---- Chapter 2 Erin Calhoun POV: My mouth was suddenly dry. | swallowed hard, the sound loud in the charged silence between us. Reaching for my water bottle again, | took another long, slow drink. The cold liquid did little to quell the fire licking at my insides. It was a reckless, stupid fire, and | was fanning the flames. Harvey didn' t move. His thigh remained pressed against mine, a solid, unyielding presence. My pulse was a frantic bird trapped in my throat. The SUV took a sharp turn, the tires squealing in protest. "Whoa!" Brande shrieked with a delighted laugh, tightening her grip on Carlton' s arm. "Nice driving, Carl! You handle those curves like a pro." "You know it," Carlton said, his voice smug. He glanced at her, a possessive smile on his face. She rewarded him with a loud, wet kiss on the cheek. He chuckled, then seemed to remember | was there. "Brande, behave. Erin' s right here." It was a half-hearted scolding, devoid of any real heat. ---- "Oh, ' m sorry," Brande said, her voice dripping with mock innocence as she looked over at me. "You don't mind, do you, Erin? We' re just old friends." | pulled the thin cashmere blanket from my bag and draped it over my lap, a flimsy shield. A cold smile touched my lips. "Why would | mind you kissing my boyfriend?" Her own smile faltered. "I... what?" "You heard me," | said, my voice quiet but clear. "You' ve been draping yourself all over him for years. Why stop now?" "Carlton!" she whined, turning to him, her lower lip trembling. "She' s being mean to me." Carlton' s brow furrowed. He looked back at me, his expression hardening. "Erin, that's enough. Don't be so harsh." "She' s just being playful," he continued, his tone placating, as if speaking to a difficult child. "You know how she is. She' S like a little sister to me." The fight drained out of me, replaced by a familiar, weary resignation. It was always the same script. Brande would push, | would finally react, and | would be the one painted as cruel and unreasonable. | just looked at him, the man | had sacrificed so much for, and a silent decision clicked into place in my heart. It wasn't loud or dramatic. It was a quiet turning of a lock, a final, definitive click. ---- Fine. Under the cover of the blanket, | shifted, my leg pressing more firmly against Harvey' s. It was a petty, childish act, but it was mine. The car hit another bump, and this time, the jolt was harder. | was thrown against Harvey, my hand flying out to brace myself. And his hand came down over mine, not on my hand, but on my thigh, his grip firm and steadying. My breath hitched. His palm was hot, searing through the thin fabric of my jeans. Every nerve ending in my leg came alive, a thousand tiny sparks igniting under his touch. | could feel the slight calluses on his fingertips, a surprising roughness for a man who moved in the world of spreadsheets and boardrooms. My eyes shot to his face. He was staring straight ahead, but his jaw was clenched tight. His Adam' s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He was a brutally handsome man, in a severe, almost intimidating way. His features were sharp, his cheekbones high, his mouth a firm, unsmiling line. But right now, in the dim light of the car, with his guard down, | saw something else. A flicker of vulnerability. A hint of fire behind the ice. My heart skipped a beat. ---- Harvey Hurst was Carlton' s step-brother, but they were worlds apart. Where Carlton was all charisma and empty promises, Harvey was quiet power and ruthless intelligence. He was a legend in the venture capital world, a kingmaker who could build or destroy empires with a single phone call. He was also notoriously cold, a borderline germaphobe who avoided physical contact. In all the years ' d known him, our interactions had been limited to polite nods and brief, formal greetings at family gatherings. He was the type to find a quiet corner at a party and nurse a single drink all night, his expression unreadable. Carlton used to joke that Harvey' s blood ran colder than the server farms he invested in. | remembered seeing him on campus back in college. He was a few years ahead of us, already a prodigy making waves in the business school. ' d had a silent, fleeting crush on him then, the kind you have on someone so impossibly out of your league that they feel more like a movie star than a real person. Our paths had crossed more formally a few times since |' d been with Carlton, mostly due to my recurring issues with fibrocystic breast disease. He specialized in oncology, a strange choice for a man in venture capital, but he maintained his medical license and saw a few select patients. Carlton had insisted | see him, citing his family connection as a guarantee of the best care. Those appointments had been excruciating. I'd sit there in a ---- paper gown, my skin prickling with goosebumps, hyper-aware of his professional, impersonal touch. His hands were always warm, his examination methodical and detached. He was a doctor, and | was just another patient. Another set of cells to be examined under a microscope. I'd told myself that a thousand times. But | remembered the way my face would flush when he entered the room, the way my heart would pound a little too fast when his fingers gently palpated the sensitive tissue. And once, just once, as | was getting dressed after an examination, |' d caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He had been looking away, but the tips of his ears were bright red. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!