Mara's been avoiding him since that incident. She's tired of playing games, tired of being a pawn in his business world. But tonight, she's called to his penthouse suite for a "briefing" she didn't ask for.
She shows up in her usual modest-but-killer outfit. Hair in a low bun. Lip gloss subtle but dangerous.
The knock at his penthouse door was sharp. Two short taps ;confident, clipped, like the person on the other side was already regretting showing up.
It was Mara.
Of course it was Mara.
He opened the door slowly, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, tie discarded hours ago. His voice was low.
"Didn't think you'd actually come."
She stepped in without answering, heels clicking softly against marble floors. Her black pencil skirt clung in all the right places, blouse buttoned to the top; prim, poised, and a calculated rebellion against every thought he'd had about her.
"You said it was urgent," she replied coolly.
"I almost didn't."
He watched her pace, pretending not to notice the way her fingers curled into her palm; a tell she didn't know he'd memorized. She stopped by the wide glass window, city lights reflecting off her skin like moonlight on silk.
"If this is about that contract, I already—"
"It's not."
He was behind her now. Close. Close enough to smell her perfume; something soft, floral, dangerous. His hand brushed the side of her arm as he reached past her for a file on the table. On purpose? Maybe.
She didn't flinch. She never did.
"Then why am I here?" she asked.
"Because I can't stop thinking about you."
Silence.
Her shoulders tightened; just for a second. Then she turned, eyes guarded but gleaming.
"You think I haven't heard that before?"
"Not from me."
He took a step forward. She didn't move.
"Mara…" His voice dropped. "You drive me insane."
Her heart skipped, but her face didn't show it. His fingers grazed hers, slow and uncertain, then stopped like he was waiting for permission.
She looked up at him; really looked. At the slight stubble, the darkness in his eyes, the way he always acted like he was in control… but not tonight.
Tonight, he was the one burning.
"Say the word," he whispered, "and I'll stop pretending I don't want you."
She swallowed hard. Her breath caught. His hand was still hovering near hers; warm, tense, trembling slightly.
"Then stop pretending," she whispered back.
The moment cracked.
He pulled her to him; not rough, but with the urgency of someone who'd waited too long. Their lips collided; soft at first, then deep, desperate, tangled. His hands found her waist. Hers gripped his shirt. It was a kiss that tasted like control lost, rules shattered, and something dangerous waking up between them.
He broke the kiss first, forehead resting against hers, breath uneven.
"Tell me to stop, Mara."
She closed her eyes, her voice barely a whisper:
"I can't."
Fade to black.