The hum of machines softened into the background as Scarlett and Nicolas stood in silence, the glow from the holographic screen painting them both in shades of blue and gold. The storm outside drummed a relentless rhythm against the windows, a wild soundtrack to the silent storm brewing between them. Neither seemed to hear it — the only sound was their breathing, uneven and quick in the enclosed space.
Scarlett turned slightly, her eyes lifting to meet his. Nicolas's gaze was locked on her — steady, intense, and unguarded for once. His hand lingered near hers on the console, close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. Then, slowly, deliberately, his fingers covered hers, his grip surprisingly gentle for a man who seemed to be made of steel and secrets. The contact was electric, a current that shot straight up her arm and settled low in her stomach.
"You shouldn't look at me like that," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, though she made no move to pull her hand away.
"Like what?" he asked, a teasing edge in his low tone. He took a small step closer, closing the last bit of respectable distance between them.
"Like you're trying to read every thought in my head."
He smiled faintly, that rare, dangerous smile that did strange things to her pulse. "Maybe I already have." His thumb began to move in slow, deliberate circles over the back of her hand, the simple gesture feeling scandalously intimate. "Maybe I'm just waiting for you to read mine."
The tension between them became something fragile and charged—like glass about to shatter. Nicolas released her hand only to reach up, brushing his thumb lightly across her cheek, his touch careful, restrained.
Scarlett's breath hitched, her heart thundering against her ribs as he leaned in closer, stopping just a breath away. His scent filled her senses, something like rain and expensive cologne.
It wasn't a demanding move, just a quiet surrender to everything left unsaid. His lips brushed hers, a fleeting, gentle question. But when she didn't pull away, when her own fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, the pressure deepened. His other hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking her skin as he tilted her head back.
It was a kiss of slow-burning discovery, a mapping of territories that had been unspoken between them for weeks. It was possessive and tender all at once, tasting of the storm outside and something uniquely, dangerously Nicolas.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless, she rested her forehead against his. The cool logic she prided herself on was a melted, tangled mess. Scarlett's eyes fluttered open, meeting his, which were dark and stormy. "That doesn't seem very professional," she murmured, her voice shaky.
He smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Consider it… experimental chemistry."
Before she could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. The door swung open.
"Boss!" Matteo's voice broke the moment like glass. He stopped short, eyes flicking between them, instantly realizing what he'd interrupted. "Apologies. But it's urgent."
Nicolas straightened, his expression hardening instantly, the warmth from seconds ago replaced by the cold precision of the Volkov heir. "Speak."
Matteo stepped forward, lowering his voice. "It's the Greeks. Area Stavros himself has arrived in Sardinia. Says he wants to talk — about the recent shipment and the territory deal."
Scarlett blinked, confused. "The Greeks?"
Nicolas's jaw tightened. The softness in his eyes vanished. "A business matter," he said curtly, already pulling on his black coat. "One I thought could wait."
Matteo hesitated, glancing at Scarlett again. "He's not alone, sir. He brought men — heavily armed."
Nicolas exhaled slowly, his voice calm but sharp. "Of course he did." Then, turning to Scarlett, his tone softened just a fraction. "You should go back to the university. I'll have Matteo drive you."
Scarlett frowned. "You expect me to leave now, after—"
"After nothing," he interrupted firmly, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than it should have, a silent acknowledgment of the experiment that had just taken place. "You've proved yourself tonight. That's enough."
Scarlett met his eyes — storm for storm. "Be careful, Nicolas."
He gave her a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Careful isn't really my style."
And with that, he was gone, striding into the storm, Matteo close behind. Scarlett stood there in the flickering light, her lips still tingling, the faint taste of rain and static in the air — and the unshakable feeling that whatever she had just stepped into was much bigger than her project, or even Nicolas Volkov himself.