The grand hall pulsed with quiet decadence, shadows playing over polished marble and dark wood. Victoria Hawthorne moved with deliberate grace, her black dress clinging to every curve, the fabric whispering secrets of control and desire. Her eyes, dark and hungry, scanned the room, daring someone to challenge her.
Alexander Blackwood emerged from the shadows, his tailored suit impeccable, his gaze sharp and calculating. A slow smirk curved his lips as his eyes locked with hers, igniting a silent, electric tension between them.
Without a word, he closed the distance, each step measured, as if savoring the inevitable. The air thickened, charged with unspoken lust and danger.
"Careful, Victoria," his voice, smooth and dark, slid over her skin, "the game has only just begun."
Her lips parted slightly, a knowing smile playing on them. Desire was no weakness-it was power.
Victoria's pulse quickened under the cover of her cool composure, each beat an admission of desire. A part other hated how he could make her feel this-vulnerable, hungry. But then his voice, that *damned* voice...
Alexander's smirk widened, the knowledge of her desire feeding his own. His eyes roved over her form, tracing the curves of her body through the dress, his hands itching to touch, to *take*. He relished the challenge she posed, the fight for control.
"You look exquisite, Victoria," he murmured, his gaze lingering on the exposed curves of her neck. "But then again, you always do."
As the tension between them became nearly palpable, Victoria's mind raced with the possibilities. Each heated glance, each murmured word, sent a wave of heat coursing through her. It was intoxicating-and dangerous.
Alexander leaned closer, his voice a deep whisper in her ear. "What's more dangerous, my dear... the game itself... or the fact that you're losing control?"
His words left her breathless, every nerve ending on fire. *Damn him.*