Tempting the Enemy

The penthouse smelled of expensive leather and his cologne—a scent you'd learned to hate. Alexander Sterling stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, rain streaking the glass behind him. 'So, we're married,' he said, a smirk playing on his lips. 'Try not to look so thrilled.' You shot back, 'Thrilled isn't the word I'd use. More like reluctantly compliant.' He stepped closer, his voice low. 'Careful, darling. That tongue of yours might get you into trouble.' You held his gaze, heart racing. 'It already has.' The contract lay on the marble counter between you—a six-month farce that would save your company and hand him the victory he craved. But as his fingers brushed yours when he picked up the pen, a jolt of electricity shot through you. This was going to be a long six months.