The office was empty. The glow of the city lights spilled through the windows, painting the room gold and amber. Olivia Hart was finishing up some reports at her desk, but the earlier tension still throbbed in her veins. Her pulse wouldn't calm. Her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried, kept returning to him—the man who had invaded her office, her mind, and her body since that morning.
The click of the door made her heart leap. She knew that sound. She didn't need to look up to know who it was.
Ethan Cole stepped in. No announcement, no knock this time. Just him. Calm, professional, and yet every inch of him screamed desire controlled only by his discipline.
"Still here?" he asked softly.
"I work late," she replied, keeping her tone neutral, but her chest tightened as he approached.
"I can see that," he said, stepping closer. His shadow stretched across the floor and onto her desk. "You shouldn't be alone. You know that?"
Her eyes narrowed. "And what do you suggest, Mr. Cole? That I leave my work unfinished because… you think I might be lonely?"
He smiled faintly, a dangerous curl that made her stomach twist. "I suggest you let someone help you," he murmured, placing the files she had requested onto the edge of her desk with a deliberate brush of his hand against hers. The contact was subtle, fleeting—but it left fire in its wake.
Olivia looked down, forcing herself to focus on the papers. But she couldn't. She felt the pull of him—closer, stronger, undeniable.
"Ms. Hart," he said softly, stepping closer. The scent of his cologne—sharp, clean, intoxicating—filled her senses. "Why do you fight it?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
"This," he said, motioning subtly between them. "The tension. The… electricity. You feel it, too."
Her chest tightened. She hated how accurate he was. Hated that he could read her like a book. Hated that she wanted him even when her mind screamed for control.
"I'm the CEO," she whispered, voice trembling slightly. "I don't lose control."
"Control isn't everything," he murmured. "Sometimes… letting go is the best choice."
The words were a spark. Her resolve faltered. She had been fighting this desire all morning, all afternoon, all evening. She had built walls around her heart, around her body, around every part of herself that had ever been vulnerable. But him? He didn't respect walls. He didn't break them violently. He didn't shove. He didn't command. He simply… opened the cracks, letting her fall through.
And she wanted to fall.
Her pulse quickened. Her hands trembled slightly as she stacked the papers, pretending to be busy. Pretending she wasn't already lost to him.
Ethan's eyes didn't leave hers. He could feel her struggle. He could see the way she wavered between command and surrender, between ice and fire. And he didn't push. He never pushed. Not yet. That would come later. First, he needed her to want him willingly. To need him. To desire him as much as he desired her.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached out. Just a touch, brushing her shoulder. The heat from his hand was electric. Her breath caught. She stiffened, trying to reclaim composure, trying to remind herself that she was the CEO, untouchable, ice.
"You can fight it," he murmured, voice low, soft. "Or you can stop pretending you're not already mine."
Her eyes widened. "Stop—" she began, but her words faltered as his hand slid gently down her arm. She could feel the control in his movements, the respect in his dominance, the irresistible pull that left her trembling.
"I'm not asking," he said, leaning just slightly closer. "I'm telling."
The tension broke, barely. Olivia leaned back in her chair, attempting to regain her ice-cold posture. "This—this can't happen," she said. "Not here. Not… like this."
"Why not?" he asked softly, his dark eyes burning into hers. "Because you think it's wrong? Because you're afraid? Because you're scared you'll fall?"
Her lips parted slightly. She didn't answer. Her body betrayed her before her mind could. She leaned into him, just a fraction, enough to give him permission, enough to let him feel her want.
Ethan's lips curved into a faint, satisfied smile. Slowly, carefully, he closed the distance, brushing a kiss against her temple. Not demanding. Not hurried. But enough. Enough to make her pulse race, enough to ignite a fire she hadn't admitted even to herself.
"Do you feel that?" he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. "Do you feel what this does to you?"
Her chest rose rapidly. "Yes," she breathed.
"Good," he murmured. "Because it's only the beginning."
Her ice walls trembled, quivering under the weight of desire and emotion she had long suppressed. For the first time, Olivia Hart realized that the office—her sanctuary, her kingdom—was no longer her domain alone. That Ethan Cole had crossed the boundaries she had built. That she wanted him. That she needed him.
And she hated herself for it.
He leaned closer again, resting his hand lightly on the small of her back, brushing her hair from her shoulder, giving her time to pull away. But she didn't. She couldn't. Not now.
The fire had been lit. The benefits—whatever this dangerous, intoxicating connection was—had begun. And there was no turning back.
Tonight, in the quiet office, with the city below them and the world unaware, the ice queen had found the warmth she had tried to deny herself.
And Ethan Cole was right there, waiting to fan the flames.