Rosemarie avoided Michael for exactly three months. Three very long months. She ignored his calls. Ignored his messages. Ignored the way her body reacted every time she thought about that kiss outside the lounge.
It had been reckless. Completely reckless. And yet—
at nearly midnight every night, she still found herself standing barefoot on her balcony staring out at the ocean while replaying every detail.
The warmth of his hands.
The roughness in his voice.
The way he kissed her like he meant it.
Her phone buzzed suddenly against the railing table beside her. It was an unknown number. Rosemarie hesitated before opening the message.
You're avoiding me.
Her pulse immediately betrayed her. Another message appeared seconds later.
I don't like it.
Rosemarie rolled her eyes despite smiling slightly.
That sounds like a personal problem.
The typing bubble appeared instantly.
You kissed me back. That made it our problem.
She bit her bottom lip. God, the man is smooth... dangerously smooth, she thought.
She typed carefully.
You seem very confident that women can't resist you.
His reply came immediately.
Not women.
A pause.
You.
Heat spread slowly through her chest, Oh how she hated how easily he affected her.
Another message arrived.
Come downstairs.
Her brows furrowed instantly, he's here?
Rosemarie stepped toward the balcony railing overlooking the street below, there he was, leaning casually against a sleek black Range Rover with his hands in his pockets, staring up at her balcony with infuriating confidence.
Rosemarie laughed softly in disbelief.
The idiot actually came here, she chuckled to herself.
She texted quickly.
Are you insane?
Michael looked down at his phone before grinning upward.
Probably.
She should send him away? Yes! Absolutely send him away. Instead, minutes later, Rosemarie found herself opening the building entrance downstairs.
Michael entered slowly, eyes fixed entirely on her and suddenly the lobby felt far too small.
"You really came," she murmured.
"You sound surprised."
"I am."
Michael stepped closer. "You stopped answering my calls."
"That usually means someone wants space."
"And yet here you are."
Rosemarie crossed her arms lightly. "Maybe I was curious."
"About?"
"How far you'd go."
His gaze darkened immediately.
"Careful, Rosemarie." The way he said her name sent warmth rushing through her body again, she hated that, or maybe she loved it. Which was worse.
Michael followed her upstairs to the balcony overlooking the sea. The city lights shimmered beautifully below while warm Caribbean night air wrapped around them.
"You have an incredible view," Michael said softly.
Rosemarie poured wine into two glasses. "One of the reasons I bought the place."
He accepted the glass from her carefully, fingers brushing hers intentionally.
"That," he murmured, "you did on purpose."
Rosemarie lifted one eyebrow. "Maybe."
Michael smiled slowly.
The chemistry between them had become impossible to ignore now. Every glance lingered too long. Every accidental touch sparked tension instantly.
Rosemarie sat on the balcony sofa while Michael leaned comfortably nearby, one arm stretched along the back cushion behind her. He was too close, entirely too close, but she secretly loved every minute of it.
"So tell me something real," Michael said quietly.
She glanced toward him cautiously. "Real?"
"You keep giving polished answers."
Rosemarie looked down into her wine.
"You first."
Michael nodded slowly.
Fair enough.
After a moment, he admitted quietly, "I hate sleeping alone."
The honesty surprised her.
"I'm serious," he continued. "People think fame means you're never lonely. The truth is, most nights I come home to an empty penthouse after entertaining hundreds of people."
Rosemarie studied him carefully. For the first time, Michael didn't sound like a celebrity.
He sounded human. Vulnerable.
"Your turn," he said softly.
Rosemarie hesitated.
Then finally whispered, "I was engaged once."
Michael stayed silent, allowing her to tell her story.
"He cheated constantly," she admitted quietly. "But publicly he acted obsessed with me. Everyone thought we were perfect."
Michael's jaw tightened.
"He humiliated me enough that I stopped believing people mean what they say."
His voice lowered gently. "I'm not him."
Rosemarie met his eyes.
"That's exactly what dangerous men usually say."
Michael slowly moved closer to her, until his hand rested lightly against hers.
"I don't want to hurt you." he whispered.
The sincerity in his voice unsettled her, because she believed him and that made him infinitely more dangerous. The conversation faded after that. Silence settled naturally between them while the ocean waves crashed softly below. Michael reached up slowly, brushing his fingertips gently along her jaw.
Rosemarie inhaled sharply.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
She couldn't, she didn't want to.
Michael kissed her again.
Slower this time.
Deeper.
His hand slid carefully into her hair while Rosemarie melted against him despite the warning in her head, don't do this!
The kiss became heated quickly.
Months of attraction compressed into one breathtaking moment. Rosemarie climbed onto his lap without thinking, and Michael groaned softly against her mouth. That sound nearly destroyed her remaining restraint.
His hands moved carefully along her waist, respectful but possessive enough to make her pulse race wildly. By the time they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily. He rested his forehead lightly against hers.
"You have absolutely no idea what you're doing to me," he murmured.
Rosemarie smiled shakily.
"That makes two of us."