[Hugh’s POV]
I'm losing my goddamn mind.
Twelve hours since I fled like a coward, and I can still taste her. Feel the silk of her dress bunched in my fists, hear the sounds she made when I had my mouth on her. The ghost of her fingers wrapped in my tie, tugging me closer… It haunts every thought.
I spent the night hating myself for stopping and for not stopping sooner. My wolf paced until dawn, snarling and clawing at my control, furious at being denied what he considers rightfully ours.
Now I'm at the office, staring at financial projections that blur together while my mind runs in maddening circles.
She's Richard's daughter. My friend's child.
The man who trusted me to protect her, not to fuck her senseless on my couch.
She's nineteen. I'm forty-two.
The age gap alone should be enough to make me back away.
And there’s also the species difference issue. Both our worlds would see us as an abomination. A betrayal of everything we're supposed to be.
Distance is the only resolve.
I tell myself this for the hundredth time, like repetition will make it true.
My wolf disagrees. Violently. He's been clawing at me all morning, demanding I return to the penthouse, claim what's ours, mark her so every male knows that she's taken. That she’s mine and mine alone. And I’m hers.
The territorial fury is almost enough to make me shift right here.
I grip my pen hard enough that it cracks, trying to focus on the acquisition proposal. The words swim and my hand unconsciously moves to my tie—the same one she grabbed last night—and I catch myself loosening it like I can still feel her fingers twisted in the silk.
My office door opens without warning when Theo walks in with that easy confidence he's perfected, and behind him is Claire. Carrying a bag that smells like the Italian place three blocks over.
My entire body goes rigid, every sense zeroing in on her.
"Sorry to interrupt, Alpha," Theo says, and his smirk tells me he's not sorry at all. He knows exactly what he's doing. "But someone insisted on bringing you lunch since you skipped it. Again. And you know how persuasive she can be."
Claire meets my eyes over Theo's shoulder, and the memory of last night crashes over me—her taste, her sounds, the desperate way she said my name. My wolf surges forward, demanding I send Theo away immediately.
I force my voice to remain level. "Thank you, Theo. That will be all."
"Sure thing." He shoots Claire a conspiratorial grin before leaving, the door closing with a soft click.
The space shrinks. She sets the food on my desk, not looking at me yet. The dress she's wearing—deep blue, fitted—shows curves I've now mapped with my hands and mouth. The pulse beats visibly in her throat.
"Are we going to talk about what happened last night?"
Her voice is steady, direct, and I grip the armrests of my chair to keep from reaching for her.
"There's nothing to talk about." The lie tastes bitter. "I’ve already told you, it was a mistake. A moment of weakness. We both know it can't happen again."
She laughs—actually laughs—and the sound hits me like a physical blow. "I’ve already heard that. And you're a terrible liar, you know that? Your jaw does this thing where it gets all tight and broody."
"Claire—"
"I'm not done." She moves around the desk, slow and deliberate, each step measured like she's stalking prey.
I should stop her. Should stand up, put the furniture between us, maintain the professional distance that's crumbling with every breath.
I don't move. Can't move. I'm frozen like a rabbit watching a wolf approach, except I'm the wolf and she's the danger and nothing about this makes sense anymore.
She stops inches away from my chair, close enough that I catch her scent—something floral mixed with arousal that makes my wolf howl. "Why did you run?"
"I didn't run."
She raises an eyebrow, and somehow that single gesture calls bullshit more effectively than words ever could.
My hands tighten on the armrests.
"What do you want me to say, Claire? That I shouldn't have touched you?” I know that myself. “That every reason I gave for maintaining distance still applies? That nothing has changed except I know exactly how you taste and it's driving me insane?"
"I want you to be honest." She steps closer, her knees brushing mine. "Stop hiding behind noble excuses and tell me the truth. Did you want to stop last night? Or did you run because you were terrified of how much you didn't want to?"
The question strips me bare. I can't answer without damning myself either way.
"I'm not sorry about last night," she continues, her voice dropping lower, more intimate. "And I don't regret it. I want more, Hugh. I want everything you keep holding back. Everything you're afraid to give me."
"You don't understand what you're asking for." The words come out rough, scraped raw from somewhere deep in my chest. "What 'more' means with someone like me. With a wolf who's already claimed you in every way that matters except the final one."
"Then explain it to me."
She leans forward, bracing her hands on the armrests on either side of me, caging me in. The role reversal should be laughable—this slip of a woman trapping an alpha werewolf. Instead it's devastating.
"Make me understand what you're so afraid of. What your wolf wants that terrifies you so much."
I can't. Can't tell her that marking her would be permanent, irreversible, binding her to me in ways that transcend human understanding.
Can't explain that my wolf wants to sink teeth into the curve where her neck meets shoulder and claim her so thoroughly that every creature within a hundred miles would know she's mine.
Can't admit that the only thing holding me back is the certainty that I'd be condemning her to a life of danger, prejudice, and constant threat simply by existing next to me.
She touches my jaw, her fingers gentle against the tension locked there. "Stop thinking so hard. Stop listing all the reasons we can't do this and just… be here. With me. Right now."
Then she kisses me, soft and deliberate. Her lips pressing against mine with no urgency, no demand. Just connection. Just her maddening presence.
Just the devastating simplicity of her mouth on mine while the world falls away and nothing exists except this moment, this contact, this impossible rightness that defies every logical objection.
I don't pull away. Don't deepen the kiss either. I just sit there, trembling, feeling my carefully constructed walls crumble into dust while she dismantles me with nothing but gentleness.
"I can wait, Hugh,” she softens, pulling back. “I can be patient while you work through whatever's holding you back. But I won't wait forever. Eventually you'll have to choose—the safety of distance or the risk of something real."
She straightens, steps away, and the loss of her warmth feels like amputation.
"Enjoy your lunch, Alpha. Don't skip dinner too."
Then she's gone, the office door closing behind her with that same soft click. I'm left sitting in my chair, heart pounding against my ribs, the taste of her still on my lips.
My resolve—everything I've told myself about maintaining distance, protecting her from my world, doing the right thing—lies in ruins at my feet.
And the terrifying part? I'm not sure I want to rebuild it anymore.