The air in the small room crackled, thick with unspoken possibilities. My grip on my binder was so tight my knuckles were bone-white.
He didn’t move. He just watched me, his eyes dark and knowing. He had me pinned, and he knew it. He had seen the crack in my armor.
This man was the antithesis of everything I’d built my life around. After Marcus had shattered my heart with his inability to commit, his careless dismissal of my ambition, I had sworn off chaos.
I had built a fortress of plans and schedules, a world where there were no surprises, no last-minute changes of heart, no room for the kind of pain that leaves you hollow.
Rhys Callaghan wasn’t just knocking on the door of my fortress; he was showing up with a damn battering ram.
And my body, the traitor, was ready to lower the drawbridge. It was humming with a purely physical, shockingly primal attraction that I hadn’t felt in years, maybe ever.
An attraction that was a five-alarm fire in the context of my career. Getting involved with the best man on my highest-profile wedding ever wasn’t just a bad idea; it was professional suicide.
He watched the war playing out on his face. He saw the panic win out over the desire.
And with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, he broke the spell.
He pushed off the wine rack, the sudden absence of his proximity leaving me feeling strangely cold and exposed. He’d made his point.
“The most beautiful shots I’ve ever taken,” he murmured, his voice back to its normal, challenging rumble, “were accidents. A flash of lightning I didn’t see coming. A tear a bride didn’t know she was crying. A laugh that broke through all the posing. ”
He lifted his hand, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought he would touch my face. Instead, he gently tapped the hard cover of my binder. “You can’t schedule that. You can’t put that on a spreadsheet. ”
He held my gaze for another long, breathless moment before turning.
“Something to think about, Planner Girl,” he said, the teasing nickname now laced with a deeper, more serious challenge.
With that, he unlatched the heavy oak door and disappeared into the bright hallway, leaving me alone in the cool, silent dark.
I stood frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I slowly raised a hand to my cheek, which felt flushed and hot. My body was thrumming, a live wire of forbidden energy. He hadn’t even touched me, but I felt as though he had branded me.
He was right. I was afraid. But I was also, much to my horror, incredibly, undeniably intrigued.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to take a deep, shuddering breath that was thick with the scent of old wine and the lingering ghost of his presence.
Straightening my shoulders, I smoothed down my blazer and forced my expression back into a mask of professional composure.
But as I stepped out of the cellar and back into the light, my eyes immediately found Rhys across the ballroom.
He was leaning against a pillar, watching me.
He gave me a slow, knowing smirk that promised more chaos to come. And God help me, a tiny, reckless part of me was already anticipating it.