5

SEAN POV

I don’t know what the hell was wrong with me.

For five years, Lyka Forth had been an immovable, predictable fixture in my life. She was the calm in every storm, the quiet force that kept my chaotic world spinning on its axis. 

But tonight? Tonight she was giving me the exact opposite of everything I thought I knew about her. 

The hidden madness, the unscripted fire, the raw, unbothered beauty that she usually kept locked tightly behind smart blazers and a professional clipboard.

I knew she was a lightweight. I was honestly surprised she was still standing after knocking back two shots of that heavy, imported vodka. Yet, here she was, leaning over my mahogany desk, looking at me with those amazing emerald eyes that suddenly seemed far too bright, far too wild. 

Her fingers were right there, resting against my jaw, her thumb brushing a slow, agonizingly soft path right near my lips. And she was talking about kissing.

My chest constricted, a sudden, heavy panic mixing with something entirely too electric. I didn’t know what the hell was happening to me.

Since Valerie’s death, I had been completely, utterly numb. I was a ghost walking through an empty life, hollowed out by a bone-deep loneliness that no amount of money or fame could cure. 

I missed my late wife terribly. The grief was a physical weight, a dark ocean I was constantly fighting not to drown in. 

That was the real reason I worked fourteen-hour days, pushing my body to the absolute brink of collapse. I didn't need the money; I just needed to occupy my mind so I wouldn't spiral back into the bottom of a wine bottle.

But earlier today, in the RV... everything had fractured.

When the driver swerved and she came flying into my lap, my brain had short-circuited. Even now, with her thumb pressing against my lower lip, I couldn't stop thinking about how delicious, how intoxicatingly amazing my PA had smelled in that brief, chaotic collision.

I had never noticed it before. In five years, I had never allowed myself to look at her as anything other than Lyka, the woman who had practically become my right hand, my eyes, the keeper of my entire life.

She had never looked at me the way other women did. To her, I was nothing but the boss. She never flirted. 

She dressed like a nun most days, hiding herself in high collars and long sleeves, never showing skin, never giving me the bedroom eyes that starlets and models flashed at me on every red carpet. 

To Lyka, I was just an ordinary guy who forgot to take his headache medicine.

I remembered a conversation I had with Valerie a few months before the accident. Valerie had laughed, recounting how she’d asked Lyka why she didn’t have a crush on me, why she never looked at me like the rest of the world did. 

According to Valerie, Lyka had scoffed and told her directly that I wasn't her type. Not even for a single, fleeting moment had she ever thought about liking me.

At the time, my ego had been a little bruised, but I’d accepted it. It made sense. Lyka was a robot. A highly efficient, completely unemotional machine. Valerie had agreed.

But earlier in the RV? There was nothing robotic about the soft, burning heat of her skin, the sweet scent of her perfume, or the wild, silken cascade of her dark hair brushing against my neck. 

When her hand had slammed against my bare chest for balance, I had felt a sudden, unusual jolt of electricity rip straight down my spine. It was dangerous. It was entirely wrong.

And now, she was leaning over my desk, looking down at me as if I were nothing but a wall.

"Valerie will not be happy!" she whispered, her voice a little slurred, thick with an agonizing wave of emotion that I couldn't quite decipher.

A small, reckless smirk touched her lips. Then, as if to deliberately destroy whatever sanity I had left, she bit her bottom lip, releasing it only to trace it with the tip of her pink tongue.

I completely lost it.

Every boundary I had built over the last five years disintegrated in a single heartbeat. 

My brain froze. A dark, possessive, and entirely inappropriate hunger flared up in my chest, completely eclipsing the grief, the exhaustion, the insomnia. I didn't see my assistant anymore. I saw her.

Before I could stop myself, my hand shot up, my fingers wrapping firmly around the nape of her neck to hold her in place. 

I leaned forward, tilting my head up, closing the distance between us until we were mere inches—mere macro-inches—apart. I could feel the hot, vodka-laced breath of her sigh against my skin. 

I wanted to destroy the space between us. I wanted to press my mouth to hers and find out if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

I closed my eyes, tilting my chin, about to commit the ultimate workplace sin—

Thud.

Suddenly, the tension snapped. The heavy, desperate pull evaporated as Lyka’s entire body went completely slack. Her forehead dropped like a lead weight straight onto my shoulder, her hands sliding off my desk as she collapsed forward into me.

I froze, my lips hovering awkwardly against the crown of her head, my hand still gripping the back of her neck.

A second passed. Then another.

And then, a soft, rhythmic, distinctly loud snore echoed right against my collarbone.

Jesus!

I let out a long, ragged breath, my shoulders sagging as the adrenaline slowly drained from my system. I stared blankly at the dark gold walls of my office, a mix of sheer disbelief and profound horror washing over me.

That was close. That was entirely too close.

She was my PA. She was a trusted friend. She was, for all intents and purposes, the only family Leo and I had left who actually cared about us. And I had almost kissed her.

Gathering her limp, sleeping form into my arms, I carefully lifted her off the desk. She mumbled something incoherent, turning her face into my chest, her fingers instinctively clutching at the fabric of my t-shirt. 

I held her tight, walking out of the library and carrying her down the hall toward the guest suite, my heart still hammering a furious, guilty rhythm against my ribs.

I had wanted to marry her for Leo's sake. But as I laid her gently onto the bed and pulled the covers over her shoulders, looking down at her peaceful, flushed face in the moonlight, a terrifying realization settled deep in my gut.

The contract wasn't going to protect me from her. 

Damn it! Not anymore.