The Caribbean sun returned with unapologetic brilliance the next morning, as if the storm had never existed.
Outside, the island buzzed back to life—waves lapped against the private dock, birds chirped in the palm trees, and somewhere nearby, resort staff prepared breakfast beneath canvas umbrellas.
But inside the suite, the air remained still. Quiet. Tense.
Ariana Blake stirred slowly beneath the fine Egyptian cotton sheets, her body warm, her skin prickled from memory. The last thing she remembered was curling into Leo's side. The thunder, the panic, his arms—steady, sure. The gentleness.
She blinked at the soft light filtering through sheer curtains and turned her head.
Leo wasn't in bed.
Her heart gave a tiny, irrational thud.
She sat up, brushing hair from her face. Her body ached from the odd angle she'd slept in—tucked against him, muscles wound tight then unwound all at once. She stood, padded quietly across the marble floor, and found him on the suite's balcony.
He wore a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, black slacks tailored to fit his tall frame. His back was to her, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug, the other tucked in his pocket. His profile was sharp in the morning light—handsome in a cold, distant way, but softer somehow.
Less armor. More man.
She didn't speak.
Not yet.
She stepped outside barefoot. The warmth hit her skin instantly, tropical and humid. She stopped beside him, folding her arms.
Leo glanced sideways. "You slept."
"You didn't."
"I don't sleep much."
She hesitated. "About last night—"
"You were scared," he said simply. "You don't have to explain."
She looked out at the horizon, lips pressed. "That's not what I was going to say."
He turned slightly.
There was a pause between them. Not quite awkward. Just… uncertain.
Ariana ran a hand through her hair. "You stayed up all night holding me. That's not in the contract."
His lips twitched. "Neither was the thunderstorm."
She huffed. "You're impossible."
"I'm pragmatic."
"You're complicated."
"That," he murmured, "is true."
A beat passed.
Then, softly, he asked, "How do you feel?"
Ariana looked at him. Not just looked—saw him. Thirty-two. Six-foot-two. Empire builder. Emotionally walled-off, yes—but last night, he had been human. Kind. Safe.
"Confused," she admitted.
"Because I held you?"
"Because I wanted you to."
That stopped him.
Leo set his mug down.
"Come here," he said.
Her breath caught.
But she stepped closer.
He reached out, slowly, one hand brushing her cheek. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, like he was memorizing it. Like he didn't know what the hell he was doing—but also couldn't stop.
"You scare me," she whispered.
"I scare myself," he confessed.
Her throat tightened. "What are we doing?"
"I don't know."
And then—he leaned in.
It was slow, intentional.
His hand cupped her jaw, guiding her gently, and just before their lips touched, she tilted her chin up.
Their mouths met in a kiss that was nothing like the passionate, greedy kind she might've expected from a man like him.
It was tentative.
Quiet.
A question.
She responded with equal care—leaning into him, not claiming, not begging. Just there. The warmth of his palm on her skin, the soft pressure of his lips, the clean scent of his cologne—it all overwhelmed her.
Then the kiss deepened.
Leo's other hand slid around her waist, drawing her against him. She rose to her toes, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.
Heat bloomed in her chest. In her stomach. In every nerve that had long forgotten what it meant to want without fear.
She made a soft sound—half sigh, half surrender.
Leo pulled back.
Just slightly.
Their foreheads touched. His breath fanned her lips.
"That wasn't smart," he murmured.
"No," she breathed. "But it felt real."
"It was."
They stood like that, chests rising and falling, lips inches apart.
"I don't want to play anymore," she whispered.
He opened his eyes.
"I don't either."
For a moment, something unspoken hung between them.
But then—his eyes darkened. He stepped back.
She felt the shift instantly. From vulnerable to guarded. From man to mask.
"I need to get ready," he said, voice clipped.
Ariana blinked. "You're leaving?"
"There's a brunch with investors in twenty minutes."
She stepped back, folding her arms. "Right. Of course. Business."
Leo didn't answer. He turned, disappearing into the suite without another word.
And just like that, the warmth between them turned cold.
---
Later that afternoon, Ariana sat alone in a shaded cabana near the pool, sketchpad in her lap, sunglasses hiding the tired shadows beneath her eyes.
She hadn't seen Leo since the balcony.
He hadn't checked in.
Hadn't texted.
Hadn't even looked her way when they crossed paths in the main resort lobby.
Back to business. Back to the illusion.
And yet—her lips still tingled from the kiss. Her mind kept replaying it.
That look in his eyes. That touch.
He meant it.
But he also ran.
Coward, she thought bitterly.
Her pencil scratched across the page, designing something sharp and jagged. Not romantic. Not soft. Armor in fabric form.
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced down.
Unknown number: Beautiful design. Angry lines. You okay?
Her heart jumped.
She turned—and spotted Leo on a distant balcony, one floor above, watching her.
Ariana narrowed her eyes.
Then flipped him off.
He smiled.
She didn't.
Because no amount of charm or texts would undo the emotional whiplash. Not today.
---
That night, they barely spoke.
They attended a formal dinner hosted in the estate's main hall—a high-ceilinged colonial structure filled with crystal chandeliers and whispers of old money. Leo looked devastating in a black tuxedo, crisp and commanding. Ariana wore a champagne-colored gown, her hair swept up, diamonds glittering at her ears.
They were the perfect couple on paper.
But across the table, their eyes never quite met.
After the event, back in their suite, Ariana kicked off her heels, exhaustion gnawing at her.
Leo stood by the window, hands in his pockets.
He finally said, "About this morning—"
"Don't."
He turned. "You're angry."
"I'm humiliated."
His brow furrowed. "Why?"
"Because you kissed me. You held me. And then you shut down like it meant nothing."
"It didn't mean nothing."
"Then why did you leave me standing there like an idiot?"
He exhaled. "Because I can't give you what you want."
"You don't know what I want."
He stepped closer. "Don't I?"
"You think I want love? Marriage? A fairytale?"
His silence said yes.
She laughed bitterly. "You're so afraid of being needed, you assume everyone's out to trap you. I don't need saving, Leo. I needed honesty."
He flinched.
She stepped past him, grabbing her toiletry bag. "From now on, let's stick to the contract."
He didn't stop her.
Didn't say a word.
And as the bathroom door closed behind her, Leo stood alone—staring at his own reflection in the glass, storm clouds no longer outside, but brewing quietly within.
---