The suite was too quiet.
The city lights bled through the curtains, glittering against glass walls, but all Elara could hear was her heartbeat hammering in her ears as Damien's shadow loomed closer.
She should have stepped aside. She should have reminded herself that he was her boss. That this was career suicide. That she'd promised herself she'd never fall into this trap.
Instead, her back hit the wall, and she couldn't breathe.
Damien's palm flattened beside her head, caging her in. His voice was low, wrecked. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. "Every look. Every laugh. Every time you fight me with that smart mouth…" His fingers brushed her jaw, tilting her chin up until she was staring into his storm-dark eyes. "I want to ruin you."
Her resolve crumbled. Shattered. "Damien—"
That was all it took.
His mouth crashed against hers, fierce and demanding, like a man starved. She gasped into him, and his tongue slid past her lips, claiming, conquering. One hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her hip as though he'd been waiting his entire life for this moment.
Elara moaned against him, her knees weak, her body betraying her as it melted into his.
Damien growled, lifting her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively as he carried her toward the bed. The world tilted, spun, until she was on the mattress, his weight pressing her down, his heat overwhelming.
"Tell me to stop," he rasped, his forehead pressed to hers. His eyes searched hers, desperate, pleading. "If I start, I won't be able to."
She should have said no. She should have been the responsible one.
Instead, she whispered, "Don't you dare stop."
The sound he made was half-groan, half-prayer. His lips trailed down her throat, hot and possessive, leaving a path of fire across her skin. His hands roamed, greedy, sliding beneath her blouse, pushing fabric aside as though it offended him.
Clothes fell away too quickly, too carelessly, until there was nothing left but heat and skin and the raw ache of desire.
Damien's hands framed her face, his kiss slower now, reverent. "You drive me insane, Elara Hart," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "I swore I'd never cross this line. But you—" His hips pressed against hers, dragging a gasp from her throat. "You're already under my skin."
Her nails dug into his back, dragging him closer. "Then don't stop," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Don't stop."
And he didn't.
The night dissolved into fire — tangled sheets, broken moans, whispered curses against bare skin. He worshipped her like a man possessed, and she clung to him like she'd never known how much she needed him until this very moment.
When it was over, when the city lights had blurred into dawn and exhaustion pulled at their bones, Damien stayed. His arm locked tight around her waist, his lips pressed to her hair.
For once, the man who swore he didn't mix business with pleasure wasn't in control.
And Elara knew she was in trouble.
Elara woke to warmth.
For a few blissful seconds, she forgot where she was. Her cheek rested against a firm chest, a steady heartbeat thrumming beneath her ear. A muscled arm was wrapped around her, anchoring her like she belonged there.
Then memory slammed into her.
Damien. Hotel. Her legs wrapped around his waist. The way he'd said mine. The way she'd begged him not to stop.
"Oh my God," she whispered, bolting upright.
The sheet slipped scandalously low down her chest. She yanked it up, mortified, her eyes darting to the man beside her.
Damien Kane lay stretched across the pillows like sin in human form. Bare chest, tousled hair, lips curved into the faintest smirk even in sleep.
He looked unfairly perfect.
Panic clawed through her ribcage. "What did I do?" she muttered, scrambling for her blouse, her skirt, anything.
"Good morning to you too," Damien's voice drawled, low and gravelly with sleep.
She froze. He was awake. Watching her. His gaze roamed over her bare shoulders, unapologetically slow. "Running already?"
"I'm not running." She shoved her arm through a sleeve, scowling. "I'm… regrouping."
Damien propped himself up on one elbow, sheets pooling dangerously low on his hips. "Regrouping?"
"Yes." She yanked her skirt on, refusing to look at him. "We are going to pretend last night never happened."
He arched a brow. "That's your grand plan?"
"Exactly. I work for you. This—" she gestured wildly between them, "—was a colossal mistake. So, ground rules. One: no more touching. Two: no more late nights. Three: definitely no more… whatever that was."
Damien's smirk widened into something dark, devastating. "Rules."
"Yes. Rules." She crossed her arms, triumphant.
He swung his legs off the bed, standing in nothing but black boxer briefs that made her want to cry. "Here's the problem, sweetheart," he murmured, stepping closer until her back hit the wall again. "I don't follow rules."
Her pulse betrayed her, thundering so loud she was sure he could hear it. "Damien—"
He dipped his head, his lips brushing her ear. "Especially not yours."
Her knees nearly buckled, but she shoved him back with both hands, desperate to regain control. "This is serious! If anyone at Kane Corp finds out—"
"They won't." His tone hardened, steel beneath silk. "Because I won't let them."
She stared at him, chest heaving. "You can't control everything."
His eyes softened, unexpectedly vulnerable. "Maybe not. But I'm not letting you walk away from me, Elara. Not after last night."
Something cracked inside her chest at the raw honesty in his voice. But she couldn't afford to believe him.
So she did the only thing she could. She turned, grabbed her bag, and walked out the door before he saw the war on her face.