The days that followed my first encounter with Alexander Blackwood were filled with an undercurrent of tension that I couldn't quite ignore. He was everywhere. A passing glance in the hallway, a brief exchange in meetings each moment charged with an energy that left me breathless.
I wasn't naïve. I had read about men like him powerful and unyielding, effortlessly commanding a room. But knowing about them and experiencing their presence firsthand were two entirely different things. And Alexander Blackwood? He was an enigma wrapped in expensive fabric, a force of nature that pulled people into his orbit whether they wanted to be there or not.
I had done my best to keep my head down, to focus on my work, to act as if my world hadn't tilted on its axis since that first meeting. But he made it impossible.
It started with little things.
A lingering glance that made my pulse quicken. A barely-there smirk when I fumbled with my notes during a meeting. The way his voice seemed to drop just a fraction lower whenever he addressed me directly, as if testing my composure.
I told myself I was imagining it. That I was reading too much into things. That he was simply an intense man who commanded attention without even trying.
But then came the first real test of my resolve.
It was nearly eight o'clock when I finally decided to call it a night. Most of the office had already cleared out, leaving the building eerily quiet. I packed up my things and made my way toward the elevators, relieved to finally have a moment to breathe.
I had just stepped inside the elevator when a deep, familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Leaving so soon?"
My breath hitched. Slowly, I turned to find Alexander Blackwood leaning against the doorway, his expression unreadable, his gaze locked onto mine like a predator studying its prey.
I hesitated before responding. "It's late. I figured I'd finish the rest in the morning."
He took a slow step forward, his presence filling the space between us. "That's admirable. But I can't help but wonder if you're running from something."
I lifted my chin, willing my voice to remain steady. "I don't run from anything, Mr. Blackwood."
His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Good."
Something flickered in his eyes something unreadable yet undeniably electric. He stepped inside the elevator, and the air between us shifted, charged with something unspoken.
The doors slid shut, enclosing us in a space far too small for the energy crackling between us.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the quiet hum of the elevator as it began its descent.
Then, just when I thought the silence would stretch on forever, he spoke.
"You intrigue me, Miss Carter."
My pulse spiked. "I what?"
He tilted his head slightly, as if observing me from a new angle. "You heard me."
A slow, intoxicating warmth curled in my stomach, a mixture of anticipation and something dangerously close to excitement.
"I don't know what you mean," I managed, though my voice wasn't as steady as I'd hoped.
His gaze held mine, unrelenting. "Don't you?"
The elevator chimed as we reached the ground floor, and before I could respond, the doors slid open. He stepped aside, allowing me to pass, but as I moved past him, his voice brushed against my ear in a near-whisper.
"This isn't over."
A shiver ran down my spine as I stepped into the lobby, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I knew, in that moment, that he was right.
This was just the beginning of a dangerous game one I wasn't sure I knew how to play. But something told me Alexander Blackwood was more than willing to teach me the rules.