All Chapters of Ruthless Temptation: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Emma’s POV There’s something sacred about the quiet moments between the chaos. They’re fleeting—gone in a blink—but they carry so much weight. Like the hush right after our newborn’s finally rocked to sleep, her tiny body curled against my chest. Or the mornings when Alina climbs into bed with us, tangling her limbs between ours like she still needs to be at the center of our world. Sometimes, the intimacy doesn’t come from kisses or passion. Sometimes, it comes from Killian pressing a soft kiss to my temple as he hands me coffee I didn’t have to ask for. Or when he picks up the laundry I meant to fold three days ago without saying a word. It’s the quiet loyalty that makes me feel treasured. I didn’t realize how deeply I’d miss the simple touches until they were gone—until the baby’s cries interrupted every conversation and sleep became a luxury. But now… now we were figuring it out.

Killian’s POV The boardroom was filled with chatter. Graphs. Strategy sheets. Suit jackets and coffee-stained notes. But the only thing I could focus on was her. Emma sat across the table, notebook open, a pen twirling between her fingers, her blouse just slightly undone—enough to drive me to madness, especially when I knew the faint pink lace hiding underneath. She caught me staring and raised a brow, all confident smirk and mischief, then glanced down at my hand under the table as if daring me. God, she was dangerous. We’d mastered the art of balance lately—diapers and dinner dates, tantrums and tender nights—but every now and then, the craving surged. Sharp. Raw. Unrelenting. That magnetic pull that never seemed to fade between us. And right now, I didn’t care that we were surrounded by twelve people discussing quarterly forecasts. I wanted her. In every way. She leaned forward, w

Emma’s POV I hadn’t realized how much I missed the simple things until Killian brought them back. A late lunch where we didn’t talk about diapers or stock prices. A shared milkshake with two straws like we were nineteen again. His fingers laced with mine under the table, stroking absent circles along my palm, sending shivers through me like it was the first time he ever touched me. We laughed more freely that day. About nothing and everything. He reached across the table to wipe whipped cream off my upper lip with his thumb and whispered, “Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” My cheeks flushed like I was back in college, giddy and completely undone by his attention. It was healing. Grounding. A reminder that we were more than just parents, executives, providers. We were still Killian and Emma. Two people who once couldn’t stand each other. Who now couldn’t imagine a day without the other.

Emma’s POV Somewhere between breastfeeding, burping, and convincing Alina that she couldn’t put makeup on her baby sister, I lost track of the last time I’d slept a full night. My days were a blur of feedings, diapers, endless lullabies, and high-pitched toddler negotiations. “Why is she crying again?” Alina whined from the hallway as I bounced the baby on my shoulder. “I gave her my favorite bunny!” “She doesn’t want a bunny right now,” I said through a yawn, “she wants a boob.” “Ew, Mama.” I laughed despite the exhaustion. Being a mother of two was like juggling fire while walking a tightrope on two hours of sleep. I loved every second of it—and hated it, too. There were moments of absolute joy and others where I questioned my sanity. The baby—Amelie—was beautiful, soft, and endlessly hungry. Alina, on the other hand, was a firecracker. Curious, emotional, and fierce

Killian’s POV Italy had a way of making everything feel like a dream. The warm breeze, the scent of lemon groves, the distant hum of cicadas, and the terracotta-tiled villa we’d rented nestled in the hills of Tuscany—it all felt like something pulled straight out of a fantasy. The villa sat perched on a hill, overlooking a patchwork of vineyards and olive groves that stretched into the golden horizon. The girls had finally drifted off after a long, joy-filled day—Alina curled around her stuffed unicorn and Amelie snoring softly in the crib beside her. Their little faces were peaceful, their energy spent from running through cobblestone alleys and devouring way too much gelato. And for the first time in weeks, the house was still. Blissfully still. Emma had just stepped out of the shower, her hair damp and curling at the ends, wearing one of my white shirts that stopped high on her thighs. God, she was beautiful—b