CHAPTER 14 — DANGEROUS ATTRACTION

waking up tightly wrapped around Damian wasn't what she imagined, the guy is too cold for that.

For a moment, she forgot where she was. All she felt was warmth, strong, solid, steady warmth, wrapped around her like a shield she didn’t deserve. Then the thunderless silence reminded her, the storm had passed. The nightmare had happened. And she had made a mistake.

She had comforted Damian Blackwood.

she's fully awake now , and there he was, asleep beside her in the dim light. The man who terrified CEOs, ruined business empires, and spoke to her like she was disposable… lay and hug her tightly like something fragile he was afraid to lose.

His arm was over her waist.

His breath, warm against her neck.

His hand, God, his hand, gently resting on her stomach, as if even in sleep he was subconsciously holding her close.

Her heart lurched.

They were married on paper. Practically strangers. And yet he looked… peaceful. Vulnerable. Human in a way she had never seen before.

Arielle carefully shifted, trying not to wake him.

Big mistake.

His fingers tightened automatically. Not painfully, just possessively, like his body refused to let go.

Her breath caught.

No. We are not doing this.

She froze, caught between wanting to stay and knowing she absolutely couldn’t.

Then,

Damian inhaled sharply.

His brows furrowed. His grip tightened again before he blinked awake, confusion clouding his eyes. It only took a few seconds for reality to strike him, and those eyes hardened instantly, the softness evaporating like it never existed.

“What are you doing in here?” he snapped, retreating from her like she was the one who had crossed a line.

She stared at him. “You… had a nightmare.”

He frowned as if trying to recall. A muscle worked in his jaw. “And you thought sleeping with me was the appropriate response?”

“You grabbed me,” she shot back, sitting up. “In your sleep. You wouldn’t let go.”

Damian’s expression flickered, just for a microsecond, before he got up and swung his legs off the couch, back muscles tight beneath his shirt.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “It won’t happen again.”

His tone was sharp enough to cut skin.

Arielle’s chest tightened. She knew this man hated needing anyone, but seeing him desperate and vulnerable last night… she thought maybe he’d show a shred of gratitude. Or at least basic courtesy.

Instead, he was acting like she was the problem.

“Good,” she said, crossing her arms. “Because trust me, the last thing I want is to wake up with you clinging to me like a”

His head snapped toward her.

“Finish that sentence,” he dared, voice low...

She stopped.

He stood, straightening his shirt, suddenly the cold CEO again. The man of iron walls and locked emotions.

“I don’t cling,” he said, each word a warning.

She lifted her chin. “You did.”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment she swore the air heated between them, not anger, not entirely. Something else. Something that burned.

Then Damian exhaled sharply, as though annoyed with himself. “We need to prepare. We have a meeting at ten.”

Arielle blinked. “A meeting?”

“You’re my wife,” he said flatly. “Appearances matter.”

The word wife landed strangely in her stomach.

He walked to the door, hand on the knob. Then he glanced back, just once.

His gaze swept her face, down to her swollen lips and messy hair.

And for a single electric heartbeat, she felt it.

Attraction.

Undeniable. Dangerous. Brewing beneath every insult, every clash, every accidental touch.

Damian tore his eyes away first.

“Be ready in an hour.”

The door shut behind him.

Arielle exhaled shakily.

She pressed her fingers to her temples. She needed to get her mind straight. Emma needed her. The contract needed obedience. The situation needed zero emotions.

But her heart?

Her heart hadn’t read the contract clearly enough.

---

An hour later, after a shower and dressing in a cream sweater and fitted black pants, she met him downstairs.

Staff glanced at her. Whispering...

But Damian didn’t look at her at all.

Until she stood beside him.

Then his gaze flicked over her briefly, too briefly, like he forced it to be polite.

“You clean up well,” he said, voice controlled.

She blinked. “Was that… a compliment?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “It was an observation.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

He ignored her and led the way outside, where the car waited. The ride was silent, tension thick, until they reached the corporate tower.

Inside the lobby, people stared. Cameras flashed. Reporters murmured.

“Act like you belong,” he said under his breath.

She lifted her chin. “I do belong.”

He looked at her sharply, surprised by her confidence, before facing forward again.

They entered the private elevator. The doors closed.

And suddenly the small space felt too small.

Too warm.

Too charged.

Arielle stood stiffly, trying to focus on the buttons, the floor numbers, anything but the man whose presence filled the entire elevator like gravity.

Damian leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching her.

She felt the stare like heat on her skin.

“What?” she snapped.

His lips curved slightly, not a smile, more like an unamused twitch.

“You’re avoiding looking at me.”

“I’m not avoiding anything.”

“You are,” he murmured, voice low. “You’ve been doing it since you woke up.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’m trying to keep this professional.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable.

“Interesting,” he said quietly. “You only get professional when things get… intimate.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Nothing about you is intimate.”

He stepped closer.

Slow.

Calculated.

The wall behind her felt suddenly solid and cold.

He braced one hand beside her head, caging her in without touching her.

“We woke up tangled together,” he said, voice a deep whisper. “If that isn’t intimate”

“It wasn’t,” she breathed, though her pulse throbbed.

“Then why are you shaking?”

“I’m not”

“You are.”

Their eyes locked.

Something cracked between them, not anger, not hatred. Something hotter. More volatile. Something that made her chest rise and fall too quickly.

And he felt it too.

Because he pulled back abruptly, running a hand through his hair, exhaling like he’d touched fire.

“Arielle,” he said, voice strained, “we need boundaries.”

She swallowed. “I agreed to the contract. I know the rules.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

The elevator dinged.

The doors opened.

He didn’t move.

Neither did she.

He looked at her one more time, eyes fierce, conflicted, and burning with something he didn’t want to name.

Then he stepped out slowly and murmured:

“You’re getting too close.”