The tension between them finally snapped during another late-night work session.
They were alone in the office, city lights glittering through the glass walls. Elena leaned over the table, her pencil sketching bold lines, her hair falling loose around her face.
Alexander stood behind her, too close, his presence like a shadow she couldn't escape.
"You're pushing yourself too hard," he murmured.
"I don't have a choice," she whispered.
His hand brushed hers, steadying it on the page. "You always have a choice."
She turned her head, their faces inches apart. The air between them burned. His gray eyes locked on hers, full of fire and restraint.
"Alexander…" she breathed.
Before she could think, before she could stop herself, his lips were on hers.
The kiss was fierce, hungry, devastating—like he'd been fighting it as long as she had. Her sketchbook slid to the floor, forgotten, as his hand tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. She melted into him, every nerve alive, every fear drowned in heat.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Elena's heart pounded like a drum.
"This is wrong," she whispered.
"Yes," Alexander agreed, his forehead resting against hers. "But I don't care."