Page 23 of Ardent Desires

Alexander pulls back, his breathing ragged, his lips swollen from the kiss. His eyes are dark, stormy, filled with something raw, something that makes my knees feel weak.

“Ellie,” he starts, his voice hoarse, like he’s about to apologize.

But I don’t let him. “Don’t,” I whisper, shaking my head slightly. “Don’t apologize.”

His eyes search mine, and for a moment, we’re both just standing there, trying to catch our breath, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins, but I cut him off again.

“I don’t care,” I say, my voice firmer this time. “I don’t care, Alexander.”

He watches me, his expression unreadable for a moment, before his lips curve into the smallest smile. “I’m not sorry.”

“Good,” I breathe, leaning in again, needing to feel his lips on mine one more time.

But this time, it’s slower, softer, the urgency from before replaced with something more deliberate, more careful. His lips move against mine with a gentleness that surprises me, and I melt into him, feeling the tension leave my body as his hands cradle my face.

We pull away, but this time it’s less abrupt, more controlled. We stand there for a moment longer, our foreheads almost touching, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us.

“We should get back,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He nods, his hand still lingering on my waist, but he doesn’t let go right away. “Yeah,” he says, his voice rough.

But even as we step back into the party, even as we rejoin the crowd, the memory of that kiss lingers between us like a secret. And I know, without a doubt, that this—whateverthisis—is far from over.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of conversations, champagne, and introductions. Alexander keeps his hand on the small of my back the entire time, a subtle, possessive touch that grounds me, but also makes my skin tingle with awareness. I can feel the heat from his palm even through the fabric of my dress. Every time he moves, adjusts, or leans in to whisper something to me, it feels like an electric current zipping through my body.

I can’t help but feel like his touch is more than just an anchor—it’s a statement. He’s staking a claim, making it clear to everyone around us that I’m with him, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.

We talk to so many people—CEOs, investors, some big names in the hospitality industry that I’ve only ever heard about. And Alexander is smooth, calculated in every interaction, always making sure to introduce me as hisbusiness partner. Every timehe says it, I feel that strange flutter in my chest. Partner. Not assistant. Partner.

But there’s an undercurrent of tension throughout the night, like a buzzing in the air that I can’t quite shake. Maybe it’s the fact that I only catch sight of Logan one more time, standing across the room. He lifts his glass at me, his smirk firmly in place, and for a brief second, I feel a shiver run down my spine. I recognize it now—whatever he and Alexander have between them, Logan is just trying to use me. Maybe to get under Alexander’s skin, maybe for something else entirely. I don’t know. But I’m not going to let him.

I ignore Logan’s gaze and focus on the conversations in front of me, on the way Alexander’s touch lingers at my back, steady and reassuring.

Eventually, we make our way back to the car. The champagne has gone straight to my head, leaving me feeling a little dizzy, a little floaty. I slide into the backseat, leaning my head back against the plush leather as Alexander sits beside me.

“That was a successful night,” he says, his voice low and smooth. There’s a hint of satisfaction in his tone.

I nod, trying to focus as I tap my heels together lightly. “Yeah, it was.”

He watches me for a moment, his eyes dark and intense. “You look exhausted.”

I let out a small laugh. “I didn’t expect to stand and walk around this much,” I admit, kicking off one of my heels and wiggling my toes.

He shifts in his seat, moving toward the end of the car. “Put your feet up,” he says.

I blink, surprised. “What?”

“Feet up, now,” he says, and there’s a command in his tone that sends a thrill through me.

Hesitantly, I lift my legs and place my feet in his lap. He works the second shoe off, his large hands wrapping around my ankle, and before I can even process what’s happening, his fingers start massaging the arch of my foot.

A moan slips out of me before I can stop it. “Oh my God…”

His hands are skilled, firm, kneading out the soreness in my feet, but the sensation shoots through my entire body, making me feel iteverywhere. His touch is hypnotic, pulling me under, and I bite my lip to keep from making any more embarrassing noises.

Then he does something that short-circuits my brain—he lifts my leg and presses his lips to my ankle. It’s a soft kiss, but it sends a bolt of heat straight to my core. I lose all sense, my head spinning, my breath catching in my throat.

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