—uh—last-minute notes." She shoved the folder against her chest like a shield.
Janelle's eyes darted between them, one brow arching. "Right. Well. Don't let me interrupt."
The door clicked shut again.
Elara sagged against the table, her chest heaving. "We can't keep doing this."
Damien stepped closer, brushing a thumb over her wrist where his grip had been moments before. His voice was quiet, dangerous. "We can. And we will. Unless you're ready to admit you don't want me."
Her throat dried. She didn't answer. She couldn't.
And that silence, she realized, was its own confession.