Chapter 72 – First Touch
The quiet didn't leave the next day.
It followed them.
Through breakfast.
Through the hallway.
Through every glance that lasted half a second too long.
It was subtle—but impossible to ignore.
Amber noticed it first when she woke earlier than usual and found the apartment already alive with soft movement.
Not staff.
Alex.
She stepped out of her room barefoot, hair still messy from sleep, expecting emptiness.
Instead, the smell of coffee hit her.
Fresh. Strong.
Domestic.
Dangerous.
Alex stood at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled, reading something on his tablet while the coffee machine hummed quietly beside him. Morning light streamed through the glass walls, catching on the sharp lines of his face.
For a second, she just watched.
He didn't look like the president of Wilson Group.
He didn't look cold.
He didn't look untouchable.
He just looked like a man making coffee in his own home.
And that unsettled her more than boardrooms ever could.
"You're staring," he said without looking up.
Amber didn't flinch. "You wish."
"I can hear you thinking."
"That sounds like a you problem."
He finally glanced at her—and paused.
She was wearing one of his shirts.
Not intentionally.
She'd grabbed it from the laundry pile last night without thinking.
But now, under his gaze, she became very aware of it.
The fabric swallowed her frame, sleeves falling past her wrists, collar loose enough to expose one shoulder.
Intimate.
Unplanned.
Too familiar.
Alex's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second before he looked away.
"Coffee?" he asked, voice even.
"Yes. Strong. I'm emotionally fragile today."
"You're always emotionally fragile. You just disguise it with insults."
She gasped softly. "I'm offended."
"You'll survive."
He handed her a mug.
Their fingers brushed.
Barely.
Just skin against skin for less than a second.
But it felt—
Wrong.
No.
Not wrong.
Too right.
Amber pulled back faster than necessary, heat crawling up her wrist like the contact had burned.
Alex noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn't comment.
Didn't smirk.
Didn't weaponize it.
That restraint made it worse.
They moved around each other in the kitchen carefully after that, like magnets trying not to snap together.
Too aware.
Too close.
Amber leaned against the counter, sipping slowly.
"You have something today?" she asked.
"Three meetings. One investor call."
"You sound thrilled."
"I'm never thrilled."
"That's tragic. You should try joy sometime. Highly recommended."
"I'll schedule it."
She smiled despite herself.
God, this was dangerous.
When had talking to him become easy?
When had silence stopped feeling like war?
Her phone buzzed with a reminder.
"Damn it," she muttered.
"What?"
"Charity committee lunch. I forgot."
"You hate those."
"They're necessary evil. Rich people pretending to care about social issues while judging each other's shoes."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It is."
She set her mug down and moved toward the hallway to grab her bag.
At the same time, Alex stepped away from the counter.
They collided.
Not hard.
But enough.
Her shoulder hit his chest.
His hand instinctively caught her waist to steady her.
Everything stopped.
Time.
Breathing.
Thought.
His palm was warm.
Solid.
Firm against the curve of her waist like it belonged there.
Her hands were flat against his chest, fingers fisting slightly into the fabric of his shirt.
She could feel his heartbeat.
Fast.
Too fast for someone so controlled.
Her own pulse went wild in response.
They were too close.
So close she could feel the heat of his skin through the thin cotton.
So close that if either of them leaned forward—
"Sorry," she whispered.
But she didn't move.
Neither did he.
His hand was still on her waist.
Not tight.
Not possessive.
Just… there.
Like he didn't want her to fall.
Or maybe didn't want to let go.
His thumb shifted slightly.
A small movement.
An unconscious one.
But it traced heat straight through her.
Amber's breath hitched.
Alex noticed.
His gaze dropped to her lips for half a second.
Then back to her eyes.
The air felt heavier.
Thicker.
Like the world had shrunk to the space between them.
"This is—" she started.
"Dangerous," he finished quietly.
"Yes."
"Then step back," he said.
But his hand didn't move.
She swallowed.
"You first."
Neither of them did.
The tension stretched so tight it almost hurt.
Amber hated that her body reacted before her brain did—leaning slightly closer, drawn in by warmth and gravity and something far less logical.
She could smell him.
Feel him.
Count every breath.
Her voice dropped to almost nothing. "We're breaking rules."
"Yes."
"You wrote those rules."
"I know."
"Then why aren't you stopping?"
He looked at her like the answer was obvious.
"Because I don't want to."
The honesty hit harder than any touch.
For one reckless second, Amber considered it.
Closing the gap.
Letting the line blur completely.
Letting herself feel instead of calculate.
Then her survival instincts screamed.
She stepped back fast.
Too fast.
The loss of contact felt colder than it should have.
"This is exactly how things get messy," she said, forcing her voice steady.
"Yes."
"And messy ends badly."
"Usually."
She grabbed her bag, putting distance between them like it was oxygen.
"I'll be late tonight," she muttered.
Alex nodded once. Mask sliding back into place. "Drive safe."
She turned to leave—
Then paused.
Looked back at him.
He hadn't moved.
Still standing where she left him.
Still watching her like she was something fragile and dangerous at the same time.
Her chest tightened.
"Alex?"
"Yes."
"Next time… don't catch me."
His gaze softened. "Then don't fall."
She left before her heart could betray her further.
But the truth followed her out the door.
They hadn't kissed.
Hadn't confessed.
Hadn't crossed any official lines.
And yet—
That single touch had shaken her more than anything else so far.
Because it hadn't felt forced.
Or strategic.
Or contractual.
It had felt natural.
Instinctive.
Like his hands already knew where she belonged.
And that terrified her.
Chapter 72 – First Touch
The quiet didn't leave the next day.
It followed them.
Through breakfast.
Through the hallway.
Through every glance that lasted half a second too long.
It was subtle—but impossible to ignore.
Amber noticed it first when she woke earlier than usual and found the apartment already alive with soft movement.
Not staff.
Alex.
She stepped out of her room barefoot, hair still messy from sleep, expecting emptiness.
Instead, the smell of coffee hit her.
Fresh. Strong.
Domestic.
Dangerous.
Alex stood at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled, reading something on his tablet while the coffee machine hummed quietly beside him. Morning light streamed through the glass walls, catching on the sharp lines of his face.
For a second, she just watched.
He didn't look like the president of Wilson Group.
He didn't look cold.
He didn't look untouchable.
He just looked like a man making coffee in his own home.
And that unsettled her more than boardrooms ever could.
"You're staring," he said without looking up.
Amber didn't flinch. "You wish."
"I can hear you thinking."
"That sounds like a you problem."
He finally glanced at her—and paused.
She was wearing one of his shirts.
Not intentionally.
She'd grabbed it from the laundry pile last night without thinking.
But now, under his gaze, she became very aware of it.
The fabric swallowed her frame, sleeves falling past her wrists, collar loose enough to expose one shoulder.
Intimate.
Unplanned.
Too familiar.
Alex's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second before he looked away.
"Coffee?" he asked, voice even.
"Yes. Strong. I'm emotionally fragile today."
"You're always emotionally fragile. You just disguise it with insults."
She gasped softly. "I'm offended."
"You'll survive."
He handed her a mug.
Their fingers brushed.
Barely.
Just skin against skin for less than a second.
But it felt—
Wrong.
No.
Not wrong.
Too right.
Amber pulled back faster than necessary, heat crawling up her wrist like the contact had burned.
Alex noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn't comment.
Didn't smirk.
Didn't weaponize it.
That restraint made it worse.
They moved around each other in the kitchen carefully after that, like magnets trying not to snap together.
Too aware.
Too close.
Amber leaned against the counter, sipping slowly.
"You have something today?" she asked.
"Three meetings. One investor call."
"You sound thrilled."
"I'm never thrilled."
"That's tragic. You should try joy sometime. Highly recommended."
"I'll schedule it."
She smiled despite herself.
God, this was dangerous.
When had talking to him become easy?
When had silence stopped feeling like war?
Her phone buzzed with a reminder.
"Damn it," she muttered.
"What?"
"Charity committee lunch. I forgot."
"You hate those."
"They're necessary evil. Rich people pretending to care about social issues while judging each other's shoes."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It is."
She set her mug down and moved toward the hallway to grab her bag.
At the same time, Alex stepped away from the counter.
They collided.
Not hard.
But enough.
Her shoulder hit his chest.
His hand instinctively caught her waist to steady her.
Everything stopped.
Time.
Breathing.
Thought.
His palm was warm.
Solid.
Firm against the curve of her waist like it belonged there.
Her hands were flat against his chest, fingers fisting slightly into the fabric of his shirt.
She could feel his heartbeat.
Fast.
Too fast for someone so controlled.
Her own pulse went wild in response.
They were too close.
So close she could feel the heat of his skin through the thin cotton.
So close that if either of them leaned forward—
"Sorry," she whispered.
But she didn't move.
Neither did he.
His hand was still on her waist.
Not tight.
Not possessive.
Just… there.
Like he didn't want her to fall.
Or maybe didn't want to let go.
His thumb shifted slightly.
A small movement.
An unconscious one.
But it traced heat straight through her.
Amber's breath hitched.
Alex noticed.
His gaze dropped to her lips for half a second.
Then back to her eyes.
The air felt heavier.
Thicker.
Like the world had shrunk to the space between them.
"This is—" she started.
"Dangerous," he finished quietly.
"Yes."
"Then step back," he said.
But his hand didn't move.
She swallowed.
"You first."
Neither of them did.
The tension stretched so tight it almost hurt.
Amber hated that her body reacted before her brain did—leaning slightly closer, drawn in by warmth and gravity and something far less logical.
She could smell him.
Feel him.
Count every breath.
Her voice dropped to almost nothing. "We're breaking rules."
"Yes."
"You wrote those rules."
"I know."
"Then why aren't you stopping?"
He looked at her like the answer was obvious.
"Because I don't want to."
The honesty hit harder than any touch.
For one reckless second, Amber considered it.
Closing the gap.
Letting the line blur completely.
Letting herself feel instead of calculate.
Then her survival instincts screamed.
She stepped back fast.
Too fast.
The loss of contact felt colder than it should have.
"This is exactly how things get messy," she said, forcing her voice steady.
"Yes."
"And messy ends badly."
"Usually."
She grabbed her bag, putting distance between them like it was oxygen.
"I'll be late tonight," she muttered.
Alex nodded once. Mask sliding back into place. "Drive safe."
She turned to leave—
Then paused.
Looked back at him.
He hadn't moved.
Still standing where she left him.
Still watching her like she was something fragile and dangerous at the same time.
Her chest tightened.
"Alex?"
"Yes."
"Next time… don't catch me."
His gaze softened. "Then don't fall."
She left before her heart could betray her further.
But the truth followed her out the door.
They hadn't kissed.
Hadn't confessed.
Hadn't crossed any official lines.
And yet—
That single touch had shaken her more than anything else so far.
Because it hadn't felt forced.
Or strategic.
Or contractual.
It had felt natural.
Instinctive.
Like his hands already knew where she belonged.
And that terrified her.