Alexander had always been a storm—cold, unpredictable, and impossible to escape. You knew better than to get too close, but he had a way of pulling you in, of making you forget that getting too close meant getting burned.

"You should stay away from me," you muttered, gripping the edge of the counter as he stepped into your space, his scent—clean, dark, intoxicating—wrapping around you.

Alexander let out a low chuckle. "You say that, but you’re the one who keeps coming back."

Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes held something dangerous—something possessive.

"You think I don’t see it?" His voice was a quiet rasp. "The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?"

Your pulse pounded against your skin. "I don’t—"

Alexander’s thumb dragged over your bottom lip, cutting off your protest. "Lying doesn’t suit you, sweetheart."

You should push him away. Tell him he was wrong. But you didn’t. Because the truth was, you didn’t want to escape him.

And when he leaned in, his lips barely a breath away from yours, you knew—he had already won.