Claire barely slept.
Her sheets tangled around her legs, her body restless and heated. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—soaking wet, a towel clinging dangerously low to his hips, eyes like cold fire, voice like silk-wrapped steel.
"Next time you decide to gawk... do it longer. I might just return the favor."
She tossed again, groaning into her pillow. "Get it together, Claire."
It didn't help that Aidan Lazaro wasn't just attractive. No, that would've been easy. He was intoxicating. The kind of man who walked like he owned the earth beneath his feet and kissed like he'd burn down the world just to taste you.
Not that she had kissed him.
But her body was traitorous. Her imagination had gone rogue.
The next morning, Claire arrived twenty minutes early, hair neatly tied, makeup minimal but clean, her blouse ironed, and not a raindrop in sight.
Her ID buzzed her into the top floor, where Aidan's office gleamed with intimidating silence. His secretary—whom she finally met—was nowhere to be seen, likely still late.
Claire quietly dropped her bag, started the coffee machine, and began organizing the files Mr. Lazaro would need for the morning.
She was halfway through sorting documents when the elevator chimed.
She froze.
He walked in like a shadow dipped in morning light—jet black suit hugging his frame, no tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, exposing a slice of bronzed skin.
Claire tried not to stare.
"Miss Bennett," he said, voice calm but clipped. "I see you're on time today."
"Yes, sir," she replied, trying not to sound breathless. "Coffee?"
He walked past her, not answering, and sat behind his desk. Claire bit her lip and grabbed the cup.
But her hands shook.
Maybe it was the scent of his cologne, or the way his sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms, exposing those veined, muscular wrists that screamed dominance and control. Maybe it was the way his gaze locked on her every movement like he knew how flustered she was.
She stepped forward.
And then it happened.
The cup slipped.
Hot black coffee spilled all over his desk—splashes landing on his wrist, dripping down the corner of the table.
"Oh my God—I'm so sorry!" Claire gasped, lunging forward with a napkin from her folder.
Aidan didn't flinch. But he looked up slowly, his eyes burning into her like cold fire.
He stood.
Claire backed away instinctively, bumping into the edge of the desk.
"You spilled coffee on your boss," he said, voice low, controlled.
"I'll clean it, I promise—" she reached forward, dabbing at his wrist with shaky fingers, unaware of how close she'd gotten until she looked up.
They were inches apart.
Her fingers grazed his skin—warm, taut, electric.
His hand snapped up—catching her wrist.
Claire gasped.
"You're shaking," he said.
"I didn't mean to—"
"No," he interrupted softly. "You're not scared. You're nervous. And you're blushing."
She was.
"Tell me, Miss Bennett," he said, voice low and unblinking. "What is it about me that makes you this… undone?"
"I'm not—undone," she whispered.
He leaned in, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. "You sure?"
Her heart thundered. Her lips parted.
Aidan's gaze dropped to her mouth. For a second—just a heartbeat—she thought he might kiss her. Her body leaned forward before her brain could stop it.
And then—he stepped back.
"Control yourself," he said, voice like cracked glass. "This isn't a fantasy. You're my employee. And I don't mix business with pleasure."
Claire straightened, throat dry. "Then maybe you should stop teasing me like it is."
That got him.
His eyes darkened. Something flickered in them—heat, danger, interest.
Aidan walked slowly around the desk, closer, until her back hit the wall.
"Careful, Miss Bennett," he murmured. "You're playing with matches."
She tilted her chin up. "You lit the fire."
Silence stretched between them like stretched wire. Tight. Breathless.
And then, he reached beside her—pressing a button on the wall.
The glass behind his desk frosted over instantly, hiding the city skyline and plunging the office into a soft, filtered light.
Claire's breath hitched.
"A meeting is scheduled in ten minutes," he said. "Wipe the desk. Replace the folder. Fix your blouse."
She blinked. "My—what?"
He glanced down.
She followed his gaze—and cursed.
The top two buttons of her blouse had popped open during the coffee spill.
Her bra peeked out—lace. Black. Thin.
Claire turned red instantly, fumbling to button up.
Aidan's lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk.
He walked past her, grabbing a clean folder from the cabinet and tossing it lightly onto the desk.
Claire pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her heartbeat.
As he straightened his cuffs, he said, without looking at her, "I don't allow mistakes, Claire. But I do enjoy watching how people recover from them."
Claire stared at him. "You're impossible."
He finally looked back at her. "No. I'm obsessed with excellence. And right now, you're at risk of becoming a… distraction."
"I'll do better," she said quickly.
"I know you will."
And then his voice dipped.
"Because if you don't, I might have to punish you."
Claire's breath caught in her throat.
But before she could reply, the elevator dinged again. The board members had arrived.