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Chapter 13 – Crossing the Line
The elevator hummed with low mechanical noise, a gentle lurch as it descended floor by floor through the sleeping tower of Sterling Enterprises. But inside, the silence between Eleanor and Marcus was anything but gentle.
They stood side by side—too close for comfort, too far for relief.
It was past one in the morning. The city outside was drenched in rain, its lights smeared into soft blurs across water-streaked glass. They had finished the merger documents—at least on paper. But since that moment in the conference room, neither of them had truly been working. Not in the way that mattered.
Eleanor kept her eyes forward, spine stiff, trying to control her breathing. But she could feel him beside her—his presence like static in the air, charged and impossible to ignore.
Marcus slid his hands into his pockets, the movement slow, calculated. But his jaw was tense, and his eyes drifted toward her—toward the curve of her cheek, the soft rise of her chest as she breathed, the damp curls escaping near her temple.
He cleared his throat. “Do you want me to call a car?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’ll walk. It’s not far.”
“In the rain?”
“I don’t mind.”
The elevator dinged—floor 18. The doors stayed closed. Just the two of them in a steel cage full of things unsaid.
He turned to her, deliberately now. “Eleanor.”
She looked up—and the moment shifted.
He was too close. Close enough to see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way the light caught in his violet-blue eyes. Close enough that she felt it again—that unbearable pull between them.
“Yes?” she said, and her voice wasn’t quite steady.
“I shouldn’t,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Her breath caught.
“Marcus—”
“You haunt me,” he said, eyes burning into hers. “In ways I don’t even understand.”
She swallowed hard. “You’re tired. This is just—”
“No.” His voice turned sharper. “This isn’t exhaustion. It’s you.”
And then he stepped forward. The space between them disappeared. His hand lifted—hesitant, trembling slightly—and cupped her cheek.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
But she didn’t.
She couldn’t.
Her body leaned into the touch. Her lips parted. Her eyes fluttered shut, just for a breath.
“Marcus,” she whispered—not a warning this time, but a surrender. A prayer.
Then his mouth was on hers.
The kiss wasn’t tentative.
It was five years of buried hunger colliding in one impossibly raw, unguarded moment. His hand slid into her hair, fingers tangling. Her hands found his chest—not to push him away, but to steady herself as the ground tilted beneath her.
The warmth of his lips, the way their bodies molded like a memory coming back to life—it felt achingly familiar. A ghost of a kiss from a long-ago night. A forgotten language her body still remembered.
He groaned against her mouth as she pulled him closer, her body answering with devastating certainty.
When his lips trailed down to her jaw, her breath turned ragged.
“God,” he murmured against her skin, “you feel familiar.”
She froze.
Reality slammed back like cold water. The kiss. The office. The weight of the power imbalance. And the secret—her secret—that could tear this all apart.
She jerked back suddenly, breathless. Her hands pressed flat against his chest, as if she could push the past and present away in one desperate move.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, panic clawing up her throat. “I work for you.”
The words cracked the air like thunder. A boundary drawn in shaky breath.
Marcus stepped back instantly, as if the spell between them had been broken mid-sentence.
The elevator dinged.
Ground floor.
Neither of them moved for a moment. Then Eleanor turned, walking fast, her heels clicking sharply against the marble. She pushed through the glass doors and into the night, the rain hitting her skin like absolution. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.
Inside the lobby, Marcus remained frozen. His hand was still half-lifted—still reaching for something that was no longer there.
The taste of her lingered on his lips. Not just the kiss—but the familiarity. That strange, aching feeling that he knew her in a way he couldn’t explain.
He watched her disappear into the night, her retreating figure a silent answer to the question he hadn't known he was asking.
The line had been crossed.
And something told him—deep in his chest, where logic had no dominion—
it wouldn’t be the last time.
