I paced the hallway outside Ethan’s office, the anonymous email running laps through my mind. “Ask him about the missing millions.” It was short, cryptic, but heavy enough to keep me up all night. My curiosity gnawed at me until I couldn’t take it anymore. Standing there, I knew this wasn’t the smart move—but when had I ever been smart about Ethan Drake?
Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open without knocking.
Ethan looked up from his laptop, his brow furrowing as his gray eyes landed on me. “Winters,” he said, his voice edged with irritation. “I didn’t realize we’d scheduled a meeting.”
“We didn’t,” I said, shutting the door behind me deliberately. My hands clenched into fists at my sides as I stepped forward. “What’s this about you losing millions?”
The question hung in the air like a live wire. For a fleeting second, his fingers froze over the keyboard, and something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe guilt. Just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by the icy composure he wore so well.
“Where did you hear that?” he asked, his voice calm, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him.
“Does it matter?” I shot back, my heart pounding as I held his gaze. “Why haven’t you told me the truth?”
Ethan closed his laptop, the sound unnervingly final. Standing, he moved deliberately, rounding the desk until he stood directly in front of me. His presence filled the room, suffocating in its intensity. “You’re not paid to dig into my past, Maeve,” he said, his voice cold and low.
My frustration boiled over. “Maybe if you weren’t so hellbent on controlling everything, your past wouldn’t keep haunting you,” I snapped, taking a step closer and jabbing a finger at his chest.
His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering in their depths. “You think you know me?” he said, his voice a low growl. “You don’t. Not even close.”
The air between us crackled, heavy with tension that felt more like an electric storm than an argument. My heart thudded painfully, but I refused to back down. “Then enlighten me,” I fired back. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re just a spoiled brat cleaning up your own mess.”
Ethan’s composure cracked. In one swift motion, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me closer until there was barely an inch between us. My breath hitched as his grip tightened, his gray eyes blazing with something I couldn’t name. “If you can’t handle the heat,” he growled, his voice rough and biting, “maybe you should quit.”
My anger flared. I yanked my wrist free, my voice trembling with defiance. “Maybe I should,” I spat, the words sharp enough to cut.
I turned on my heel, my pulse roaring in my ears, but before I could reach the door, his hand shot out. He spun me back around, and suddenly, his lips were on mine.
The kiss hit me like a tidal wave—fierce, raw, and consuming. It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was anger and desperation colliding in a single explosive moment. My mind reeled, instincts screaming at me to push him away, but the pull of him was undeniable.
My hands pressed against his chest, but instead of breaking free, I felt myself leaning into the heat of him. His hands slid to my waist, grounding me and setting my skin on fire all at once. The strength in his grip, the roughness of his kiss—it was intoxicating and infuriating all at once.
Reality slammed back into me like a cold bucket of water. I shoved him with all my strength, stumbling back as I tried to catch my breath. Ethan staggered a step, his chest rising and falling as he stared at me. His lips were red, his expression shattered into something I couldn’t recognize—shock, vulnerability, maybe both.
“What the hell was that?” I demanded, my voice shaking as I touched my lips, still tingling from the kiss.