My Straight-Laced Ex Won't Let Me Go

Zoe Jameson had deliberately shown up five hours late to their first meeting, determined to put Ian Grant in his place. Unfortunately, her father, Richard Jameson, had sent his men to drag her out of a bar, tie her up, and haul her straight to an exclusive private lounge.

By the time she arrived, Ian was sitting by the window, leisurely sipping coffee. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the windowpanes, casting soft shadows across his handsome, finely sculpted features. He looked so relaxed and composed that anyone would have thought he'd been waiting five minutes, not five hours.

Richard, visibly embarrassed, pushed Zoe forward. "Ian, I'm terribly sorry. It took us a little longer than expected to make this ungrateful daughter of mine look presentable."

Ian's gaze swept calmly over her before settling on her ankles, rubbed raw and red by the high heels she wasn't used to wearing.

Without a word, he set down his cup, stood, and retrieved a brand-new pair of soft-soled slippers. Then, to everyone's astonishment, he crouched in front of her.

He gently removed her uncomfortable heels and slipped the slippers onto her feet. Taking out a Band-Aid, he carefully covered the blister on the back of her heel.

Only when he was finished did he straighten and turn to her father.

"Mr. Jameson, my fiancée doesn't need to dress up to impress anyone." His voice was clear and steady.

Then he looked at Zoe, his deep eyes seeming to hold an entire galaxy of stars.

"She just needs to be herself."

Zoe could practically hear her heart pounding out of control.

She knew she was a goner.

Somehow, a woman as wild and untamable as the wind had fallen for a man as immovable as a mountain, one who seemed to live his entire life by the rules.

It wasn't until they were married that Zoe discovered just how rigidly disciplined her husband really was.

Ian lived like a machine programmed to perfection. He woke at seven every morning, went to bed at eleven every night, and ate three precisely portioned meals at fixed times. Even their monthly intimate life was rigidly scheduled, with the seventeenth and twenty-ninth designated as their nights together.

His obsession with routine was enough to drive her insane.

Naturally, Zoe made it her mission to get under his skin.

She caused trouble wherever she went. One day, she'd get pulled over for street racing. The next, she'd pick a fight with someone at an auction. By the day after that, she'd have reduced some business partner's spoiled daughter to tears simply because she couldn't stand her.

When stirring up trouble didn't work, she tried seduction.

She'd parade around his study in her sexiest lingerie, deliberately climb onto his lap and distract him during meetings, or lean close to his ear and whisper suggestive things, her warm breath brushing his skin.

But no matter how outrageous her antics became, Ian's devastatingly handsome face remained an unreadable mask of calm.

A smile, anger, jealousy, even simple exasperation... She'd never managed to catch so much as a flicker of any of those perfectly ordinary human emotions from him.

Then, one day, Zoe went and burned down a coffee shop she didn't like.

Predictably, she ended up at the police station.

She was sitting on a bench, bored out of her mind, when the steady sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention.

Bodyguards entered first, clearing the way for a man in a sharply tailored black suit. Ian strode in behind them, his entire bearing radiating an icy aloofness that discouraged anyone from approaching him.

He walked straight up to Zoe and held out his hand.

"It's taken care of. Come on, we're going home."

Zoe didn't budge. Instead, she tilted her head back to look at him, a faint, almost imperceptible glimmer of hope in her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes.

"Ian, why do you always look like that, no matter what happens? Can't you smile for once?"

Ian lowered his gaze to meet hers. "Do you find any of this funny?"

"Well, I've gotten myself into trouble again. Aren't you angry? Don't you want to punish me?"

She rose to her feet, deliberately caught his hand, and guided it to her backside, giving him a thoroughly provocative look.

Ian remained as composed as ever. Even his breathing didn't change.

"There's no reason to punish you over something this trivial. You could turn the whole world upside down, and I'd still be able to clean up the mess."