LOGINArielle's POV The gray dress was a mistake. It was silk, a soft dove-colored column that skimmed my body and stopped just above my knees, with narrow straps and a low back. I had bought it three years earlier for a friend's wedding and never worn it. It was elegant. It said, I am a professional who happens to have shoulders. Alexander looked at it for a full five seconds when I stepped out of the elevator into the lobby. "You wore it," he said. "You said you liked it." "I do." "Then why are you frowning?" "I'm not frowning." "You're doing the thing with your jaw." "It's a habit." "You sure?." "Ms. Sinclair." "Mr. Pierce." "We're going to be late." He offered me his arm. I took it. His sleeve was warm, and his forearm tensed beneath my fingers, and I felt the small, hidden current of it run all the way up my spine. The Meridian dinner was held in the hotel's ballroom on the top floor. It was a glittering, gilded room with a ceiling painted like a summe
Alexander's POV The Meridian Capital summit was held in a glass tower at the edge of a city three hours north. I had no desire to go. I never did. Investor summits were three days of handshakes and canapés, and I had spent my whole career avoiding them. But Meridian held eleven percent of my company's debt, and their chairman had made it clear that my absence would be noticed. "Then I'll go," I had told Daniel. "You'll want Ms. Sinclair," he had replied. I had looked at him. "For the presentation of the resort," he added, with unruffled composure. "The board will expect the architect to be present. It is standard." "It is standard for the architect to attend." "Yes, sir." "You arranged this." "I merely noted the requirement." "Daniel." "I have also booked adjoining rooms." I stared at him. "You did what?" "The hotel had only two rooms available on the same floor. They happen to be adjacent." His face was as smooth as a plate. "I thought you would prefer t
Arielle's POV "So we agree," I said. "We agree." "It was a mistake." "A serious mistake." "A momentary lapse in professional judgment." "An unfortunate result of stress and proximity." "It will never happen again." "Never." We stood in the corridor outside his office at ten o'clock on Tuesday morning, three feet apart, holding paper cups of coffee and speaking in the crisp, emotionless voices of two people negotiating a merger. Daniel walked past us with a stack of folders. He paused, looked at each of us in turn, and continued on with the air of a man who had decided not to see anything. "Good," said Alexander. "Good," I said. "Then we can proceed." "Proceed with what?" "The schedule." "Of course." "You have the revised drainage plan?" "Right here." "And the updated budget?" "In my bag." "And the model room key?" I looked at him. There was a very slight flush along his cheekbones. His face was perfectly smooth. But the corner of his mouth
Alexander's POV I told her it was a mistake. It was the second lie I told that night. The first had been the roof, ten days before, when I said that she would hate me. That had been true, in its way. This was different. This was a plain, bare, ridiculous falsehood, and I heard it leave my mouth even as her lips were still warm against mine. I did not regret it. I did not regret a single second. I stood in the amber light of the model room with my forehead against hers, listening to her ragged breathing, and knew that if a man came through the door with a gun and offered me the chance to unmake that kiss, I would tell him to shoot. "You're shaking," she said. "So are you." "I've never..." She stopped. Her voice was very small. "Nobody has ever kissed me like that." "I would say the same." She laughed unsteadily. "That's not true." "It's more true than you know." I let my hands fall from her face. They ached. They wanted to go back. I curled them into fists and s
Arielle's POV It was raining when I went to find him. I hadn't planned it. That is what I tell myself now, when I look back. I had left Winslow at eight, meaning to go home, and somewhere on the drive my hands turned the wheel toward the coast road instead. I didn't decide. I only found myself, forty minutes later, parked in the muddy lot behind the resort's site office with the engine ticking and the rain drumming on the roof. There was a single light burning in the window of the long white building. I sat there for a long time. It was foolish. It was reckless. Every sensible piece of me said to turn the key and go home. I had a hundred reasons. I had a mission. I had a man who had shut me out for nine days and who might, at that very moment, be poring over a file with my name on it. I had a box on my shelf and a dead man's signature and a stranger's voice somewhere in the dark. And I had, for the first time in my life, a desire so simple and so terrible that it overwhe
Arielle's POV "Tell me everything," Tiffany said, "and don't leave out the bad parts." She had turned up at my apartment on Friday night with a bottle of red wine, a takeout box of dumplings, and a face full of expectation. Mum was at my aunt's again, and the apartment had the peculiar hush of a place where a person has been alone too long. I let her in without a word. We sat on the sofa. I told her a little. Not the box. Not the mission. But the shape of it, the roof, the almost-kiss, the nine days of silence. She listened with her chin in her hand, her eyes very wide. "He stopped?" "Yes." "On a roof. In the sunset." "Yes." "With his hand on your face." "Tiffany." "I'm just confirming the details." She shook her head slowly. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard. And the most infuriating." "He said he couldn't." "Because?" "Because I'd hate him." "Why would you hate him?" "I don't know." "That's suspicious." "That's what I thought." "Me







