“You look… incredible,” Ethan murmured, opening the door for her.
“You don’t look too bad yourself, boss,” she replied, trying to break the electric tension crackling between them.
The gala was a whirlwind of lights, music, and curious stares. Everyone wanted to know who the mysterious woman on Ethan Caldwell’s arm was. Jasmine didn’t shrink. She held her ground, spoke confidently, proved her intelligence and culture. Mr. Mendoza was charmed—and the deal was done before dessert.
But the most unforgettable moment came when the orchestra began a soft waltz.
“May I have this dance, Ms. Carter?” Ethan asked, extending his hand.
Jasmine hesitated. They were stepping over a dangerous line. But when she looked into Ethan’s eyes, she saw something that disarmed her: vulnerability.
He needed her.
And God—she needed him too.
She placed her hand in his. At the touch, the world around them faded. They moved together at the center of the floor, as if they’d always known the rhythm. Ethan pulled her slightly closer than etiquette allowed, his hand firm at her waist.