The morning of the trip arrived faster than I was ready for.

The house was quiet, the soft glow of dawn slipping through the curtains as I sat at the edge of my bed, staring at the packed suitcase by the door. Five nights in New York. Five nights away from my family. My husband had kissed my forehead sleepily before rolling over, murmuring something about safe travels, while the kids would barely notice I was gone until I returned with souvenirs. It was fine. Normal. Just another work trip.

So why did my pulse quicken as I thought about what lay ahead?

I exhaled, shaking the thoughts away, before standing and smoothing my skirt. Downstairs, the black car was already waiting. The driver—a quiet, suited man I didn’t recognise—took my suitcase with a quick "Good Morning" as I climbed into the backseat.

The city blurred past the window, but my mind wasn’t on the view. It was on him.

Daniel..

The man who had been under my skin for weeks now, pushing, testing, playing a game I wasn’t sure I wanted to win—or lose.

By the time we reached Heathrow’s Virgin First Class private entrance, my nerves were taut, my heartbeat a steady, anticipatory hum. The seamless check-in, the whispered efficiency of the private security, the exclusivity of the lounge—it all should have impressed me, but the only thing I was acutely aware of was him. Standing near the bar, he looked at ease in this world of quiet opulence, a picture of control and confidence. His gaze flicked up as I approached, and his smirk was immediate.

"Now that," he murmured, eyes sweeping over me, "is a dangerous outfit."

I inhaled sharply, my pulse quickening as his gaze lingered. The black dress I had chosen hugged my curves, sculpting my waist, accentuating the natural hourglass shape that had always drawn attention—even when I tried to hide it. It wasn’t inappropriate, not by any means, but I suddenly felt exposed under his scrutiny.

“Too much?” I asked, feigning nonchalance.

He let out a low chuckle. “On the contrary. It’s perfect. Distracting… but perfect.”

Heat coiled low in my stomach.

Before I could respond, a Virgin Atlantic concierge approached, informing us that our flight was ready for boarding. Daniel’s hand pressed lightly against my lower back as we were guided through the private boarding tunnel. The touch was nothing—fleeting, barely noticeable. And yet it sent a shiver through me. Once aboard, the luxury of the first-class cabin was undeniable. Spacious, intimate. The kind of place where lines blurred, where indulgences weren’t just expected... they were encouraged. I settled into my seat, adjusting my dress as Daniel took the one beside me. The moment I glanced his way, he was watching me, dark amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice smooth, teasing.

I exhaled softly, nodding. "It’s… nice."

His lips twitched. "It is. Though, you seem a little tense."

I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could, the flight attendant appeared with two glasses of champagne. She lingered slightly too long as she handed Daniel his, her attention obvious. He barely acknowledged her, his gaze locked onto me as he lifted the glass to his lips.

As the plane taxied, I focused on the view outside, trying to steady my thoughts. But then his hand moved. Subtly. Deliberately. His fingers brushed over my thigh—light, fleeting, a mere whisper of contact. I stiffened slightly, my breath catching. It was casual enough to be innocent, but there was something else in the way his fingertips barely grazed the fabric of my dress. Was it reassurance? A power move? Or something else entirely?

I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze. He didn’t move his hand, didn’t acknowledge the touch at all. But the knowing glint in his eyes told me everything. The plane lifted off the ground, and the pressure in the cabin shifted—but it wasn’t the altitude that had my pulse racing. His fingers shifted.. just barely, as if testing, teasing. The heat of his palm radiated through the thin fabric, a silent promise that made my stomach tighten. He was playing with me, and worse, he knew exactly what he was doing.

I swallowed hard, shifting slightly in my seat. He leaned in then, his lips close to my ear, his voice a quiet murmur.

“Relax,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. “The trip’s just beginning.”

My breath shuddered, but I refused to react. Refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing what that simple touch did to me.

But when he finally pulled back, the slow, satisfied smirk on his lips told me he already knew.

And we still had five nights ahead of us.

I wasn’t sure if I was terrified… or thrilled.