Chapter Seven: A Night with No Lines
The storm had quieted, but the tension hadn't.
I lay on the guest suite bed, staring at the ceiling. My fingers kept curling and uncurling over the hem of the oversized T-shirt someone had thoughtfully left in the closet. I wore it now, along with a pair of soft shorts, but comfort was a lie. My body was tense. My mind, worse.
Damon Wolfe had kissed me with his eyes.
He hadn't touched me since handing over that mug of tea. But his gaze had burned through every layer of my armor, and I'd let it.
I didn't want to admit it, but I wanted more.
That was the most dangerous truth of all.
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I found myself walking barefoot through the penthouse hallway again. Quiet. Dark. My fingers grazed the cool wall as I moved toward his office like I was sleepwalking.
The door was open a crack.
Warm lamplight glowed within, and a familiar silhouette stood by the window, a glass of something in hand, watching the last few raindrops streak down the glass.
He didn't look surprised when I pushed the door open farther.
"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked.
I shook my head.
He gestured to the space beside him. I moved closer, heart hammering, pulse fluttering like I was seventeen again and falling for the first time.
The skyline stretched before us, glittering, indifferent to what was happening behind its windows. Inside, the air between us thickened.
"You look…" he began, eyes raking over me before he cleared his throat. "Different."
"You mean I'm not wearing a business suit and your schedule in my hands?"
A ghost of a smile played at his lips. "Exactly."
I looked up at him, close enough to see the faint dark circles under his eyes. Close enough to feel the pull.
"Why did you really ask me to stay?" I asked softly.
His jaw flexed. "I told myself it was because it was dangerous to send you home in the storm."
"And the truth?"
He turned to me fully now. "The truth is... I didn't want you to leave."
The words felt like a match lit in my chest. I stared at him, stunned by the honesty in them.
"I'm not the kind of man who lets people in easily," he continued. "Especially not women who talk back to me, challenge me, make me question everything I thought I knew."
I laughed—quiet and nervous. "That's oddly specific."
He stepped closer.
Too close.
"I've built walls for a reason, Lina. They protect everything I've fought for. But you…" His voice dropped. "You make me want to open the door. Even when I know I shouldn't."
My breath caught.
"You kiss like a man who already opened it," I whispered.
His eyes darkened. "And you kissed me back like a woman who doesn't want it closed."
He was right.
God help me, he was right.
When his hand lifted to my cheek, I didn't pull away. I leaned into the warmth. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, and my body trembled—not in fear, but in anticipation.
He lowered his head slowly, giving me every chance to stop him.
I didn't.
Our lips met again, softer this time. Slower. Less war, more surrender.
His hands slipped to my waist, mine to his collar, and for a few stolen moments, the world was only us—two people caught in something neither of us had asked for but couldn't resist.
We broke apart, breathless and tangled.
His forehead rested against mine.
"I don't know what this is," I whispered.
"Neither do I," he said. "But I know I don't want to fight it anymore."
And in that rare, raw silence, we stood—closer than enemies should ever be, and far too close to pretend we were only coworkers.
Whatever this was, it had already started.
And I wasn't sure I wanted to stop it.