The IronClad Vow
The air in the penthouse was thick with unspoken words and the lingering heat of a shared victory. He stood before her, the ice in his gaze finally melted, revealing a raw vulnerability that stole the breath from her lungs.
“This wasn’t part of the contract,” he murmured, his voice a rough caress as his thumb traced the line of her jaw.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird against the gilded cage of their agreement. “I know.”
His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her face up to his. The world narrowed to the space between them, to the shocking warmth of his skin against hers. “Then tell me to stop, Ivy. Give me the rules. Give me the clause.”
She should. Every instinct for self-preservation screamed at her to rebuild the walls, to remember he was her enemy, her jailer, her temporary husband.
But as she looked into the stormy grey depths of his eyes, she saw not the ruthless CEO, but the man who had just looked at her daughter as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
So, she didn’t speak. Instead, she rose onto her toes, closing the distance, her lips a breath away from his in a silent, devastating answer.
The first kiss was not a conquest, but a surrender. It was not about revenge or contracts. It was a question, and in the shuddering breath he released against her mouth, she found her answer. The cold, platinum wedding band finally felt warm against her skin.