Aidan had rules — strict, unbendable ones.
Rule one: never think about a woman twice.
Rule two: never let a woman stay the night.
Rule three: never, ever want something you can't control.
Zara Grey was breaking all three without even trying.
He sat in his penthouse that night, a glass of bourbon untouched in his hand, replaying that brief moment in his office. The way she'd looked up at him — nervous but not submissive. Shy but not weak. Her scent still lingered in the room, soft like warm vanilla and something wild underneath.
He hated it.
He hated how her voice played on a loop in his head.
He hated that his hand had been itching to reach for her hair, tilt her face up, and taste her lips.
And most of all, he hated that when he'd imagined touching her — he hadn't imagined the usual: bending her over, marking her. No.
He'd imagined laying her down. Slowly. Like she was fragile.
And that... that was his mistake.
The next morning, Zara walked into his office — unsure if this was a dream or a very twisted prank.
"Good," Aidan said without looking up from his screen. "You're early."
She stood awkwardly, unsure if she should speak or sit.
"You're not here to take notes or bring coffee," he said, standing up, approaching her. "You're here because I want you close."
Zara's breath caught. "Mr. Stone—"
"Aidan."
She froze.
He stepped even closer, towering over her again, voice dropping lower. "I don't mix business with pleasure. Ever. But with you, I want to break all the rules."
Her cheeks flushed hot. "I... I don't know what you mean."
He reached out and ran a single finger down the side of her face, barely touching. "Don't worry. You will."
Then he walked past her and called for his driver.
And she just stood there — a little shaken, a little thrilled… and deeply confused.