Chapter 26 Biceps and Desire
Elena's POV
Don’t cross the line.
Don’t break the rules.
I repeated it like a mantra, like repetition alone could anchor me, as my back pressed against the cool hallway wall. The quiet outside the kitchen was thin and fragile, barely enough to steady my breathing, but my thoughts refused to cooperate. They clung to Jack—shirtless.
Forearms taut, veins faintly visible beneath skin dusted with flour, biceps flexing without effort as he wiped down the counter like it was just another ordinary morning.
I closed my eyes but It didn’t help.
If anything, my heart pounded louder, reckless and insistent, a rhythm that felt entirely unprofessional and wildly inconvenient.
What was wrong with me?
I was Elena Vale. CEO. Heiress. Strategist. I negotiated with men who thought power was something you could shout about. I dismantled threats with calm precision. I did not—did not—get undone by strong arms, or quiet competence, or a voice that wrapped itself around my name like it belonged there.
And yet here I was.
Pressed against a wall like a teenager hiding from a crush, heat coiling low in my stomach, breath shallow and uneven.
I let out a slow, frustrated sigh. I had too much on my plate for this. Board politics, corporate sabotage. Damien’s shadow stretching further than it should have been able to. And Jack—my husband on paper only—had no business being added to that list.
Jack, whom I had married under strict clauses and colder intentions, boundaries designed to keep emotion locked safely away. And yet, something was slipping, no—loosening.
I wasn’t distracted, I was unraveling, thread by thread, every rule I’d wrapped around myself began to fray.
I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, trying to force calm back into my system. My heart refused to slow, why was it beating so fast?
I drifted toward the balcony without quite deciding to, like a skittish cat retreating to higher ground. Morning light greeted me there, warm and bright, the breeze lifting strands of my hair as if the city itself was trying to soothe me.
I rested one hand on the iron railing, the other brushing absently at my neck. I knew what it meant, it meant that no matter how I dressed it up—stress, proximity, circumstance—the truth sat heavy and undeniable in my chest. I wanted Jack Roman.
And that terrified me more than any hostile takeover ever had.
“Elena.” His voice.
Was he here to unravel me completely?
I turned slowly, my resolve thinning the moment our eyes met. There was no suspicion in his gaze now, no guarded distance, there was just something open and searching that made my chest ache.
My lips parted to speak, but I never got the chance.
He moved so fast.
One moment there was space between us—and the next his hands were on my face, warm and firm, his mouth crashing into mine with a hunger that stole my breath completely.
I gasped, startled by the force of it—
But I didn’t pull away. I didn't dare to.
My body responded before my mind could protest. My hands rose on instinct, sliding up his arms, around his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I kissed him back with equal urgency.
There was nothing careful about it, no restraint, the kiss was heat and collision and surrender, all at once.
His hands found the small of my back, pulling me flush against him like even an inch of space was too much. The kiss deepened, stealing whatever air I had left, and I followed without thinking, without hesitation, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break free of my ribs.
In the moment, there was only him—his mouth, his hands, the way a soft, involuntary sound slipped from me when his lips brushed mine again, slower this time, like he was memorizing me.
My knees wobble.
Jack caught my waist immediately, steadying me as if he’d sensed it before I had.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against my mouth, breathless, forehead resting against mine. “I couldn’t stop myself.”
I shook my head shamelessly, my eyes barely open and my voice barely more than a breath. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t apologize,” I whispered. “Not for this.”
Something in his expression shifted—raw, unguarded. He cupped my cheek like I might disappear if he didn’t.
“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly. “And I will.”
I didn’t.
Instead, I leaned into him, lips brushing his again, softer and deliberate.
He rested his forehead against mine, our breathing tangled, our hearts beating like they were trying to sync. We stayed there, suspended, the weight of what we’d just admitted settling slowly between us.
“We keep breaking the rules,” I said finally.
His smile was crooked, almost disbelieving. “Yeah. We do.”
I exhaled—and it felt like relief. It wasn’t just rules we’d broken. It was denial.
And I wasn’t ready to run anymore, not when my body hummed with awareness.
I wanted him even more.
I bet he saw it instantly. His thumb brushed my lower lip, slow and reverent, before his mouth claimed mine again—deeper, firmer, as if he’d reached the same conclusion.
A soft sound escaped me as I leaned into him, the solid warmth of his chest grounding and undoing me all at once.
He pulled back just enough to breathe. “Not here,” he muttered, restraint threading his voice.
My pulse raced harder and the only thing I could see was my room—my bed.
Jack’s arms slid beneath me, lifting me with effortless ease. I barely registered movement—only the way his eyes never left mine, the careful certainty in each step as he carried me through the penthouse like he’d memorized it in advance.
I didn’t care where we were going.
Only that it was with him.
When we got to my room, he laid me down gently on the bed without breaking eye contact. As if this moment, this pause, mattered just as much as the treasures of this world.
My breath trembled as his lips crashed violently against mine again.