CHAPTER 15

The Line Between Us

Naarah stood frozen long after Peter left. The lingering heat of his words clung to her skin, wrapping around her like an invisible chain.

Tell me you don't want this.

How could she, when she wasn't even sure what this was?

Frustrated, she exhaled sharply and turned back to her desk, determined to drown herself in work. But the words on the screen blurred, her mind betraying her as it replayed the way Peter's voice had dipped, the way his fingers had barely skimmed her skin—just enough to make her crave more.

The worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing.

That smug, infuriating man.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands.

This was getting out of control.

I need space.

And there was only one way to get it.

---

Later That Evening

Naarah stepped out onto the rooftop terrace, inhaling the crisp night air. The city stretched out beneath her, a sprawling sea of shimmering lights, but even the breathtaking view couldn't settle the storm inside her.

She had come here to clear her head.

To escape him.

But Peter was everywhere.

In her thoughts. In the lingering warmth of her skin. In the reckless rhythm of her pulse.

She shook her head, gripping the balcony railing.

She had to get a grip.

"Naarah."

The deep, familiar voice sent a sharp thrill through her, but she refused to acknowledge it.

Of course he would find her.

"Peter," she said flatly, keeping her gaze locked on the skyline. "Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people?"

He chuckled, the sound rich and amused. "Only when they're clearly trying to avoid me."

She tensed. "I'm not avoiding you."

Peter stepped closer, the warmth of his presence licking at her like a flame. "Then why are you out here alone?"

She clenched her jaw. Because I needed a break from you.

But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying it.

Instead, she forced a shrug. "Just needed fresh air."

Peter hummed, unconvinced.

She hated how effortlessly he saw through her.

Silence settled between them, stretching like an unspoken challenge.

Then, softly—

"You've been thinking about me."

It wasn't a question.

Naarah's fingers curled around the railing. "You're arrogant."

Peter smirked. "You're avoiding the truth."

Her heart pounded as he took another step closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around her.

It was too much.

Too dangerous.

She turned to face him, her voice firm. "What do you want, Peter?"

His smirk faded.

Something shifted in his eyes—something dark and unreadable.

"I want to know why you keep running."

She sucked in a breath.

"I'm not—"

"You are." His voice was low, but there was steel beneath it. "Every time we get close, you pull away."

Her stomach twisted.

She had been pulling away. Because being close to Peter was intoxicating. Overwhelming.

Dangerous.

And she wasn't sure she could survive him.

Naarah forced herself to meet his gaze. "And what about you?" she challenged. "You act like you're in control, but you're not."

Peter's jaw tightened.

Bingo.

She saw it—the flicker of something raw beneath the surface.

For all his confidence, he wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be.

The realization gave her courage.

Naarah stepped closer, tilting her chin up defiantly. "You push me, Peter. But what happens when I push back?"

His eyes darkened.

For the first time, he was the one caught off guard.

Then, in the next breath—

Peter moved.

She gasped as he pinned her against the railing, one hand gripping the metal beside her, the other sliding to her waist, his touch burning through the fabric of her dress.

"Push me back, then," he murmured, his lips just inches from hers. "See what happens."

Her pulse was a wild drumbeat.

This was a game.

A battle neither of them wanted to lose.

But the truth was—

She wasn't sure she wanted to win.

Her hands found his chest, fingers pressing lightly against the crisp fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat pounded beneath her palm, just as unsteady as her own.

Time slowed.

The air crackled.

Peter dipped his head, his nose grazing her cheek, his breath hot against her skin.

Naarah's lips parted—

Then, abruptly—

He pulled back.

She blinked, dazed. "What—"

Peter smirked. "Not so fun when you're the one left hanging, is it?"

Her mouth fell open in disbelief.

That bastard.

Heat flooded her face, a mix of embarrassment and irritation.

Peter stepped back, satisfied. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

Then, just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving her breathless.

Fuming.

And desperately trying to convince herself she hadn't just lost the most dangerous game of her life.