Shared Desires

The first day I saw him, I thought he must have been some kind of casting mistake. Too perfect to be standing in that café where I used to waste time trying to write a chapter of my novel. And there he was, standing like the world revolved around his flawless figure. John Blackwell. The John Blackwell. Billionaire, arrogant, and owner of a smile that could easily be registered as a lethal weapon.He had the kind of presence that hurt to look at. Tall, elegant, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my bank debt. The watch on his wrist didn’t tell the time—it told of power. His dark hair slicked back without a single strand out of place, his grey eyes glinting like metal. Like a secret on the verge of exploding.And still, what pissed me off the most was how easily he sat at my table. Without asking. Without permission. As if the air, the space, and even my coffee belonged to him.“Do you always sit alone, or is it just because of me?” he said, smiling like he knew exactly which b

“Not think about me?” he said, letting out a low laugh. “Sounds like that’s going to take a lot of effort.”I gave him a fake smile and turned toward the door, ready to go inside and put an end to this conversation. But just as I was about to slip the key into the lock, his hand brushed along my arm, stopping me. It wasn’t forceful, it wasn’t possessive. Just a soft touch, one that sent a shiver from my fingertips all the way up the back of my neck.The man knew exactly what he was doing. And the worst part was, my body responded before my brain could stop it. As if his touch switched off all my defenses, one by one.“Catherine,” he whispered, and it felt almost like a caress. “Why are you so afraid?”I froze.I hate when men try to be deep. This isn’t a movie, I thought. This isn’t a romance novel. This is real life, and in real life, guys like him don’t end up with girls like me.But his words disarmed me in a way I hadn’t expected...There was something in his voice, that low tone

When I got home, the idea of dinner with Javier settled into my mind like a ticking time bomb. I couldn’t focus on anything. I’d open my laptop, write a single sentence, then delete five. I tried reading, but every word reminded me of his voice, his smile, the feel of his hand brushing mine.By seven-thirty, I was standing in front of my closet, staring at my clothes like I was about to make the most important decision of my life. What the hell do you wear to dinner with Javier Aranda? Nothing in there said I’m not interested, but I also don’t want you to think I’m a mess.I tried on three different outfits, cursing under my breath. Why did it even matter what I wore? He’d show up in one of his custom-made suits, smelling of success and power, while I debated whether I looked too casual or like I was trying too hard.In the end, I chose something simple: a fitted black dress that wasn’t too revealing, and ankle boots. I left my hair down—because I knew he preferred it that way, though