The night clung to Amelia like a second skin. Even after she left Adrian's apartment, even after the cool evening air should have sobered her, the heat of what almost happened between them burned beneath her ribs. Every step she took down the quiet street carried the weight of restraint and regret, her pulse still thrumming with the memory of his hands, his voice, his nearness.
She hated herself for wanting more. She hated him for making her feel it. And above all, she hated the silence that stretched between them after they tore themselves apart, before it could go too far.
When Amelia finally reached her apartment, she closed the door a little too hard, as if she could slam out the lingering echoes of his touch. The walls of her space felt narrow, suffocating, filled with questions she couldn't silence. Dropping her keys on the counter, she pressed her palms to her face and let out a muffled groan.
"Stupid," she whispered into the darkness. "So stupid."
But it hadn't felt stupid when he had leaned in, when his eyes searched hers as though she were the only thing he wanted in that moment. It hadn't felt stupid when her body betrayed her, leaning back into his touch, silently begging for more.
It was wrong. He was dangerous—not in the way of violence, but in the way of temptation, in the way that stripped down her control until she was bare and trembling. And yet… she couldn't stop replaying it.
...
Across town, Adrian sat at his desk in the half-lit glow of his study, staring at a glass of whiskey he hadn't touched. His mind wasn't on the reports scattered in front of him. It was on her—on Amelia, with her flushed cheeks and trembling breath, when he had almost kissed her.
Almost.
The word mocked him. He had always been a man who finished what he started, but with her… he found himself caught in limbo. One second away from crossing the line he had promised himself never to cross.
She had looked at him like he was both her undoing and her salvation, and it terrified him. Because Adrian knew—once he took that step, there would be no going back.
He swore under his breath and pushed the untouched whiskey aside. The taste of her lingered on his tongue, even though they hadn't kissed. That, more than anything, was what kept him restless.
...
The next morning, Amelia thought a shower would help. It didn't. Thought burying herself in work would help. It didn't. By noon, she had read the same line in a document at least ten times, her mind stubbornly replaying Adrian's voice, low and rough in the dark.
A knock startled her. She looked up to find her best friend, Tasha, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Tasha said, arching a brow. "Or worse… a man."
Amelia groaned and pressed her forehead to the desk. "Not today, Tasha."
"Ah, so it is a man," Tasha teased, stepping into the room. "Spill. You know you can't hide it from me."
Amelia sat up, staring at her friend with wide eyes. "What if I told you I almost… ruined everything?"
Tasha perked up. "Almost? That word saves lives, babe. What happened?"
The memory flooded her again—the way Adrian had cornered her against the wall, the heat of his breath so close, the pull between them like gravity itself. Amelia's chest tightened. "I almost kissed him. No… he almost kissed me. I don't even know who leaned in first."
Tasha blinked. Then a slow grin spread across her face. "And you didn't?"
Amelia shook her head violently. "No! I couldn't. I shouldn't. He's… It's complicated."
Tasha tilted her head. "Complicated like… married?"
"What? No!" Amelia blurted out, horrified.
"Good. Because if that was the case, I'd slap you right now." Tasha plopped onto the couch, smirking. "So… he's single, you're single, the chemistry's explosive, and yet you're here sulking instead of letting yourself have fun. Make it make sense."
Amelia's voice dropped. "He's not just any man. He's… different. Dangerous."
Tasha studied her for a moment, then sighed. "Dangerous, or the kind of man who makes you feel alive after years of shutting yourself down?"
Amelia froze. The words hit too close. She hated how true they sounded.
...
Adrian, meanwhile, wasn't faring much better. His closest confidant, Marcus, walked into his office unannounced, catching him mid-thought.
"You look like hell," Marcus said flatly.
Adrian shot him a glare. "Good morning to you, too."
Marcus sat without invitation. "What's her name?"
Adrian stilled. "What makes you think this is about a woman?"
"Because I've known you for years," Marcus replied smoothly. "Work stress makes you sharp, restless, on edge. This? You look… distracted. Like someone got under your skin."
Adrian exhaled slowly, leaning back. "Amelia."
Marcus let out a low whistle. "The one you've been keeping at arm's length?"
Adrian didn't answer. He didn't need to. Marcus's grin said it all.
"You're screwed, my friend," Marcus chuckled. "You either need to stay far away from her… or accept that whatever's brewing won't vanish on its own."
Adrian clenched his jaw. He knew Marcus was right. But staying away felt impossible. And giving in felt like setting fire to everything he had worked so hard to control.
...
Days blurred. Amelia avoided Adrian like her sanity depended on it. Late nights at the office were no longer shared. Texts went unanswered. She thought she was protecting herself… but in truth, she was unravelling.
By Friday, she was restless enough to accept Tasha's invitation to a rooftop bar. Music pulsed, laughter carried on the wind, and for a while, Amelia let herself relax. A drink in her hand, the city lights glittering below—it almost felt normal.
Until she saw him.
Adrian, across the rooftop, was standing tall in a tailored suit that caught the glow of the neon lights. His eyes found hers instantly, as though he had been waiting.
Her heart stuttered. The world tilted.
Tasha leaned in, whispering, "Well, well. If it isn't your dangerous man."
Adrian didn't look away. His gaze burned through the crowd, pinning her in place. Every fibre of Amelia's body screamed to run… and yet, when he started walking toward her, steady and sure, she couldn't move at all.
The air thickened with tension as he stopped just before her, close enough for her to smell the faint spice of his cologne.
"Amelia," he said, voice low, dangerous in its calm. "We need to talk."
She swallowed hard, caught between dread and desire. "About what?"
His eyes darkened. "About the night we can't stop remembering."