After Hours Temptation

The day passed in a blur of controlled chaos.

Claire moved like a machine—answering calls, organizing files, and fielding ridiculous coffee orders from people who thought she was just another intern. But Aidan?

He didn't say a word to her all afternoon.

Not one.

It was infuriating. After practically pinning her to the wall with words and heat, he had gone ice-cold again—burying himself in meetings and documents as if their encounter had been nothing but a blip.

And yet, she could feel his eyes on her.

Every time she reached for a file. Every time she bent over the desk. Every time her phone buzzed and she picked it up with trembling fingers, wondering if it was him.

By 7:45 PM, the office had emptied.

Only the low hum of the city remained outside the windows. Claire was still at her desk, chewing the end of a pen while finishing a report he'd asked for.

She didn't expect him to return.

But when the elevator dinged and Aidan stepped out in a dark grey coat, unbuttoned over his black shirt and trousers, Claire stiffened.

"You're still here," he said, tone unreadable.

Claire stood. "I was just finishing your—"

"Come with me."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

Aidan walked into his office without looking back. The door remained open.

Claire hesitated, then followed.

The overhead lights were dimmed. Only the golden glow of the city lights poured in now, casting long shadows across the office floor. Aidan shrugged off his coat and tossed it over the chair.

He loosened the first few buttons of his shirt.

Claire tried not to stare at the sharp cut of his collarbone.

"I thought you had left for the night," she said quietly.

"I forgot a file," he replied, walking toward the bar in the corner. He poured himself a glass of scotch, then raised an eyebrow. "Drink?"

"I—don't think it's a good idea."

"Exactly why you need one."

He poured a second glass and held it out.

Claire took it, her fingers brushing his. A bolt of energy zipped up her arm. She sipped—burning liquid slid down her throat and settled like fire in her chest.

Aidan leaned against the glass window, staring out at the city. He looked almost human in that moment—less god, more man. Tired. Restless.

"You handled today better than expected," he said.

"Even with the coffee disaster?"

He chuckled softly—a rare sound that made her stomach flutter. "Especially because of that."

Claire sat across from him on the edge of the leather couch. Her skirt rode up slightly, but she didn't bother fixing it. Something about the night, the silence, the shadows—it all felt like a dream she couldn't quite control.

Aidan turned to face her, eyes sharp.

"You're different."

She blinked. "Is that bad?"

"No." He stepped closer. "It's dangerous."

"For you or for me?" she whispered.

"For both."

He took the glass from her hand and placed it on the nearby table. Then, without warning, he knelt in front of her.

Claire's breath caught.

His hands didn't touch her. Not yet. But his presence alone was magnetic—his face mere inches from her knees, his voice low and slow.

"Do you know how many women throw themselves at me in this office?"

Claire tried to laugh. "Probably all of them?"

"But not you."

"I don't mix business with fantasy," she said, echoing his earlier line.

His eyes darkened. "Lie to me again."

Claire's heart thumped.

He slowly slid his hands up her thighs—not touching skin, just the fabric of her skirt. Barely grazing. A tease. A threat. A promise.

Her legs tensed.

His lips hovered near her inner thigh, just high enough to make her gasp, but he didn't kiss.

He looked up. "Still not mixing?"

Her lips parted. "You're the boss."

His fingers stopped at the hem of her skirt. "Say the word, and I'll stop."

The words were there. "Stop."

But they didn't leave her mouth.

Instead, she whispered, "What happens if I don't?"

Aidan leaned in, his breath hot against her skin. "Then I ruin you. Slowly."

His hand slid higher, grazing bare skin now, and Claire exhaled shakily. Her fingers curled into the couch.

But just when she thought he'd do something—anything—he stood.

Claire blinked up at him, dazed and breathless.

Aidan adjusted his cuffs, completely composed. "Go home, Claire."

She stood shakily, flushed and furious. "You think this is funny?"

"No," he said, walking past her again. "I think it's inevitable."

She turned sharply. "You keep pushing me to the edge and then walking away."

"I'm testing you," he said simply.

"For what?"

He stopped by the door.

"To see if you break."

He opened it and gestured. "We'll find out soon enough."

Claire walked past him, heels clicking loudly against the floor, anger and arousal mixing in her veins like poison.

She didn't look back.

But she could feel his eyes on her all the way to the elevator.