Three days later, Jules found herself driving up a winding private road toward the North Shore. The Blackwood estate was a marvel of glass and steel, perched precariously on a cliffside overlooking Lake Michigan. It was the physical manifestation of the man himself: cold, brilliant, and intimidating.
Alistair was waiting for her in the foyer. He wasn't in a suit today; he wore a black cashmere sweater with the sleeves pushed up, revealing forearms that hinted at a life more active than sitting behind a desk.
"Your quarters are in the west wing," he said, taking her suitcase before she could protest. "My office is in the east. The center of the house is neutral ground. Unless I invite you elsewhere."
"Is that a rule?" Jules asked, trying to sound bolder than she felt.
Alistair stopped and turned, his shadow stretching over her. "In this house, my word is the only rule. I value your talent, Julianne, but do not mistake my interest for a lack of discipline. You are here to work. But you are also here because I want to see if you can handle the pressure."
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming the small space between them. "I've spent years building walls. You're the first person I've hired to knock one down. Don't make me regret it."
Over the next week, the rhythm of the house took hold. They worked in a strange, heightened silence. They would eat dinner together in a dining room far too large for two people, discussing aesthetics, philosophy, and the ethics of power.
One evening, while reviewing floor plans in the library, the tension finally snapped. A storm was rolling in off the lake, shaking the glass walls.
"You're holding back on the master suite," Alistair said, leaning over her shoulder. "Why?"
"Because it's too personal," Jules admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "I can't design a sanctuary for a man I don't truly know."
Alistair reached out, turning her chair so she had to look at him. He knelt down, his hands resting on the arms of her chair, effectively trapping her.
"What do you want to know?" he challenged. "Ask me. Anything."
"Why are you so obsessed with control?" she whispered.
Alistair's expression darkened. "Because the world is chaotic, Julianne. People are unreliable. Feelings are unpredictable. But steel? Glass? Gravity? They follow laws. I like laws. I like knowing exactly what will happen when I apply pressure."
He leaned in, his breath warm against her lips. "And right now, I'm wondering exactly how much pressure it would take to make you forget about the blueprints."