Elena tried to tell herself it was just work.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
But the longer she worked on Alexander Knight's London project, the more difficult it became to ignore the constant tension between them.
Late nights in his glass-walled office turned into battlegrounds of sharp words and stolen glances. She'd be bent over her sketches, explaining a concept, when she'd suddenly feel his gaze on her—steady, piercing, too intense to ignore.
Every time she looked up, his eyes would meet hers, gray and unreadable, but filled with something she didn't dare name.
One night, as rain lashed against the windows, Elena spread her design boards across the table. "Here," she said firmly, tapping one sketch. "The atrium should have natural light. It softens the steel dominance of the building."
Alexander walked over, his presence looming beside her. "You're trying to soften me, Miss Carter?"
The way he said it—low, teasing, edged with danger—made her heart stumble. She forced herself to focus. "I'm softening the design. Not you."
"Shame," he murmured, leaning close enough that she caught the scent of his cologne—clean, dark, masculine. Her fingers trembled as she held her sketchbook tighter.
She should hate him. She wanted to hate him. But every moment with him only pulled her deeper into a fire she couldn't put out.
And Alexander? He didn't look like a man who planned to let her escape.