Chapter Nineteen: After the Fire
The storm had passed by morning, but Amara felt as if one still raged inside her chest. She hadn't slept a moment after Ethan left the living room. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the press of his lips, the heat of his hands, the way his voice broke when he said she was dangerous.
Dangerous. The word haunted her.
When she finally came downstairs, Ethan was already in the kitchen. He stood at the counter, pouring coffee like a man who hadn't wrestled with his own ghosts all night. He looked controlled, distant—untouchable.
"Morning," Amara said cautiously.
His eyes flicked up to hers, unreadable. "Morning."
That was it. No smile. No warmth. No mention of the kiss that had stolen the air from her lungs.
She folded her arms. "So we're just going to pretend it didn't happen?"
Ethan set his cup down with deliberate calm. "What happened last night was a mistake."
Her heart stung, though she tried not to let it show. "A mistake?"
"Yes." His tone was flat, his mask firmly in place. "This is a contract, Amara. A business arrangement. Blurring the lines will only make things harder for both of us."
She laughed bitterly. "Harder? You mean more real."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. That silence was worse than words. It was as if he had shut the door in her face, leaving her outside with nothing but the memory of a kiss that had clearly meant more to her than it did to him.
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. "Amara."
Slowly, she faced him.
His expression had softened, though just barely. "I didn't say I didn't want it. I said it was a mistake." His voice was low, rough. "There's a difference."
The admission knocked the breath from her lungs. But before she could respond, he stepped back, putting distance between them again. "Don't read into it. It changes nothing."
Her chest tightened, but she nodded, even though her heart screamed the opposite.
All day, they moved around each other like magnets resisting and attracting in equal measure. At lunch, their hands brushed when both reached for the salt, and Amara felt the spark travel up her arm. During a business call, she caught him staring at her from across the room, his eyes dark, heated, before he looked away sharply.
The tension was unbearable.
That night, as she lay in bed, Amara realized something she hadn't wanted to admit. Ethan was right—it was dangerous. Because every moment of denial only made the pull between them stronger.
When her phone buzzed, she jumped. A message. From him.
Balcony. Now.
Her heart raced as she slipped out of her room, her bare feet silent against the polished floors. When she stepped onto the balcony, Ethan was already there, leaning against the rail, the city lights reflecting in his eyes.
"I shouldn't have kissed you," he said quietly.
"I know," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
"But I can't stop thinking about it."
The world seemed to fall away at his words.
Amara's breath caught. "Then maybe it wasn't a mistake."
For a long moment, he just looked at her, torn between resistance and surrender. Then, with a sharp inhale, he closed the distance. His hand slid into hers, fingers lacing together with a kind of finality.
"No promises," he murmured.
"No contracts," she whispered back.
And in the fragile silence that followed, they both knew—something had shifted again. The fire had been lit, and neither of them could put it out.