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At first, it’s just pressure. My mouth on his. A challenge. A dare thrown back at him.

His lips are warm and still for half a heartbeat, as if he’s letting me make the choice and refusing to meet me halfway.

So I kiss him deeper.

Not soft or hesitant. I kiss him like my father's quality of life is on the line. I kiss him like I have something to prove and nothing left to lose.

For one endless second, he doesn’t move. His hands stay locked on the armrests, knuckles whitening, his entire body taut beneath me.

Then his mouth opens under mine. Heat lashes through me so suddenly I almost gasp into the kiss.

He still doesn’t touch me, but he kisses me back now—thoroughly, expertly, with a restraint that somehow makes it hotter. Like every ounce of control in him is strained to the breaking point. I slide one hand into his hair, the other braced against his shoulder as I angle myself closer, pressing into the hard line of his body.

His mouth is devastating. Controlled for only a second before something darker and rougher pushes through. My pulse stumbles. My whole body lights up.

And still, he doesn’t touch me.

Not my waist. Not my hips. Not the bare strip of thigh brushing his tux pants.

His hands remain on the armrests like he’s holding himself back by brute force alone.

A knock sounds at the door.

I jerk.

The door opens before either of us can speak.

Jeremy stops short on the threshold. "Sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

Mortification burns through me.

I scramble off Everett’s lap so fast I nearly trip, yanking my dress back down with shaking hands.

Everett doesn’t rise.

Doesn’t look breathless or even remotely affected.

He only adjusts one cuff and says, in a voice cold enough to freeze the room, "No. Aria was just making my point for me."

My head snaps toward him.

The humiliation hits a second later, devastating in its wake.

Because even without his hands on me, that kiss had been molten. World-tilting. The kind of kiss that rewires something in your bloodstream.

And apparently it had meant absolutely nothing to him.

I glare at him, chest heaving, then snatch the paddle cards off his desk hard enough to send one skidding sideways.

"You’re right," I bite out. "You just saved me from a year of misery. I should thank you."

Then I storm past Jeremy and out the door before either of them can see how badly my hands are shaking.

Screw him, I think as I make a beeline for the elevator. Screw him and his billions.

I can’t believe I almost locked myself into a year-long marriage with that man.

Then again, I’d do anything for my father.