The penthouse office of Vale International shone like a gem through the city lights inching through floor-to-ceiling windows—a fortress of glass and steel that dominated the twinkling lights of Manhattan spread before it. Sebastian Vale stood tall at the head of the polished mahogany table, his wide shoulders straining against the crisp white fabric of his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to showcase forearms tensed like cords. At thirty-nine, he could conquer every room he ever entered, but this night, his dark eyes were fixed on Elena Hart-Vale, radiating an energy that vibrated through the air. "Stay late," he growled, his deep voice unyielding, like a completed deal. "We have some business unfinished."
Elena's fingers clenched around the portfolio as she stood at the door. Twenty-seven, as cutthroat as the heels-clicking sound on the marble floor, Elena was the executive secretary who kept his empire intact and turning like clockwork. But her wedding ring glinted in the light, and the reminder of Marcus waiting back at home pricked at her conscience—good, reliable Marcus, who kissed her forehead and asked about her day without ever asking for more. Elena's heart hammered with defiance and something else as she met Sebastian's gaze. "Mr. Vale, it's past nine. Whatever business this is, it'll have to wait until morning." Elena's voice was professional and curt, but the pang of conscience slashing through her insides had nothing to do with protocol and everything to do with the fact that Sebastian's arrival rocked something far deeper than mere duty or loyalty. It rocked her latent hunger for something more intense than the predictable married life she and Marcus had built.
Sebastian's lips twisted into a hunter's smile, but in his eyes, there was a flash of ire. This was not something he enjoyed—this begging, the hunt when women normally fell into his path. And then there was Elena, a puzzle of defiance and control, the ring on her finger an irresistible provocation.
Yet in theory, he always avoided the married ones. Business complications were not something he needed. But the wit in her eyes, the way she stood her ground, and then that ring…. 'Elena,' Sebastian said, his voice crawling into her space as the aroma of sandalwood and dominance emanated from him. "You think you have the skills to play a game and then walk out in the middle of the playground? I see the passion hidden under the columns of notes and the plans."
She stepped back a pace, her heart pounding as her thighs touched the tip of his desk. 'There's no game, sir. I'm married. Happy.' She tasted the bitter undertones of the deception—Marcus is safe, predictable but unaware of her ambition, her need for recognition that hungers to be ignited by someone just as ambitious.
Sebastian's eyes drifted down to her mouth and then farther, to the shape of her breasts pressing against her blouse. She felt heat spread over her skin, and she couldn't stand the way her body reacted, her nipples hardening under the lace of her bra. 'You don't want this,' she told him, trying to sound calmer than she felt. Even as she spoke, she pictured something that dared not be—what if there were the press of his body, the loss of control that scared her and tempted her at the same time?
He bridged the distance in a heartbeat, his hand shooting out to seize her wrist, slamming her back against the desk. The wood pressed savagely into her hips, and she gasped, the noise echoing through the deserted office. Sebastian towered over her, six feet of tightly leashed male, his other hand planted beside her head, boxing her in. "Liar," he growled, his warm breath making her skin prickle with goose flesh within inches of her ear. The disparity of their position slammed home, a tidal wave of awareness crashing over her—him, the billionaire who ordered the universe to respond to his whims, and she, the secretary who struggled to keep from falling apart. The urge to submit thrummed through her, a macabre urge she dared not acknowledge, even to herself. "You deny because you know when you surrender, you'll be begging for more. Just as I could make you."
Elena's breath caught, her body betraying her as warmth built between her legs. She should shake him off, remember Marcus's warm smile, their life. But his grip was tightening, possessive, and she could feel the outline of his cock through his slacks, hard and unmissable. Guilt dug its fingers into her breast, sharp and real, combining with her need. 'Stop,' she breathed, but it was a broken sound, her fists tightening on his shirt. He leaned in, his lips close to hers, the tension building like a spring. "Tell me you don't want this," he whispered, his lips brushing against hers in a tease that ran a series of shivers down her spine. Elena's resolve wavered, her body rising to his despite the turmoil raging in her mind. Duty fought a losing war against desire, protection against the seductive thrill of his dominative power. She pressed forward, her lips clashing fiercely with his—electric, desperate. He kissed her back, his tongue probing into her mouth, shot through with the flavor of whiskey and power as his hand curved to her waist, his fingers biting into her flesh as if to hold her.
She whimpered into his mouth, the sound primitive, her pussy aching in her need she couldn't ignore. Sebastian let out a tortured groan, the hum of the sensations rippling through her, the tension shredding as he pushed deeper, pinning his hardness against her lower belly. Elena's mind reeled: Marcus's face flitting before her eyes, the shame coiling harder even as the thrill flared. She wanted this fervor, the way Sebastian appreciated, encouraged her ambition. But the diamond on her finger seared.
Sebastian ended the kiss, his forehead pressing to hers, his breathing irregular. 'This isn't finshed, Elena. Not by a long shot.' His hand remained on her hip, possessive and full of promises of furtive encounters that would dismantle them both. She drew back slightly, her chest heaving, her eyes fixed on his. The office seemed to shrink, the city lights taunting her from afar. What had she unleashed on the world? The passion hung, unvoiced and weighty, as his hands held her in place, foreshadowing the obsession that could develop.