Chapter 54: The calculated spark

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• Winning Her Back   Chapter 64: The aftermath of the brink

  The silence after I rose wasn't empty. It was a physical entity, thick and humming, saturated with the ragged symphony of Ethan's breathing, the frantic, visible pulse beating at the base of his throat, and the sheer, radiating heat of his denied arousal. He stood frozen, half-clad, magnificent in his ruined state, the crisp white shirt a puddle on the floor beside his discarded trousers. His chest heaved, sweat glistening on the defined planes, catching the low light. His eyes, wide and dark as a midnight storm, were locked on mine, stripped bare of their usual icy control. Shock warred with a primal, searing frustration, a raw vulnerability I’d never witnessed before. The mask wasn't just cracked; it was obliterated.My own breath came fast, adrenaline a live wire under my skin, warring with the icy coil of triumph in my veins. The taste of him, musky and salt-sharp, lingered on my lips and tongue, a visceral reminder of the power I’d just wielded. My scalp tingled where his fingers

• Winning Her Back   Chapter 63: The edge of the blade

  His mouth came crashing down on mine, a meteorite of passion, obliterating the gasping inch of air between us. Not the strategic triumph of the other night. This was raw, uncontrolled, a wildfire of jealousy, confusion, and the chilling collapse of his iron control. He exuded desperation, a warm heat against my skin, his lips demanding proof, reassurance, the regaining of a dominance I'd gladly shaken.For a suspended heartbeat, I braced. The residual heat of high-quality scotch and his proprietary, intoxicating scent; cedar, spice, and raw, male Ethan battered my senses. The question blazed in his storm-cloud eyes, inches from mine.Surrender? Rebellion? Or something far more treacherous? The edge lay out, promising searing oblivion or shattering ice.And then the strategist in me overrode, cold and furious under the crest of sensory barrage. This was the power I'd been looking for. This was the weakness exposed by my game with Julian. I wouldn't just give in; I would claim this fir

• Winning Her Back   Chapter 62: The Calculated Spark

  Picking up my phone felt like picking up a weapon. Julian answered on the second ring, his voice warm with immediate concern. "Lila? Everything alright?" "Define alright," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. I walked to the window, staring out at the manicured garden, a stage set for a gilded prison. "He made his point last night. Quite thoroughly." I didn’t elaborate; Julian didn’t need the graphic details. The horror in the silence that followed was enough. "And this morning? Indifference. Ice. The ultimate proof of his little demonstration." "Lila, that’s monstrous. Are you okay?" "I’m okay for now," I cut in, the strategic coldness settling deeper. "But I need your help. Again. A different kind of play." I laid out the plan: a public, but seemingly casual, meeting. Coffee. Somewhere discreetly upscale, somewhere Ethan’s world might brush against ours. Somewhere a watchful eye might lurk. "I need it to look comfortable. Intimate, but plausibly friendly. Like I’m not hi

• Winning Her Back   Chapter 61: The Embers and the Ice

  The air hung thick with the scent of lemon polish and the lingering trace of his cologne, cedar, spice, and something darker, more possessive. It clung to my skin, a phantom caress that made my stomach clench. My body felt leaden, bruised not physically, but deep within, every muscle humming with a searing, shameful echo.His hands. Rough and demanding, pinning mine above my head against the cool silk sheets. The searing heat of his skin branding mine. The possessive weight of him, claiming, conquering. The low growl against my ear, not of affection, but of raw, undeniable ownership: "Mine. Always mine. Feel how you burn for me, Lila. Your body doesn't lie."He’d been relentless. A calculated tempest of dominance and devastating seduction. Every touch, every searing kiss, every deliberate thrust had been orchestrated to shatter my resistance, to prove his point: that beneath the anger, the defiance, I was still his creature. That my treacherous body craved his touch with an intensity

• Winning Her Back   Chapter 60: Claimed

  The kiss was not soft. It was not sweet. It was a crash. A fierce, desperate crashing together of lips and tongues that ignited a fire smoldering low in my stomach. He tasted of whiskey and Ethan, that unique, overwhelming combination that was both familiar and horribly addictive. His hands, large and commanding, encircled my waist and pulled me hard against the unyielding length of him nudging against his pants. My towel, already precarious, fell farther.I met his intensity with mine. My fingers trembled with desire and adrenaline as they wrestled with the buttons of his suit jacket, pushing it roughly off his wide shoulders. It fell to the ground, discarded. My focus narrowed to the starched white shirt beneath. I tore at the buttons, my nails scraping gently over the burning skin of his chest as fabric parted. The hard planes of muscle, the sprinkling of black hairs, the rapid fall and rise of his chest, I mapped it greedily with my hands, the feel of him in my palms igniting a sp

• Winning Her Back   Chapter 59: Mine

  He was here.Ethan.Not lingering in the lobby like a visitor. Not haunting the hallway like a specter. He was here. Sitting in the chair by the window. My chair, a high-backed armchair in the corner, and he was sitting in it like he belonged. Like he had the right. Like he owned the air.He was still in the charcoal suit he had worn for the gallery opening, though his tie was loose and sinuous, and the top button of his pugnaciously pointed white shirt was open, exposing his tan throat. One leg was crossed over the other, holding a crystal whiskey glass of amber liquid, whiskey probably, that shook precariously on his outstretched hand. He wasn't looking at the door; his gaze had shifted to the blank wall opposite him, or some distant place in his mind, his face utterly vacant in the pale, hour-late light that came thin and cold through the curtains. A statue of shadow and stifled rage.He'd heard me. The tiny gasp that wrenched out of my throat, the sudden quiet of my bare feet on