Raindrops hammered against the floor-to-ceiling glass of the penthouse, blurring the neon lights of Madrid into smeary streaks of red and gold.
Cold air leaked through the seams of the window frame, but it did nothing to cool the fever burning in my chest.
José stood with his back to me, hands buried deep in the pockets of his charcoal trousers.
His shoulders, broad and rigid beneath the expensive fabric of his dress shirt, didn't move.
For months, I had lived under his roof, believing he was my savior, a guardian angel sent to pluck me from the ruin of my family's bankruptcy.
Standing in his private study tonight, surrounded by the scent of old leather and expensive scotch, I finally knew the truth.
"You shouldn't have come up here, Elena," he said, his voice a low baritone that vibrated straight through the floorboards.
Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.
Stepping closer, I let my boots click sharply against the polished hardwood.
Paper crumpled in my tight, trembling grip.
He didn't turn around, but I saw the muscles in his back tense under the white cotton of his shirt.
"I had to see it for myself," I whispered, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound strong.
Turning slowly, he finally faced me.
Shadows clung to the sharp angles of his face, accentuating his high cheekbones and the harsh line of his jaw.
Dark eyes, almost black under the dim office lighting, locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"Leave," he commanded softly.
Anger, hot and sudden, flared in my gut.
"No," I said, slamming the manila folder onto his mahogany desk.
Crossing the room, I stopped just inches from him, refusing to let him intimidate me.
Up close, I could smell him—expensive cologne, cedarwood, and a faint hint of rain.
His jaw clenched so hard a small vein pulsed at his temple.
"You think you can just buy my life and never explain why?" I demanded, my chest heaving.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it.
"I trusted you, José."
"That was your first mistake," he rasped.
His chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven breaths.
He stepped forward, closing the remaining distance between us until my chest brushed his.
Power radiated from him, an invisible pressure that threatened to pull me under.
"You don't know what you're playing with, Elena," he muttered, his eyes dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second.
"Then tell me," I pleaded, reaching out to grab his forearm.
"Go home, Elena."
---
Rain continued to batter the glass, a relentless background hum to the storm brewing inside the office.
I didn't move, refusing to be dismissed like a child.
Instead, I slid my hand up to his lapel, feeling the rapid, heavy beat of his heart beneath my palm.
He stiffened, his entire body locking up under my touch.
"Why did you buy my father's debt?" I asked, looking up into his dark, unreadable eyes.
"It was business," he lied.
His voice was too quiet, too controlled.
"You're a liar," I whispered.
"Elena, stop."
"Make me."
His hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist with a grip that was firm but didn't hurt.
Heat flared where his skin met mine, a sudden, scorching current that left me breathless.
"I am trying to protect you," he growled, his gaze burning into mine.
"By keeping me in the dark?"
"By keeping you alive," he corrected, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
A shudder ran through me at his words, the gravity of them sinking into my skin.
He pulled me closer, his grip shifting from my wrist to my waist.
Our breath mingled in the narrow space between us, hot and fast.
His thumb brushed the fabric of my shirt, sending a jolt of pure electricity straight down my spine.
"You need to hate me," he murmured, his voice cracking slightly.
"I want to," I admitted.
"Then do it."
"I can't."
His eyes softened for a brief, dangerous moment.
He looked at me like I was his ruin, and he was completely resigned to it.
---
Seconds ticked by, marked only by the steady thrum of the rain.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
His hand on my waist tightened, pulling me flush against his hard body.
I could feel the rigid strength of his thighs, the heat radiating from his chest.
"This is madness," he whispered against my forehead.
"Then let me burn," I replied.
Slowly, I slid my hands up his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt.
His breath hitched.
The anger that had fueled me earlier dissolved, replaced by a desperate, aching hunger.
I wanted answers, but more than that, I wanted him.
He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine.
"If I touch you, I won't be able to stop," he warned.
"Don't stop."
His eyes darkened to a pitch-black intensity.
A low groan escaped his throat, a sound of pure defeat.
Standing on my tip-toes, I closed the final distance between us.
Lo beso.
My lips met his, and the world outside the penthouse vanished.
His reaction was instantaneous, a sudden explosion of pent-up desire.
His grip on my waist tightened, lifting me slightly as he pressed me back against the heavy mahogany desk.
He kissed me with a desperate, feral hunger that stole the air right out of my lungs.
My hands tangled in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer, deeper.
He tasted of dark coffee and forbidden desires.
Our lips slid together in a feverish rhythm.
He groaned into my mouth, his tongue parting my lips to claim me completely.
Every touch of his hand on my hip burned through my clothes.
This was the man who had ruined my family, the man who held my future in his hands.
And I was completely lost in him, drowning in the taste of him.
Suddenly, he tore his lips away, breathing heavily.
His eyes were wild, his dark hair disheveled.
He stared at me, his chest heaving as he gripped my shoulders.
"Elena," he choked out, his voice laced with a mixture of regret and raw passion.
Before I could speak, the heavy oak door of the office clicked.
Turning my head toward the sound, I froze.
Standing in the doorway was a man I thought had died five years ago.
He looked at us, his eyes cold and accusing.
"I see you've made yourself comfortable with my enemy, Elena," my father said.