One room Two secrets

The private jet hummed beneath them, quiet and sleek like everything Harry Declan touched.

Mia sat across from him in a leather seat that probably cost more than her entire monthly rent. Her tablet rested on her lap, full of research notes for the conference they were headed to in Seattle.

But she couldn’t focus.

Not when he was sitting there black dress shirt unbuttoned just enough, jaw sharp in the warm cabin light, eyes occasionally lifting to her with unreadable intensity.

The silence was thicker than it should’ve been.

They had barely spoken since that night in his office. Since that question.

“Would you?”

It echoed in her mind more often than she wanted to admit.

They landed smoothly. A black car waited on the tarmac, the driver greeting Mr. Declan with quiet deference before opening the door for Mia. He held it longer than necessary, his eyes lingering, but Mia ignored it.

She had a job to do.

The hotel was glass and gold, opulence wrapped in subtlety. Their check-in was handled with swift precision—until the receptionist frowned.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Declan. There seems to be an error with the reservation. We only have one suite left—the double booking system must’ve—”

“One suite?” Harry repeated, calm but cool.

“Yes. A king room. Luxury executive level. There was a cancellation mix-up with the booking system.”

Mia stood silently beside him, heart skipping. She waited for Harry to argue. Demand two rooms. Pull rank. But he simply turned to her.

“It’s late,” he said. “Do you mind?”

There was no heat in his voice. No suggestion. Just a simple, professional tone.

But it didn’t stop her stomach from twisting.

“I’ll manage,” she said quietly.

The suite was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a glittering skyline. The bed—singular—sat like a throne in the center. There was a velvet chaise lounge in the corner, a glass table with imported whiskey near the minibar, and a bathroom that looked like it belonged in a spa.

Harry unbuttoned his cuffs as he walked in, rolling his sleeves up again.

“I’ll take the couch,” he said, already grabbing the extra pillows from the closet.

“You don’t have to,” Mia said quickly.

He turned to her, brows raised.

She felt heat creep up her neck. “I mean—I’m not asking you to sleep beside me. But you’re the CEO. You shouldn’t be on a couch.”

“I’ve slept in worse places,” he said, placing the pillows down. “And I’m not interested in making you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not,” she lied.

He looked at her for a beat longer than was appropriate. Then nodded once and turned away.

---

An hour later, Mia emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered, hair damp, wrapped in the hotel robe. She padded softly toward her suitcase—only to find Harry still awake on the couch, shirt loosened, one leg crossed over the other, a book in his hand.

He didn’t look up.

“You’re still working?”

“I don’t sleep easily when I travel,” he murmured. “Too many distractions.”

Her heart thudded.

“Am I one of them?” she asked before she could stop herself.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Then he set the book down and looked at her fully.

“You’ve been a distraction since the moment you walked into my office.”

She swallowed. Hard.

“I didn’t mean to be.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her voice quiet. “You think this is dangerous.”

“I know it is,” he said simply.

Another beat passed.

“But you haven’t stopped.”

“No,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “And neither have you.”

Her breath caught.

The space between them buzzed with the electricity of unspoken things.

But he didn’t move.

Neither did she.

It was the cruelest kind of tension—almost.

Finally, Harry stood.

“I’ll let you sleep.”

She watched him walk back to the couch, his back straight, his control flawless.

She envied that.

Because she lay in bed for hours, wide-eyed, aching.

And wondering what would’ve happened if just one of them had broken first.