Chapter 685:

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Her body betrayed her.

She leaned into him, her lips parting under the pressure of his. He deepened the kiss, one hand sliding from the wall down the curve of her spine, pressing her hips firmly against his. A low groan rumbled in his chest.

Just as the kiss became heated, just as he shifted his weight to lift her against the wall, a sharp, professional ringtone shattered the intimate atmosphere.

His phone, left on the console table by the door, was ringing insistently.

Alistair broke the kiss, a sound of pure frustration escaping his lips. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, his breathing ragged, before glaring at the phone as if it were a mortal enemy.

“Don’t move,” he commanded in a husky voice. He strode over to the table and answered the call.

Sloane leaned against the wall, her legs feeling weak, her lips tingling and swollen. She touched her mouth, completely dazed. She watched him pace the foyer, his back to her. His voice was all business now, sharp and decisive, discussing a currency crisis in their European division. The transformation from passionate man to ruthless CEO was jarring, and strangely fascinating.

In that moment of reprieve, as she watched him command his empire, a terrifying truth slammed into her.

She hadn’t disliked the kiss.

In fact, a traitorous part of her had been bitterly disappointed when the phone rang.

𝗥о𝗆𝖺ոc𝖾 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝗽а𝘀𝘀𝘪𝗼n 𝗼𝗇 𝘨al𝘯𝗈𝘃e𝘭s.𝘤o𝗺

Horrified by the admission, she pushed off the wall. She needed to escape. She fled down the hall to the guest suite, her sanctuary, slipped inside, and locked the door, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She leaned against the solid wood, trying to make sense of her own treacherous reactions.

An hour later, there was a soft knock on her door. “Sloane?”

She held her breath, staying perfectly still, feigning sleep.

She heard him sigh on the other side of the door, a sound of weary resignation.

“I’ve had Mrs. Gable move your things into the master suite. This is your home now. Stop hiding in the guest quarters.”

His footsteps retreated down the hall. Sloane felt a confusing mix of anger at his presumption and a strange, fluttering sensation in her stomach.

Much later, unable to sleep, she cautiously opened her door. The penthouse was dark and silent. Driven by a curiosity she couldn’t explain, she crept down the hall to the master suite. The door was ajar.

She peeked inside.

Alistair was asleep in the massive bed. He lay on his side, facing the door, leaving more than half of the vast mattress empty. In the dim light from the hallway, he looked younger, the hard lines of his face softened, the weight of his empire momentarily lifted. He looked exhausted.

After a long, silent debate with herself, she made a decision. She quietly entered the room and slipped into the far side of the bed, keeping as much distance between them as possible. The sheets were cool against her skin.

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