Alexander's POV
The room was dark, but I could see her. The small light from the window touched her face. Her eyes were open, watching me. Our fingers were still locked together.
My heart was a loud drum in my chest. Her words hung in the air. It will hurt more when it ends.
I didn't want to think about the end. Not now. Not with her hand warm in mine.
Slowly, I moved closer. The space between us disappeared. I could feel the heat from her body. I could smell the soft scent of jasmine from her bath.
"Maya," I whispered. Her name felt like a prayer.
"Alexander," she whispered back. There was no fear in her voice now. Only a question.
I let go of her hand. But only to touch her face. My fingers traced the line of her jaw, so soft. She closed her eyes and leaned into my touch. A small sigh escaped her lips.
That sigh broke the last of my control.
I leaned in and kissed her.
This kiss was different from all the others. It was not for show. It was not polite. It was hungry. It was real. My mouth claimed hers, and she answered me with the same fire. Her hands came up, tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.
I rolled, gently, so I was half over her, cradling her body with mine. She felt perfect under me. Small, but strong. The thin fabric of her nightgown was all that separated us.
"Alexander," she breathed against my lips when we broke for air.
"Tell me to stop," I said, my voice rough. My body was screaming for me not to stop. But she had to say it.
She didn't tell me to stop. Instead, her hands slid down my back, under my t-shirt. Her touch on my bare skin was electric. It burned.
"I don't want to stop," she confessed, her voice full of wonder and want.
That was all I needed. My kisses moved from her mouth to her jaw, to the soft skin of her neck. She arched against me, a soft moan in her throat. My hands found the hem of her nightgown. I started to pull it up, my fingers brushing the smooth skin of her thigh.
This was it. This was the moment the contract became real in a way I hadn't let myself imagine.
And then, a sound.
A sharp, loud buzzing. It sliced through the dark, passionate quiet like a knife.
My phone. On the nightstand. It vibrated again, lighting up the room with a cold, blue glare.
We both froze.
My body was still pressed against hers. Her eyes were wide, her lips swollen from our kisses. Reality came crashing back in.
The phone buzzed a third time. It was Marcus. He only called this late for an emergency.
"I have to…" I started, my voice choked.
I saw the change in her eyes. The warm, wanting haze cleared. She remembered. I was not just a man in the dark with his wife. I was Alexander Thorne. The man with a company. The man who owned a contract.
She pulled away, scrambling back to her side of the bed. She pulled her nightgown down, covering herself. Her face was flushed, but her eyes were now full of shame.
"You should answer it," she said, her voice flat. She turned her back to me.
The spell was shattered. The heat turned to ice in my veins.
I reached for the phone, my hand shaking with a mix of anger and unwanted relief. "Thorne," I answered, my voice harsh.
"Sir, I'm sorry to call so late." Marcus's voice was tense. "It's about the Richmond property. There's an issue with the paperwork from the previous owner. Daniel Reed's signature is being questioned. The lawyers need direction by morning."
Daniel Reed. Her ex-fiancé. The man whose house I now owned. The ghost in the room.
I closed my eyes. "Handle it. I don't care about the details. Make it go away."
"Yes, sir. And… the press have picked up the wedding announcement. There are already requests for comments, photos."
"No comments," I snapped. "No photos." I hung up without another word.
The room was silent again. But the beautiful, fragile tension was gone. Replaced by a heavy, painful awkwardness.
She was just a shape under the covers, turned away from me.
"Maya…" I began, but I had no words. What could I say? Sorry my business interrupted us? It was my business that brought us together in the first place.
"It's fine," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow. "It was getting too real anyway. The contract… it's easier when we remember it's just business."
Her words were meant to protect herself. But they felt like a slap.
She was right. That call was a cold reminder. This was a business arrangement. I had a company to run. I had secrets to keep—like the fact I owned the house of her broken dreams.
The passion of just minutes ago seemed foolish now. A dangerous mistake.
I lay back down on my side of the bed. The canyon between us felt wider than ever.
"Goodnight, Maya," I said, my voice empty.
She didn't reply.
The Morning After
Sunlight was cruel. It poured into the room, showing everything in clear, sharp detail. The messy sheets. The space between us. The memory of what almost happened.
I woke up first. She was still sleeping, curled in a tight ball on her edge of the bed. She looked younger in sleep. And sad.
I got up quietly and went to the kitchen. I made coffee, my movements stiff. My mind replayed last night on a loop. Her touch. Her whisper. I don't want to stop. Then the buzz of the phone. The shame in her eyes.
I was pouring a second cup when she appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt—her old clothes. She looked like the Maya from the bar, not the bride from yesterday.
"Coffee?" I asked, holding out the cup.
"Thank you," she said quietly. She took it but didn't meet my eyes.
The silence was thick enough to choke on.
"About last night…" I started.
"We don't have to talk about it," she said quickly, staring into her coffee. "It was a moment. It's over."
"It didn't feel over," I said, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.
She finally looked at me. Her eyes were guarded. "What do you want me to say, Alexander? That it meant something? You answered a phone call about business while you were on top of me. That pretty much says what this is."
Her words were sharp. True.
"The call was important," I said, but it sounded weak, even to me.
"I know. Your business is always important. It's why I'm here." She put her coffee cup down, untouched. "The driver is coming soon to take me to the university. I should get ready."
She walked away, back to her room. She closed the door softly.
I stood alone in the bright, silent kitchen. The rich coffee tasted like ash.
Last night, I had held something fragile and real in my hands. And I had let my old life—the cold world of contracts and secrets—snatch it away.
Now, the distance between us wasn't just in the bed. It was in the air. In her polite, empty "thank you." In the way she wouldn't look at me.
I had wanted to keep things businesslike to protect myself. But I had succeeded too well. I had protected myself right out of the one real moment I'd had in years.
And I had no idea how to get it back.