Chapter 2: Playing with Fire

Emily’s POV

Campus was a complete blur. Between syllabus hand-outs and introductory lectures at Bellmont, my mind remained trapped back on the fifty-fourth floor of the VUE tower. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Daniel standing shirtless at the marble counter, his storm-gray eyes dark with restraint.

I am a man, Emily... and if you keep testing those boundaries, you are going to find out very quickly that I am not as patient as you think I am.

By eight that evening, I was heading back to the penthouse, exhausted and wired all at once.

The private elevator doors opened on the fifty-fourth floor, and as I stepped out into the quiet vestibule, I nearly collided with a guy holding a box of takeout.

"Whoa—sorry about that!" he said, reaching out to catch my forearm and steady me.

I looked up. He was tall, maybe twenty-two, with messy dirty-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a broad build filling out a leather jacket. He gave me an easy, confident grin.

"My fault," I said, offering a breathless smile. "I was on autopilot."

"I get it. Midterms haven't even hit and Bellmont is already draining the life out of us," he chuckled, holding the elevator door open.

"How did you know I go to Bellmont?" I asked.

He pointed down. "Your student ID is hanging right off your bag. I'm Ethan, by the way. Penthouse 54B."

"Emily. 54A," I replied, gesturing to the heavy double doors across the hall.

"A neighbor," Ethan said, his grin widening as his eyes swept over me with open appreciation. "I was just heading in to eat. If you're not busy, you're welcome to join. Or I could show you the rooftop lounge this weekend? As a neighborly duty."

It was harmless. Flirty, normal, and completely innocent. For a second, the suffocating cloud of forbidden tension hanging over my life felt like it might actually lift.

"I’d like that, Ethan," I said softly, handing him my phone.

"Text me, Emily," he said, typing his number in before handing it back, his fingers lingering against mine. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

I scanned my keycard against the reader of 54A. The lock clicked, and I pushed the heavy oak door open.

The penthouse was pitch black.

The only light came from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, casting long, amber city shadows across the dark hardwood floor.

I stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind me. "Daniel? Are you home?"

Silence.

I let out a slow breath, setting my purse on the entryway table. I reached for the light switch—

"Who was that?"

The deep, icy voice rasped straight out of the darkness of the living room.

I jumped, my hand freezing against the wall. "Jesus, Daniel! You scared me. Why are you sitting in the dark?"

Daniel was sitting in the leather armchair near the glass, outlined against the city skyline. His suit jacket was gone, his dress sleeves were rolled up past his forearms, and a crystal tumbler of scotch rested in his hand. His gray eyes were fixed on me like a predator tracking movement in the dark.

"I asked you a question, Emily," he said softly. The tone wasn't loud, but the absolute, cold authority behind it made the hair on my arms stand up. "Who was at the elevator with you?"

I straightened my shoulders, my stubborn streak flaring up. "His name is Ethan. He lives next door in 54B. He goes to Bellmont."

Daniel took a slow, deliberate sip of his scotch, setting the glass down on the table with a sharp clink.

"Ethan Reed," Daniel said flatly.

"You know him?"

"I know his father," Daniel said, his voice dropping into a dark register that sent a chill down my spine. "Richard Reed is the CEO of Reed Global—the company Walker International is currently taking over. Richard is a ruthless bastard who would do anything to stall this merger."

I rolled my eyes, taking a step deeper into the living room. "Okay? What does his dad’s business have to do with me? Ethan was just being nice. He asked me out to the rooftop lounge."

In a flash of motion that took my breath away, Daniel was out of the chair.

He crossed the room in three long, predatory strides, stopping right in front of me. The sheer size of him—broad shoulders, dark male intent, smelling of expensive cedarwood and heavy scotch—completely blocked out the city lights.

"You are not going anywhere with him," Daniel commanded softly.

My breath caught in my throat. I looked up into his dark eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Excuse me?" I whispered. "You don't get to tell me who I can see, Daniel. You're my stepfather, not my keeper. I'm twenty-one."

"I am responsible for your safety while your mother is in Europe," he rumbled, stepping closer until the toe of his leather shoe brushed against mine. "The Reeds are dangerous, Emily. If Richard finds out his son is hanging around my penthouse—"

"Stop lying to yourself!" I snapped, taking a bold step forward until my chest nearly touched his dress shirt.

Daniel went completely rigid.

"You don't give a damn about corporate politics right now," I said, my voice trembling with a mix of adrenaline and raw defiance. "You aren't looking at me like a stepfather who's worried about business."

Daniel’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his cheek. His eyes dropped to my mouth, his breathing turning heavy and shallow.

"Emily," he warned, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Remember what I told you this morning."

"I remember," I whispered, tilting my head back, staring right into his fierce eyes. "You told me you were a man. You told me you weren't patient. But you didn't care when I had university friends over last semester. You only care now because Ethan looked at me like I'm a woman... and it's driving you insane."

Silence exploded in the room.

For three agonizing seconds, neither of us moved. Daniel’s eyes turned pitch black, his strict, disciplined composure shattering completely.

Before I could breathe, his hand shot out.

His rough, massive palm cupped the back of my neck, his long fingers tangling tightly into my hair. He yanked me forward until my chest slammed against his, the hard wall of his broad body trapping me completely.

"You think this is a game?" he rasped, his voice ruined with restraint, his hot, alcohol-laced breath brushing directly against my lips. "You think you can poke at me, test me, and walk away clean?"

My knees nearly buckled. The heat radiating off him was scorching, obliterating every drop of sanity left in my head.

"Daniel..." I whimpered, my hands coming up to press against his broad chest. I could feel the violent, rapid thud of his heartbeat under his shirt.

"I have spent eleven years being the good man, Emily," he growled low against my mouth, his grip tightening in my hair just enough to make me gasp. "Eleven years since I sat on a coat closet floor and promised a crying ten-year-old girl I'd protect her. I played the dutiful stepfather while your mother treated our marriage like a business contract. I locked every dirty, dark thought I had about you deep in the dark."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending a wave of electric shocks straight down to my core.

"But you are in my house now," he whispered, his thumb lightly stroking the sensitive skin of my throat. "And if you keep pushing me... I swear to God, I won't stop."

He released my neck so suddenly I stumbled back against the sofa.

Daniel turned his back to me, taking a deep, ragged breath as he smoothed down his shirt, his knuckles white with tension.

"Go to your room, Emily," he said, his voice returning to that cold, distant authority, though his chest was still heaving. "And erase that boy's number."

I stood there, my throat burning, my lips tingling, my body throbbing with a desperate, unspeakable heat.

I looked at his broad back, then turned and walked toward my bedroom. I went inside and shut the heavy oak door behind me, leaning back against the wood in the dark.

He wasn't fighting the temptation anymore. He was just waiting for the match to strike.

BUZZ.

My phone vibrated in my hand. It was a text from Ethan: Hey Emily, forgot to mention—bring a jacket if we hit the rooftop this weekend. It gets cold up there.

Before I could type a reply, a soft, heavy footstep echoed in the dark hallway outside my bedroom door.

I froze.

Through the crack beneath my oak door, I saw a shadow pause in the hallway light. Daniel was standing right outside.

He didn't knock. He didn't try the handle.

He just stood there in the quiet dark, his heavy, deliberate breathing audible through the wood. My pulse spiked into overdrive as I clutched the phone to my chest, my skin burning with a wild mix of fear and absolute, agonizing desire.

After a long, breathless minute, the shadow moved away, his footsteps fading down the corridor toward his master suite.

I let out a ragged breath, staring at my locked door. He had built me this four-million-dollar penthouse calling it an investment in my independence. But sitting here in the dark, feeling the lingering press of his hand on my neck, I finally realized the truth.

It was never a gift. It was a cage. And he was holding the key.