Elise Moreau sipped her martini, the city’s skyline a dazzling tapestry below the rooftop bar. At thirty-two, she’d clawed her way back from a breakup that left her doubting herself—her ex, Marc, had called her “too much” for wanting more than his half-hearted love. Tonight, she was here for work, designing the interiors for a tech tycoon’s penthouse. Her black dress hugged her curves, the slit at the thigh a quiet rebellion against her insecurities. She felt alive, but alone.

The crowd buzzed—New York’s elite laughing, clinking glasses. Then she saw him. He stood by the bar, his presence commanding, like the city itself bent to his will. Tall, with sharp cheekbones and dark hair that fell just so, his tailored suit did little to hide the strength beneath. His eyes—hazel, flecked with gold—met hers across the room, and the air shifted, charged with something unspoken.

She looked away, her pulse racing, but he was already moving toward her, his stride confident yet unhurried. “You’re not drinking that for the taste,” he said, nodding at her martini, his voice low, smooth like aged whiskey.

She raised an eyebrow, matching his energy. “And you know my taste how?”

His lips twitched, a half-smile that made her stomach flip. “I’m good at reading people. You’re here for something more than small talk. I’m Julian, by the way.”

“Elise,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “And maybe I’m just here for the view.”

His gaze slid over her, slow and deliberate, lingering on the curve of her neck. “The view’s better now.”

Heat bloomed in her chest. This was dangerous—too fast, too intense—but her body didn’t care. They talked, the conversation effortless, laced with flirtation that felt like foreplay. He was witty, sharp, but there was a shadow in his eyes, a hint of something guarded. When he brushed her arm to point out a constellation, the touch was electric, sending a shiver through her.

“Dance with me,” he said, not asking. The band played a slow, sultry jazz number, and she let him lead her to the dance floor. His hand settled low on her back, his body close enough to feel his heat through her dress. Every step was a conversation—her hips swaying, his fingers tightening, their breaths syncing. She felt desired, seen, in a way she hadn’t in years.

“You’re trouble,” she murmured, her lips near his ear.

“You have no idea,” he replied, his voice a low growl. His hand slid lower, resting just above the curve of her hips, and she didn’t pull away. The song ended, but they didn’t part. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “Come to my place. One drink. No strings.”

Her heart pounded. She barely knew him, but every fiber of her screamed yes. “One drink,” she agreed, her voice husky.

His penthouse was a vision—glass walls, sleek furniture, the city glittering below. One drink became two, then none, as he pulled her close, his kisses hungry, unraveling her. Her dress hit the floor, his shirt following, and they stumbled to the balcony, the cool night air kissing her skin. His hands were everywhere—her waist, her thighs, peeling away her lingerie as he worshipped her with his mouth. She arched against the railing, the city a blur below, her moans lost in the wind.

But as they lay tangled on the balcony chaise, sated and breathless, his phone lit up with a text. He glanced at it, his jaw tightening. “I need to handle this,” he said, his voice clipped.

“Something wrong?” she asked, her euphoria fading.

He kissed her, soft but distracted. “Stay. I’ll be back. But Elise… don’t ask about my past. Not yet.”

He left her there, the city’s pulse echoing her own. Who was Julian, really? And what was he hiding?

Chapter 1: The Electric Encounter

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