Page 21 of Hitched to My Enemy
A text message chimed loudly, making us both start. Easton checked his phone with visible frustration, then set it aside.
"Torres with an update," he said, his gaze never leaving mine. "Nothing urgent."
"Easton," I whispered as he leaned in again.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, our lips nearly touching. "Tell me this isn't what you want."
But the words wouldn't come. Despite every rational argument, despite the professional catastrophe this might trigger, despite everything logical—I wanted him. I needed to know if our chemistry was genuine, if his touch could ignite the reckless abandon I'd glimpsed last night.
"I should tell you to stop," I admitted.
"But you won't." The certainty in his voice reflected in his eyes.
"No," I confessed as the last of my resistance dissolved. "I won't."
His mouth hovered a breath from mine when my phone rang.
We separated like startled teenagers, both breathing unevenly as I fumbled for my phone.
"Torres," I said, registering the caller ID. "Another incident."
Easton swore under his breath, running both hands through his hair. "More machines?"
I answered, already reaching for my discarded blazer. As Torres detailed the latest sabotage—five additional gaming machines, identical pattern, same inside access—I tried to ignore Easton's expression.
He watched me with the unmistakable intensity of a man interrupted mid-decision.
A man determined to finish what we'd started at the first opportunity.
"We need to go," I said, ending the call.
"Harlow..." he began.
"I know." Our eyes met, mutual desire reflected there, along with the unspoken promise that this wasn't concluded. "But not now. Not with someone actively dismantling everything you've built."
He nodded, though his expression made it clear that our next private moment would proceed without interruption.
As we headed toward the door, I attempted to convince myself I was maintaining professionalism. Making responsible choices. Preserving appropriate boundaries.
But my body's lingering response to his touch, my lips still anticipating a kiss that hadn't materialized, confirmed that my capacity for wise decisions regarding Easton Hardwick had already dissolved.
I was falling for my accidental husband.
And for once in my carefully protected life, I had no desire to stop the fall.
Chapter Six
Easton
"Five more machines." Torres's voice through the phone carried unmistakable tension. "Same tampering signature as before. You need to see this."
Harlow and I sprang apart, the moment between us shattered. She grabbed her blazer from the back of the couch, already shifting into investigator mode despite the flush still coloring her cheeks. I ran both hands through my hair, trying to recalibrate from desire to crisis management.
"We're on our way," I replied, ending the call.
In the elevator, we stood carefully apart, the air charged with unfinished business. Harlow stared straight ahead, her professional mask firmly in place, but her breathing hadn't quite returned to normal.
"About what almost happened—" I began.
