Page 19 of Ardent Desires

But still, the whole day, I’m fighting the urge to pick up the phone. My mind is spinning, wondering if she’s okay, if she’s resting, if she’ll be able to make the event tomorrow.

I ask Lena to get every single employee a brand new iPhone, then I sit through meetings, answer emails, talk strategy for the European expansion, but none of it sticks. Every few minutes, my thoughts drift back to Ellie. To the way she looked this morning, pale and tired, like she hadn’t slept at all.

She’s sick. That’s all. It’s just concern.Nothing more.

But when I picture her standing in my office, dark circles under her eyes, my chest tightens, and I know it’s more than justconcern. It’s everything else too. The kiss. The way she looked at me last night. The way she felt in my arms.

I glance at my phone again, the urge to call her almost overwhelming. My fingers hover over the screen, tempted, but then I grit my teeth and toss the phone back on the desk.

I won’t call her.

I won’t.

But I’m still thinking about her when the day ends, still fighting the urge to do something, anything. And as I leave the office, heading back to my empty penthouse, I know I’m not going to stop thinking about her until I see her again. Until I know she’s okay.

Tomorrow.

*

It’s five-forty, and I’m sitting in the back of the car as we pull up to Ellie’s neighborhood. The city’s rush hour has just started to die down, but the streets are still slick from the rain earlier. I’m dressed for the event—dark navy suit, sharp lines, crisp white shirt, black tie. It’s the kind of suit that feels like armor, but right now, it’s doing nothing to protect me from the shitstorm of thoughts running through my head.

As we approach her building, my eyes land on the wall outside.Thatwall. The one I pressed her against the other night, kissing her like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. I feel the ghost of a smile tug at my lips, remembering the way she tasted—rain, vanilla, and something fucking addictive.

I shake my head, forcing myself to focus.Keep it professional tonight. I pull out my phone and call her.

She picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”

Her voice sounds so much better. The congestion from yesterday is mostly gone, and she doesn’t sound exhausted anymore. Good.

“I’m outside,” I tell her, hoping—hopingshe might invite me up. Just a quick look at her place. I want to see where she lives, where she spends her time when she’s not here, driving me out of my fucking mind.

But no. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she says.

“Okay,” I say, trying not to let the disappointment show in my voice. I hang up and sit back, glancing at the door of her building. She’ll be down soon.

When she walks out five minutes later, I forget how to breathe.

She’s in this soft, mid-calf sweater dress—long sleeves, form-fitting, and the way it hugs her curves...fuck. The material molds to her like it was made for her. My cock stirs, just looking at her, and I have to fight the urge to groan out loud. She’s beautiful—no,stunning. Her bright red lipstick is back, and the pop of color against her skin makes me want to ruin that perfectly painted mouth.

And those heels. Leopard print. Jesus Christ.

She’s holding a small purse, her hair is in a neat bun, and I’m pretty sure I’m staring at her like an idiot. I pull myself together, stepping out of the car before she can see how much she’s affecting me.

“Ellie,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. “How are you feeling?”

She smiles, those red lips pulling up at the corners. “Much better, thank you.”

I nod, trying not to let my gaze linger on her too long. “Glad to hear it.”

She tilts her head slightly. “Where are we headed tonight?”

I open the door for her, watching as she slides into the backseat, the scent of vanilla filling the car as I follow her in. Fuck, that scent. It’s been haunting me for days.

As I discreetly adjust my cock—calm the fuck down, Blackwood—I clear my throat. “It’s a hospitality event. Industrypeople, potential competitors... a lot of them will be focused on luxury developments.”

“Oh, the French Riviera project,” she says, turning to look at me, her eyes lighting up with understanding.

I pull out my phone, scrolling through the list of attendees. “Exactly. There are people here who could be valuable... or problematic.” I pass the phone to her, showing her the names.

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