The office was unusually still, the hum of the AC and the faint clack of my heels against polished floors the only sounds. Everyone else had left, leaving me alone with the files—and the quiet anticipation that always followed Shawn Reid's presence.
He was leaning against the edge of his desk when I arrived, reviewing the latest reports. His gaze lifted as I entered, assessing, measured, and just slightly softer than usual.
"You've been thorough today," he said quietly, voice low, private.
"I aim to be," I replied, keeping my tone professional, though my heart had sped up the moment I saw him.
We worked side by side, tracing irregularities in acquisition timelines. Our hands brushed repeatedly as we passed documents—innocent contact, but charged with months of restrained tension. I could feel the weight of his presence in every precise gesture, every controlled movement.
Then it happened. One moment his hand touched mine while sliding a folder, the next his fingers lingered along my wrist. I didn't pull away. I couldn't.
"Catriona," he whispered, just above my ear. The sound of my name, low and intimate, made my pulse spike.
Before I could think, he closed the distance. Our lips met—first tentatively, then with a surge of restrained intensity. A kiss born from months of unspoken attraction, carefully hidden in boardrooms, files, and late-night analysis.
His hands traced the line of my jaw, holding me steady, while mine clutched at his shoulders, grounding myself in the reality of him. Every second stretched, suspended between desire and control.
We broke apart just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together. "Not here," he murmured, voice hoarse but controlled.
"I know," I whispered back. "Not yet."
And yet, the line had shifted. Boundaries had broken, and the tension between us simmered hotter than any corporate strategy could contain.