"Give me your hand," I say. "I'll guide you out."
She hesitates, just for a moment, before extending her hand into the darkness between us. When my fingers close around hers, they're warm and small against my palm.
"The flooring is uneven through here," I warn, tugging her gently closer. "Stay close."
I lead her through the darkness, one hand holding my phone for light, the other keeping firm hold of hers. The narrow beam illuminates just enough space for us to navigate, forcing us to move slowly, carefully. With each step, she seems to drift closer, until I can feel the heat of her body directly behind mine.
"Sorry," she murmurs when she bumps against my back as I pause to navigate around a stack of materials.
"Don't be." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
We continue in silence, the only sounds our footsteps and the distant storm. I'm acutely aware of every point of contact—her hand in mine, the occasional brush of her body against my back, the soft sound of her breathing. In the darkness, these sensations are magnified.
I pause at a particularly narrow passage, turning to face her. "We need to go single file here. I'll go first, you follow."
She nods, her face ghostly in the reflected light. I release her hand reluctantly, feeling the loss of connection immediately. The passage is tight—construction materials on one side, scaffolding on the other. I squeeze through sideways, then turn to light her way.
"Good girl. Now be careful of the pipe at knee level," I warn.
She navigates the obstacle, moving with surprising grace given the limited visibility. I’ve turned toward her as she emerges from the passage. Her foot catches on something unseen and she stumbles forward with a soft gasp. Her hands instinctively reach out to catch herself—and find my chest instead.
My free arm wraps around her waist automatically, steadying her. She's pressed against me now, face tilted up, breath warm against my throat. I should step back. I should put distance between us. I do neither.
"I've got you," I murmur, my mouth close to her ear.
I feel her shudder—a full-body tremor that travels from her shoulders to where my hand clutches her back. Her fingers curl slightly, bunching the fabric of my shirt. For one suspended moment, we're frozen in this almost-embrace, breath mingling in the narrow space between us.
"I’m so sorry," she whispers.
Before I can answer—before I can give in to the overwhelming urge to close that final distance between us—the lights flicker on. Reality crashes back. We're standing in an unfinished hallway, bodies pressed together, faces inches apart. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, lips slightly parted. I've never wanted to kiss someone more in my life.
I force my arm to drop from her waist, taking a deliberate step backward. Her hands slide from my chest.
"Power's back," I say, my voice controlled despite the thunder of my pulse.
She blinks, as if waking from a dream, and nods. "Thank you. For... coming to find me."
"Of course." I straighten my shirt, an automatic gesture to regain composure. "You should get some rest. Tomorrow will be a full day."
Something flickers across her face—disappointment? Relief? I can't tell, and I don't trust myself to linger and find out. If I stay a moment longer, I'll back her against the nearest wall and find out if she tastes as sweet as she smells.
"Goodnight, Ms. Montclair," I say, already turning away.
"Goodnight... ," she replies.
I walk away, each step an exercise in self-control. I've built empires, closed billion-dollar deals, faced down the most cutthroat opponents in business. None of it has required the willpower it takes to not look back at her now.
This attraction is a complication I don't need. A distraction that threatens the smooth execution of this project. A risk to my carefully maintained control.
So why is walking away so fucking hard?
Chapter 5
Alexander
I've rearranged my entire day to avoid her. Shuffled meetings, rerouted site inspections, confined myself to the opposite end of the property—all to put distance between myself and Camille Montclair.
It's pathetic, really. I've never run from anything in my life, but here I am, a thirty-nine-year-old man playing hide and seek with a designer almost half my age because I can't trust myself around her. Because I can still feel her body pressed against mine in that darkened hallway. Because I've spent the night thinking about what would have happened if the lights hadn't come back on when they did.
