The Heat of the Moment

Chapter 3: Skyler

The building manager warned us the lifts moved rather slowly. Thank god for that. The speed with which Sloane spins around and exits the lift leaves me feeling whiplash. Seconds pass before my brain kicks in, and I slip out of the doors before they close.

At first, I suspect she's returned to the Lucent & Co. Office, but then I hear the distinctive sound of the heavyset stair doors falling shut.

I briskly walk past the glass doors of Matthew's agency. The office looks sophisticated and chic; he knows his audience well. I'm not surprised. He's always been talented. Moving away from London has clearly done wonders for his confidence.

I pull the door open, but it doesn't budge. I look around. I'm not keen on being spotted. There's no need for Matthew or any of Sloane's co-workers to know about last night.

I fish around in my pockets until I find my pass. If Sloane's maintained the speed she walked away with, she's probably on the ground floor by now.

I begin the descent down the spiralling stairs. There's a soft, floral scent floating about. Sloane's perfume. It's light, airy...inviting.

I still can't believe it's her. Last night was unexpected. I pride myself on discretion. I'm not one for taking women I've just met back to my hotel. But I couldn't take my eyes off her when she entered the Liberty's rooftop bar.

She wore a form-fitting long-sleeve black mini dress with a deep V cut down the middle, showing off curves, which were—are—all in the right places. Her full lips were painted blood red. I wasn't the only man watching her. She walked confidently, yet her dark eyes held the perfect amount of disdain. When she scanned the room, she looked right through me. An uncommon experience for me.

She settled into the corner table on the Liberty's rooftop, looking like a bloody succubus, and I was done. She was a wet dream come to life. I couldn't have stopped myself if I tried. I've never felt so instantly drawn to someone before.

I barely slept after she left. The feel of her hands on my chest felt burned into my skin.

I spent all morning cursing myself for letting her just walk out, for not insisting she at least tell me her name. I told myself to get a grip. Why was I losing it over a woman I'd known for two hours? And yet, when I saw her today, my heart nearly stopped.

She looked just as good as last night. Her long, dark hair was tied in a high ponytail, swinging back and forth as she chatted with her colleagues.

The way she froze when she saw me confirmed she really didn't know who I was last night. When she fixed her face into that same look of disdain that caught my eye, I worried my dick would harden right then and there, like I was sixteen again. The air of coldness that washed over her only made me more eager to be in her presence. Like some fucking dog, starved for love and affection.

Yet, this was work. And I have a reputation to uphold. So, I let down the brick wall I wrap myself in when doing business. I shut off all curiosity. All feeling.

When I questioned her during the presentation, the way she fired back—the steel in her voice, the cool confidence in her retort—I knew I was in trouble. Sean, my grandfather, spent years drumming into me the importance of maintaining a separation between business and pleasure.

Now, here I am, chasing after her in the stairwell.

I can hear the distinct click of heels on linoleum. Peering over the railing, I see the top of her head, her ponytail weaving back and forth as she goes. She's muttering under her breath. I can't quite make out what she's saying, but I imagine it has to do with her rash decision to walk down 27 floors.