The memory of Brandstone's kiss lingered long after Genevieve left the gala. It haunted her as she sat in her small but cluttered office the next day, staring at the half-finished exposé on her laptop. The sterile hum of fluorescent lights overhead did little to distract her from the heat his touch had ignited.
She hated it. Hated the way he'd invaded her thoughts stealing focus from her work. But beneath the frustration was something darker: the undeniable desire to see him again.
Her phone buzzed. The name on the screen sent a chill through her.
Marcus.
Her editor- and the man she had been seeing for over a year- had been growing suspicious of her late nights and unexplained absences. They had started as colleagues, their professional relationship bleeding into something physical, then emotional. Yet now, in the wake of Brandstone, Marcus felt like a distant echo.
"Hey," she answered, forcing her voice to remain neutral.
"Genevieve," he began, his tone sharp, businesslike. "How's the article coming along?"
"I'm working on it," she lied, minimizing the document on her screen.
Marcus sighed. "You've been distracted lately. What's going on?"
She hesitated, guilt twisting her stomach. "Nothing. I've just been... caught up in the investigation. "
There was silence on the other end, heavy and expectant.
"Dinner tonight." Marcus finally said. It wasn't a request. "We need to talk."
Before she could protest, he hung up. Genevieve stared at the phone, a bitter taste in her stomach.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at her office door.
"Come in," she called, expecting an intern or a colleague.
Instead, Brandstone strode in, his presence sucking the air from the room. He closed the door behind him with deliberate ease, his eyes locking into hers.
"How-"
"You left your card at the gala," he interrupted, holding up the small business card she used to discreetly network. "Convenient. "
Genevieve's pulse quickened. She hadn't given him that card, which meant he had taken it- another calculated move.
"What do you want?" She asked, standing to create semblance of control.
Brandstone smirked, his gaze trailing over her form in a way that made her feel both exposed and empowered. "You, Genevieve. "
The bluntness of his words stole her breath. He crossed the room, each step closing the distance between them until they were mere inches apart.
"You're playing a dangerous game," she said, her voice wavering despite her attempt to sound firm.
"I told you, I like danger." His hand brushed her cheek, his touch achingly gentle. "And so do you."
She should have pushed him away. Instead, she leaned into him, her resolve crumbling as his lips claimed hers once more. This kiss was different- harder, hungrier, a collision of need and defiance.
Genevieve gasped as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him. Her fingers found the back of his neck, tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened.
"You're insane," she murmured against his mouth.
"And you're irresistible," he countered, his voice rough with desire.
Before she could respond, Brandstone lifted her onto the desk, scattering papers and pens onto the floor. The cool surface against her thighs sent a shiver up her spine.
"This is reckless," she managed, even as her legs wrapped around his waist.
"Reckless is my specialty," he replied, his lips trailing down her neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake.
Genevieve's mind screamed at her to stop, to think about Marcus, her job, everything she stood to lose. But her body betrayed her, arching into Brandstone as his hands explored her curves with expert precision.
When his mouth found hers again, the rest of the world fell away.
Hours later, as she lay tangled in the sheets of her appartment, Genevieve stared at the ceiling. Brandstone had left, his absence a sharp contrast to the intensity of his presence.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Marcus: Don't forget dinner tonight.
Guilt stabbed at her, but it was drowned out by the lingering heat of Brandstone's touch.
She was playing with fire, and she knew it.
But some fires were worth the burn.