Chapter 23: A Dangerous Game

Emma had always been good at controlling situations.

She handled billion-dollar negotiations without breaking a sweat. She maneuvered courtroom battles with the precision of a chess grandmaster.

But this?

This was different.

Because Alex Kingston wasn't playing by any rules she recognized.

—

The way he looked at her.

Like he had already won.

Like he was waiting for her to catch up.

And the worst part?

She could feel herself slipping.

—

She set her wine glass down with a sharp clink against the table. "This game of yours—"

Alex cut her off. "You're the one calling it a game, Carter."

Emma exhaled through her nose, forcing herself to stay calm. "That's what it is, isn't it?"

Alex stepped closer, slow and deliberate. "And if it isn't?"

Emma's pulse stuttered.

No.

She refused to entertain that thought.

—

She turned away, stepping toward the couch, putting distance between them. "I don't get involved with men like you."

Alex didn't follow her.

He just smirked. "Men like me?"

Emma met his gaze. "Arrogant. Reckless. The kind that thinks they can charm their way into anything."

Alex chuckled. "You mean the kind that doesn't give up?"

Emma crossed her arms. "That's not always a good thing, Kingston."

Alex tilted his head. "Depends on what you're fighting for."

She hated how easily he twisted things.

How he made her second-guess herself.

And most of all?

She hated that she didn't want to walk away.

—

Alex watched her for a moment, then exhaled. "Alright. Let's call it a night."

Emma blinked. "What?"

Alex smirked. "You look exhausted, Carter. And if I keep pushing, you'll end up overthinking this into oblivion."

Emma bristled. "I don't—"

Alex gave her a knowing look. "You do."

Emma hated that he was right.

But instead of admitting it, she just sighed. "Fine."

Alex gestured toward the hallway. "Guest room's down there. Unless you want to take my bed?"

Emma shot him a glare. "Not happening."

Alex grinned. "Can't blame me for trying."

She rolled her eyes and stalked toward the guest room.

But as she shut the door behind her, leaning against it for just a second—

She realized something.

This wasn't just a game anymore.

Not for him.

And definitely not for her.

—

Sunday Morning

Emma woke up with the unsettling feeling that she was being watched.

Her instincts kicked in immediately.

Her eyes snapped open, and she was ready—

Only to find Alex leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, looking entirely too amused.

She groaned, rubbing her face. "You really need to stop doing that."

Alex smirked. "Morning, Carter."

She glared at him. "What do you want?"

"Breakfast," he said simply. "Figured I'd give you the option to join me before I eat all the good stuff."

Emma exhaled slowly. "And what's your definition of 'good stuff'?"

Alex grinned. "Pancakes. Bacon. Fresh coffee. But if you'd rather starve—"

Emma swung her legs out of bed. "I'm coming."

Alex chuckled, stepping back. "Knew you couldn't resist."

She threw a pillow at him.

—

Ten minutes later, Emma sat at the kitchen island, watching as Alex flipped pancakes like some sort of domestic expert.

She narrowed her eyes. "You do this often?"

Alex shrugged. "When I have time."

Emma arched a brow. "And here I thought you lived off overpriced takeout and whiskey."

Alex smirked. "That's my weekday diet."

Emma shook her head, but she couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

And that was dangerous.

Because if she wasn't careful—

She'd start enjoying this.

—

He slid a plate in front of her, then leaned against the counter, watching her expectantly.

She took a bite.

It was good. Annoyingly good.

She didn't react.

Alex smirked. "You like it."

Emma kept her face neutral. "It's edible."

Alex chuckled. "Carter, if you ever decide to lie, at least try to be convincing."

She huffed but took another bite.

And when Alex sat beside her, closer than necessary, his arm brushing hers—

She let it happen.

For the first time, she didn't pull away.

And Alex noticed.

Because his smirk faded just slightly, his gaze darkening.

And Emma?

She felt it.

The shift.

The dangerous, undeniable pull between them.

But instead of running from it—

She let herself wonder.

Just for a moment.

What would happen… if she stopped fighting?