Page 77 of The Contract

Asshole.

I survived my past. Something he never had to do.

I grip the doorknob, my entire body vibrating with the need to get out of this space, but I don’t turn it just yet.

Instead, I meet his stare, calm and unwavering. “You should be careful, Adrian.”

He tilts his head slightly. “Of what?”

My smile is sharp, razor-edged. “Of assuming I’m the same woman you left bleeding on a bathroom floor.”

For the first time, his smirk falters completely.

“Don’t forget what happened to your associates the last time you brought me into one of your deals.”

I don’t give him a chance to recover.

I turn the handle, stepping through the door into the bright hallway beyond, leaving him behind in the dim, suffocating shadows.

The veranda is shaded from the morning sun, but the warmth of the day is already creeping in. A light ocean breeze ruffles the linen of my shirt as I lean against the railing, watching the waves roll in, slow and steady.

Margo chatters beside me, her easy warmth filling the space between us, but my attention shifts the second the door opens and Elena steps outside.

She looks different.

Still poised, still perfect, but something lingers beneath the surface—a flush high on her cheeks, the tension in her shoulders just a fraction too tight before she smooths it away like it was never there.

I push off the railing, straightening as she walks toward me, her smile bright, her hazel eyes catching the light like polished amber. If I hadn’t just seen the ghost of something in her expression, I wouldn’t suspect a thing.

“Are you excited for today?” I ask.

She steps closer, slipping her hands into mine, her fingers warm against my skin. “Yes,” she says, breathless with enthusiasm, rising onto her tiptoes to press a soft peck to my cheek.

The gesture is unexpected.

Elena has been careful. Deliberate. She never gives more than what’s necessary for the role.

And yet, here she is—giving more.

Margo watches us with a knowing smile, but before she can comment, a sharp blast from a boat horn sounds from below.

She turns, waving a hand toward the yacht anchored just off the shore. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I hear you! Give us a minute!” she hollers to the captain before spinning back around with a grin. “Impatient man, I swear. You two finish up and meet us at the dock.”

As soon as she’s gone, I pull Elena in, my hands firm at her waist, guiding her close until her chest brushes against mine. Her breath catches as I dip my head, my lips ghosting just below her ear, making it look as if I’m kissing her neck.

“You said no kissing,” I murmur, my voice deliberately low, rich with amusement. “Are you breaking the rules, Miss Moreau?”

She exhales sharply, her fingers tightening ever so slightly on my forearm before she schools herself back into composure.

“I would never break the rules, Mr. Wolfe.”

She steps back just enough to look at me, her expression smooth, unreadable. But something flickers there—something unspoken.

I let my gaze sweep over her, taking in the golden glow of her skin under the morning sun, the way her lips part just enough to make me wonder what it would feel like to press my mouth against hers, to taste her again.

Fucking dangerous thoughts.

“Physical affection is expected when we have an audience,” she reminds me smoothly, tilting her head.

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