Aiden
The meeting had gone exactly as I had anticipated—efficient, sharp, and laced with an undeniable tension that had nothing to do with business. Eleanor Kensington was every bit as intriguing in person as she had seemed on paper. Beautiful, poised, but with an air of challenge that made her all the more irresistible.
She had barely spared me a glance, keeping her focus on the paperwork while I had stolen every opportunity to watch her. Those sharp blue eyes, the way she carried herself, the quiet confidence—she was unlike any woman I had encountered. When she extended her hand at the end of the meeting, I took the liberty of kissing her knuckles, watching the slight hitch in her breath before she withdrew.
It wasn't enough. I wanted more.
I had Parker arrange a dinner, making sure there was no way she could decline. Business, of course. That was the excuse. But the moment I saw her walk into the restaurant, in that sleek black dress that hugged her in all the right places, I knew I was fucked.
She was stunning. Dangerous. And completely off-limits.
"Mr. Walsh," she greeted smoothly, taking the seat opposite me, legs crossed in a way that had my mind spiraling into places it shouldn't.
"Eleanor," I acknowledged, my voice lower than usual, heavier.
The restaurant was dimly lit, intimate. I had chosen the place deliberately—somewhere quiet, where I wouldn't have to share her attention. The waiter poured us wine, and I watched her fingers curl around the glass as she took a slow sip, her gaze never leaving mine.
"I must admit, I didn't expect such an invitation after today's meeting," she mused, a flicker of amusement in her voice.
I smirked, resting my elbow on the table, leaning forward slightly. "Just business, of course. I like to know who I'm working with."
She arched a brow, setting her glass down. "And what have you concluded so far?"
"That you don't let people in easily," I said, watching as her lips twitched, barely revealing her reaction. "That you're used to having control. And that you're careful—very careful—with where you place your trust."
Her expression didn't falter, but her fingers tensed slightly around her fork. "An interesting analysis," she said, cutting into her steak. "And you, Mr. Walsh?"
"Aiden," I corrected smoothly, tilting my head. "What do you think you know about me?"
She took her time, chewing slowly before meeting my gaze again. "That you're relentless," she said, voice quieter now. "That you don't like losing. And that you're used to getting what you want."
My jaw clenched. She wasn't wrong.
"And what if I want you?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
The air between us shifted instantly. Her grip on her wineglass tightened, and those blue eyes darkened, pupils dilating just enough for me to notice.
Eleanor was not the kind of woman who could be easily shaken, but something about my words had affected her. She set her glass down, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips before she exhaled softly.
"This is a business dinner," she reminded me, but the way she said it—soft, breathy—told me she wasn't unaffected.
"Of course," I murmured, but I didn't look away.
The rest of the evening was a slow, deliberate game of tension. Every glance, every brush of fingers as I passed her the wine bottle, every word laced with an undercurrent of something unspoken.
By the time I walked her out to the car, I was wound so tight I could barely breathe. She turned to me, arms crossed, expression carefully neutral.
"Goodnight, Aiden," she said, and for a moment, I thought she might just leave it at that.
But then, she hesitated. Just for a second.
And that was all it took.
I reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers brushing the shell of it lightly. Her breath hitched, and she didn't pull away.
I leaned in, my voice just above a whisper. "Sweet dreams, Eleanor."
She blinked up at me, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, before she slipped into the car and disappeared into the night.
And I was left standing there, fists clenched, knowing this was only the beginning.
The following week was torture.
Working with her meant sitting across from her in meetings, watching her roll a pen between her fingers, catching the subtle bite of her lip whenever she was deep in thought. It meant forced proximity, stolen glances, and an unbearable awareness of every time our hands brushed against each other's.
She knew it too.
The way her breathing would shift slightly when I got too close, the way her pupils flared just a fraction when I spoke in a lower tone. She was pretending to be unaffected, but I wasn't blind.
And then there were the moments when she tested me—little challenges, subtle provocations. The way she'd lift her chin slightly when I called her out on something, the amused glint in her eye when she knew she was pushing my buttons.
It was a game neither of us had acknowledged, but both of us were playing.
By Friday night, I was at my limit. One more meeting. One more hour of pretending like I didn't want to pin her against the nearest wall and devour her.
She was standing by the window of the conference room, scrolling through her phone, when I decided I'd had enough.
I stepped closer, deliberately invading her space. "Busy weekend ahead?"
She glanced up, lips parting slightly at my sudden proximity. "I have plans."
"Plans," I echoed, tilting my head. "Do they involve work?"
She hesitated, just for a second. "Some."
I smirked. "And the rest?"
She arched a brow. "Why do you ask?"
Because I wanted to be in those plans. Because I wanted more than this damn back and forth. Because I was so fucking tired of pretending like I didn't crave her.
But instead, I only shrugged. "Curiosity."
She hummed, unconvinced, before stepping back. "Well, I suppose I'll see you Monday, then."
I clenched my jaw, watching her go, knowing damn well this wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
And then, just as she reached the door, she paused. Turned slightly, as if considering something.
"Unless," she mused, looking back at me, "you'd like to have dinner at my place tomorrow?"
My brows lifted slightly, surprised, but I recovered quickly. "That depends," I said, stepping closer, the air thick with something dangerous. "Is this still business?"
Her lips curved—just barely. "I suppose you'll have to find out."
With that, she walked out, leaving me to stare after her, knowing full well I would be showing up at her door tomorrow night.