Chapter 4 Resistance & Temptation

Sophia paced the length of her office like a caged animal, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor in a steady rhythm of frustration.

He was supposed to be a ghost. A fantasy. A mistake I'd forget.

Instead, Ethan Blake was now woven into her professional life. Like an itch under her skin she couldn't reach. Everywhere she turned, he was there-smiling, teasing, and pushing buttons she didn't even know she had.

It had been five days since the conference room shocker. Five days of strategic avoidance. She only communicated through email, copied her assistant on every message, and made sure their team meetings were conducted via Zoom.

But somehow, he still managed to infiltrate her perfectly constructed boundaries.

Like the time he sent a tray of double espressos to her team with a note: "Fuel for your genius. Don't worry, I didn't spit in yours." -E.B."

Or when he conveniently dropped into the same networking event she had RSVP'd to weeks earlier, showing up in a black suit and that maddening smirk, his eyes finding hers across the room like a magnet drawn to steel.

It was becoming unbearable.

Tonight was no different.

Sophia stood in front of the mirror in her hotel suite, smoothing the soft emerald satin of her gown. The gala was a key event for her firm-sponsors, potential clients, high society figures-all under one roof. It was her chance to network, to impress, to gain ground.

Not to dance with the man who haunted her dreams.

But she already knew Ethan would be there. He was on the guest list. A key sponsor. His company's logo was splashed across every banner.

She grabbed her clutch and inhaled slowly, pushing every erratic thought down, locking it behind layers of professionalism.

"You're fine," she whispered to herself.

You are Sophia Carter. You don't lose control.

---

The ballroom was a whirlwind of elegance-crystal chandeliers, classical music, and the soft clinking of champagne flutes. She greeted familiar faces, smiled when required, and charmed her way through conversations with the ease of a practiced diplomat.

Then she felt it.

The weight of his stare.

She turned slowly, scanning the crowd, and there he was.

Ethan.

Dressed in a perfectly cut tuxedo, his tie loosened just enough to suggest mischief. He didn't approach immediately-just watched her, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

Sophia quickly turned back to her conversation, pretending not to notice.

But five minutes later, as she sipped her wine and nodded politely at a marketing director's story about digital engagement, a warm breath touched her neck.

"You clean up nicely," came the familiar voice, low and devastating.

She didn't turn. "Is this you keeping things professional?"

"I'm just making an observation."

"Then observe from across the room," she shot back.

"Tempting. But I prefer up close."

She turned finally, eyes narrowing. "Why are you like this?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice now a whisper meant only for her. "Because I think you want me to be."

Sophia blinked. "Excuse me?"

He tilted his head. "You act like you want nothing to do with me, but I see the way you look at me. You run, and yet you keep ending up in rooms where I am."

"I'm here because it's business," she snapped, stepping back.

"Then let's keep it business." He extended a hand, his tone light again. "Care for a dance, Miss Carter?"

Sophia glanced at the swirling couples behind them. Her heart raced. She hated how her pulse betrayed her-how part of her wanted to feel his hand on her waist again.

"It's a gala," he added smoothly. "It'd be rude not to."

With a sigh that could cut glass, she slipped her hand into his. "One dance. That's it."

The moment he pulled her into his arms, she regretted the decision.

His touch was too familiar. Too dangerous. His palm pressed against the small of her back, guiding her effortlessly into the rhythm of the waltz.

They didn't speak at first.

But their silence said everything.

Sophia's skin buzzed where he touched her. Her heartbeat synced with the gentle sway of the music. Ethan's gaze remained locked on hers, unwavering.

Finally, he spoke.

"You always run when things get real."

She blinked. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you left without a word."

"It was one night."

"And yet, here we are."

Her lips parted, but no response came. Because truthfully, she didn't understand it either. Why he got under her skin. Why she couldn't forget the feel of his mouth on hers, or the weight of his body pressed close.

He spun her gently, then pulled her back, closer than before. "You feel this too," he murmured.

"No," she whispered, even as her fingers tightened on his shoulder.

He chuckled softly. "Liar."

The dance ended, but neither moved.

The tension between them was a wire pulled taut.

Then suddenly-too suddenly-his hand brushed her cheek, thumb grazing the corner of her mouth. Her breath hitched.

She stepped back. "This was a mistake."

He didn't follow. "You keep saying that. But you never stay away."

Sophia turned on her heel and walked off the dance floor without another word, heart hammering, fury and desire warring inside her like a storm.

---

Later that night, there was a knock at her hotel room door.

She froze.

She knew it was him.

And yet she walked over, placed her hand on the handle... and didn't open it.

Instead, she whispered into the silence, "Go away, Ethan."

A pause. Then his voice, muffled but steady.

"I'll wait as long as it takes, Sophia."

She stood there, eyes closed, forehead pressed to the door, trembling from the inside out.

Because the scariest part?

A part of her wanted to open it.