Chapter 39 – Lines We Shouldn’t Cross

Emma's breath caught as Alex's fingers skimmed her wrist, the touch feather-light but electrifying.

The bar's background noise faded into a blur—the clinking glasses, the distant laughter, the low hum of music. None of it mattered.

Only him.

Only this unbearable tension between them.

Emma should walk away. She knew she should.

But she didn't.

Instead, she held her ground, forcing herself to ignore the way her body reacted to him, the way her pulse quickened at his proximity.

Alex studied her, his gaze searching, waiting. He was daring her to make the next move, to break first.

She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

So she did what she did best. She leaned in, close enough that her lips almost grazed his ear, her voice low and taunting. "You must really enjoy losing, Kingston."

She felt, rather than saw, the way his body tensed at her words.

For a brief, exhilarating moment, she thought she had won.

But then he chuckled—low, dark, dangerous. "Oh, sweetheart…" His fingers curled around her wrist, firm yet teasing. "You have no idea how much I enjoy the chase."

Her breath hitched.

He was too close. Too confident.

And, worst of all, he was right.

She hated that he could read her so well, that he knew exactly how to push her buttons. It was infuriating.

But what was even more infuriating?

She liked it.

Emma exhaled sharply, yanking her wrist away. "This conversation is over."

She turned on her heel, but before she could take two steps, Alex caught her hand again—this time, with purpose.

Her pulse thundered.

He didn't pull her closer, didn't tighten his grip. He simply held her there, challenging her with nothing more than his presence.

"Tell me to leave," he murmured.

His voice was quiet, yet it sent a shiver down her spine.

Emma swallowed hard, her resolve flickering.

She should tell him to go.

She should walk away and pretend this never happened.

But she didn't.

Because the truth was, she didn't want him to leave.

She wanted him to stay.

And that terrified her more than anything.

---

By the time Emma finally left the bar, her head was spinning—not from the alcohol, but from him.

Sophie had watched the whole exchange, sipping her drink with a knowing smirk.

"You're playing with fire, Carter," she had teased as they got into the cab.

Emma had scoffed, brushing it off. "It's nothing."

But now, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her mind refused to let it go.

Alex Kingston was trouble. He was chaos wrapped in expensive suits and smug grins.

And yet, for the first time in her life, Emma wasn't sure she wanted to walk away from the storm.

She rolled over, trying to force herself to sleep.

But even in the darkness, she could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin.

The next morning, Emma arrived at the office earlier than usual, hoping the familiar routine would ground her. But the moment she stepped into the building, he was there—waiting by the elevators, leaning against the wall with that same infuriating smirk.

"Morning, Carter."

Emma's heart jumped, but she forced herself to keep walking. "Don't you have a company to run, Kingston?"

Alex fell into step beside her, his voice low and teasing. "I do. But I find I'm much more productive when I multitask."

She shot him a glare. "Harassing opposing counsel isn't multitasking. It's desperate."

He grinned. "Desperate? That's a bold assumption."

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside.

Alone.

Emma pressed the button for her floor, pointedly ignoring the heat curling at the base of her spine as Alex leaned against the mirrored wall, watching her.

"You're tense," he murmured.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "I wonder why."

His smirk faded slightly, something darker flickering behind his gaze.

"We don't have to keep pretending this isn't happening, you know."

Emma's pulse quickened.

"This?" she repeated, forcing indifference into her voice.

Alex's eyes locked onto hers, and suddenly the elevator felt too small—the air thick with everything neither of them wanted to admit.

"You feel it too."

Emma's heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

It would be so easy to lean in.

To let him win.

But if she did—if she crossed that line—she wasn't sure either of them would ever recover.

So she did the only thing she could.

She stepped back.

"Whatever you think is happening here... it isn't."

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open.

Emma walked out without looking back.

But even as she disappeared down the hallway, she could still feel him watching her—waiting.

And she hated how badly she wanted him to follow.