In less than twenty-four hours, I'd be seeing him again. Would be back in his arms, his bed, surrendering to whatever was building between us.
But first, I had to have lunch with his son. Had to look Miles in the eye knowing I'd been intimate with his father. Had to maintain the professional façade that was rapidly crumbling beneath the weight of my own desires.
I was playing with fire, walking a tightrope without a net, diving into depths I couldn't measure.
And the most terrifying part? I didn't want to stop.
I wanted more. More of Lucas. More of the danger.
More of the intoxicating connection that made everything else in my carefully constructed life seem pale and lifeless by comparison.
More, even if it destroyed everything I'd built.
More, even if it destroyed me.
Chapter 11
Lucas
Sunday came and went like a breeze.
Now we’re back to Monday morning and Savannah still consumes my thoughts.
I thought I was a carefully constructed fortress built on discipline and restraint, on calculated decisions and measured responses.
On never, ever allowing desire to override judgment.
Distracted again, here I was, reading the same contract clause for the fifth time, retaining nothing, my mind drifting back to Savannah with maddening persistence.
To the curve of her hip beneath my hand.
The sound of her breath catching when I kissed that sensitive spot on her neck.
The way she'd looked at me as she came apart—vulnerable, trusting, seeing me not as Lucas Turner, CEO, but as simply a man who wanted her beyond reason.
I want more.
Her text message from yesterday morning had played on repeat in my mind, three words that had inexplicably shifted something fundamental inside me.
Had awakened a hunger I'd thought long buried beneath years of control and calculation.
"Mr. Turner? Your thoughts?"
I looked up, momentarily disoriented to find myself in a boardroom surrounded by executives watching me expectantly.
The Madison Street investors—the meeting I'd nearly canceled for Savannah.
Right.
"The projections seem optimistic," I managed, falling back on caution—always a safe response in real estate development. "Especially given the market fluctuations in that neighborhood."
Relief flickered across Jeffrey Wilson's face—my CFO, who knew these numbers better than his own children's birthdays. Who had clearly noted my unusual distraction but wouldn't dare mention it.
"As I was saying," he continued smoothly, "if we adjust the timeline for the retail spaces, allowing for a staggered opening rather than the simultaneous launch previously planned..."
I nodded, forcing myself to focus, to be present in this room rather than lost in memories of Savannah's body beneath mine.
Twenty million dollars in investments depended on decisions made in this meeting.
