Camilla hated that she was hyper-aware of everything—how many times Dominic's door opened, how often his voice rumbled during phone calls, how loud his footsteps sounded when he walked past her desk without so much as a glance.
The kiss should've been a mistake easily buried. That was what they agreed on. But agreeing and feeling weren't the same. Not even close.
She felt everything too much now.
His cologne lingered in the hallway. His name made her stomach tighten. And when he passed behind her, the hair on the back of her neck stood like he still owned that space between them.
Maybe the worst part? He was acting like nothing happened.
And she hated that she wanted it to happen again.
"Camilla, come with me."
It wasn't a question. Dominic's voice dropped the words like a quiet command as he stood at her desk, all tailored perfection and unreadable steel.
She blinked up from her screen. "Sir?"
"We're going to meet with the architect for the Lisbon property. I need you there."
"I wasn't informed—"
"You are now." He didn't wait for a reply. Just turned and walked off.
She scrambled to grab her tablet and notes. It wasn't unusual for him to pull her into meetings without notice—but today felt different. Intentional.
The car ride was quiet, the air between them charged. Camilla tried to focus on her notes, but the silence thickened, warm and suffocating. She could feel his eyes on her when she wasn't looking, and her breath kept catching every time their shoulders brushed when the car hit a bump.
The meeting went smoothly. Camilla asked the right questions, clarified the right points. Dominic barely said a word once the formalities ended.
But as they stepped out of the boardroom and into the quiet hall, he suddenly paused.
"Camilla."
She turned.
He looked like he was wrestling with something. Something primal. Something reckless.
"I've been trying to be good," he said, voice low. "Trying to follow rules we both agreed on."
Camilla's throat dried. "Dominic—"
"But I don't want to keep pretending."
"We're at work," she whispered.
His eyes never left hers. "I know."
He took a step forward. Then another.
She backed into the wall.
He leaned in—just close enough that she could smell him again. That maddening mix of confidence and control and temptation.
"I see you everywhere," he murmured. "In my office. In my mind. In places I shouldn't."
"You're my boss," she said breathlessly.
"And you're the only person who's ever made me forget that."
Silence.
God, she should stop this. She should.
But instead of pushing him away, she asked the question that haunted her every night: "What happens if we stop pretending?"
Dominic's lips brushed hers—not quite a kiss. Just a question. A dare.
"I burn," he whispered.
And then he walked away.
Leaving her breathless. Shaking. Wanting.
Back at the office, Camilla sat at her desk, barely pretending to work. Her hands were still trembling when she tapped at her keyboard, the words on her screen a blur.
She couldn't do this—not halfway. Not like this.
So when her phone buzzed with a message from Dominic, she wasn't surprised.
Come to my office before you leave. We need to talk.
Those five words nearly undid her.
His office was dark when she entered. The blinds were drawn, the city lights outside casting a moody glow across the floor.
Dominic stood near the window, his jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled up. The man looked like temptation personified.
"You came," he said softly, not turning.
"You asked."
Silence stretched between them. Thick. Heavy.
Then he turned, and she saw it—the conflict in his eyes. The hunger.
"I didn't bring you here to cross any lines," he said. "But I can't keep this... inside."
Camilla stepped closer. "So what do you want from me?"
"Everything I'm not allowed to have."
She reached up and touched his chest—just once. His heart thundered beneath her palm.
"We can't be reckless," she whispered.
"Then tell me how to want you less."
She couldn't.
Instead, she kissed him.
No fear this time. No hesitation. Just fire. Need. Control slipping between their fingers.
The kiss wasn't just heat—it was need. All the words they never said. All the tension they'd bottled. It burst like lightning in a storm.
And for the first time, Camilla wasn't scared of what came next.
She was ready to burn.