All Chapters of Ruthless Temptation: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Emma’s POV The hum of the espresso machine was a familiar comfort, but this morning, it felt foreign—like the sound didn’t belong in the same rhythm as my breathing. I stood barefoot in our kitchen, still wrapped in the warm afterglow of our Italian escape, but the calendar was unforgiving. Today marked the beginning of our return to normal life—work, meetings, school runs, and responsibilities. Killian had already showered, dressed in one of his tailored charcoal suits, and was reviewing emails like he hadn’t just spent a week making love to me beneath the stars of Tuscany. I, on the other hand, hadn’t even brushed my hair. Alina chattered away at the breakfast bar, spooning cereal into her mouth between animated stories about the “giant chocolate cake in Italy,” while her baby brother snoozed in his bassinet nearby. His tiny fists were curled up under his chin like he had not a care in the world. I envied that.

Killian’s POV I tried to focus on the quarterly reports, I really did. But my fingers kept drifting to my phone, scrolling to her name, rereading the last message she sent after I’d left her office yesterday. Your office. Today. Door locked. Skirt optional. My blood thickened just thinking about it. I looked up from my desk. The blinds were half drawn, and through the narrow slats, I caught a glimpse of Emma walking past—her heels clicking like a countdown, her hips swaying like she knew exactly what she was doing to me. Because she did. Emma Thomas was the only woman who could bring me to my knees with a look. And ever since Italy, ever since that garden night where we lost track of everything but each other, it had been hard to switch gears. I wasn’t just a man in love—I was a man utterly obsessed. So when she knocked on my office door n

Killian’s POV It started with a memory. That night in Italy, in the private garden with moonlight kissing Emma’s skin and her moans echoing off stone walls—I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The freedom. The rawness. The feeling of being just man and woman, no titles, no responsibilities. And when we returned home, back to the buzzing phones and toddler tantrums, the contrast hit harder. I found myself distracted in meetings. I’d open emails and suddenly picture Emma’s dress sliding off her shoulders. She’d walk by my office, and every fiber of me would light up like it was our first year of lust again. And when I saw her today, sitting at her desk, lips pursed in concentration, pen tapping against her lower lip—I snapped. I knocked once on her glass door, then stepped in, locking it behind me. Her head lifted, those wickedly sharp eyes narrowing. “Mr. T

Emma’s POV Planning a surprise for Killian wasn’t easy. He was observant—always had been. Catching the tiniest changes in my behavior, sensing secrets like they were perfume in the air. But this time, I had pulled it off. A full week. Just the two of us. No diapers, no work calls, no schedules. Just Killian and me. And Dubai. When I told him to pack light clothes, that I had arranged for the kids to stay at my parents’, he looked at me like I had grown wings. When we stepped off the plane and he realized where we were, the stunned, delighted expression on his face made every bit of the planning worth it. The presidential suite of the Burj Al Arab was everything I’d imagined and more—elegant, opulent, and completely secluded. With floor-to-ceiling windows, a private elevator, and a wraparound balcony with a view of the sparkling Arabian Gulf, it was the p

Emma’s POV It started with a brush of fingers as I passed Killian the report in the conference room. Innocent to everyone else. Electric to me. He smirked, barely glancing up, but his foot tapped mine under the table. Just once. A silent promise. I tried to focus on the meeting—on projections and quarterly plans—but my mind was stuck on his hand sliding up my thigh the night before. The husky way he growled my name into the pillow. The sinful things we whispered between sheets we had to wash at dawn. And now, we were pretending to be professional again. He looked so good in that charcoal suit. The same one I had peeled off him last Friday. His tie was slightly askew—my fault. I grinned. The meeting adjourned. People filed out. I was last to gather my things. So was he. “Forgot something?” he asked smoothly. “Yeah,” I said, stepping closer.