TANGLED WITH MR BLACKWOOD

– Presidential Suite, Fairmont Regency Hotel

The elevator slid open with a quiet chime.

Lexi stepped out first, heels tapping gently against the marble floor. Her nerves buzzed under her skin, heart thudding in a rhythm she couldn't control.

Behind her, Mr. Blackwood walked in composed silence — dressed down in a soft gray T-shirt and dark pants. He looked nothing like the man who ruled a boardroom.

Tonight, he looked… softer. Warmer. Still him — but with edges smoothed.

They reached the suite. He keyed them in, and the door clicked open.

Lexi stepped in slowly. The space was grand — velvet sofas, crystal lighting, tall windows glowing with the Manhattan skyline.

But she didn't care about any of that.

She just needed a place to breathe.

She stepped out of her heels first, leaving them near the entrance, and rubbed the arch of her foot discreetly. Then wandered toward the lounge area — still clutching the edge of her gown.

The air felt thick.

She could feel him behind her. Not moving. Not speaking. Just watching.

> Why does the air feel hotter in here? Why does everything feel like more?

Her chest rose and fell a little faster.

Then—

> "Are you uncomfortable?" His voice came quiet — amused, warm, deep.

She turned slightly to face him. "I… just need to take a bath."

His eyes didn't narrow. They softened. As if he could see through the layers she was trying to hold up.

Without a word, he walked off toward the bathroom. She heard water running and towels shifting. He moved like he belonged everywhere — like no room ever made him feel unworthy.

When he returned, he nodded once.

> "It's ready."

"Thank you," she whispered, voice small.

She disappeared into the hallway — pulse quickening — wondering how it was possible to feel both flustered and foolish all at once.

---

Ten Minutes Later

Lexi stepped out wrapped in a towel, cheeks slightly flushed from the steam — and from everything else.

Her hair hung damp for just a moment before she spotted him — sitting quietly on the velvet couch, glass in hand.

His eyes found her — instantly.

They swept slowly from her bare toes to her flushed cheeks, but not in a way that made her shrink. It wasn't hunger. It was… reverence.

He stood without a word, crossed to the vanity area, and picked up the suite's dryer.

He plugged it in. Flicked it on.

Then walked back and stood behind her.

Lexi blinked. "I can do it myself."

He didn't respond.

Didn't ask.

He just gently lifted a section of her hair, fingers grazing her skin, and began drying it — slow and soft.

His knuckles brushed the shell of her ear. His fingers swept lightly over the nape of her neck.

Lexi nearly forgot how to breathe.

> The heat from the dryer wasn't the reason her skin burned.

> It was his touch — soft, unhurried, reverent.

Each pass of his fingers left a trail of goosebumps. Her thighs pressed together beneath the towel. Her breath came shallow and silent.

> He smells good, she thought hazily. Clean. Subtle. Dangerous.

When he finished, he stepped back with practiced control — but she caught the tension in his jaw.

Lexi rose quickly, muttered something about changing, and disappeared again into the room.

But her skin still buzzed where he'd touched her.

Minutes Later – Kitchenette

She came back in her soft blush pink pajamas — lace around the sleeves, satin brushing her skin like a secret. Her freshly dried hair framed her face in soft waves.

He was by the kitchenette now, pouring something into a glass, head turned slightly as if deep in thought.

> How can someone look this good just… standing there?

Lexi padded over quietly. "I need water," she said, voice soft.

He turned, glass still in hand.

> "Then come get it."

She stepped closer, hand reaching for the cabinet, but her fingers trembled faintly.

> "Lexi," he said.

Her breath caught.

"What?" she asked softly.

"Why've you been avoiding me?"

Her hand paused mid-reach. She didn't look at him.

"Huh, I'm not"

"You've barely looked at me since yesterday"...

"It's not important " she said.

Silence stretched — heavy but waiting.

Then he said it — low, deliberate.

> "Come here."

She hesitated.

> "Lexi."

That voice again.

She turned — slowly — and he reached out, gently drawing her in, hand resting at her lower back.

The air between them thickened.

> "You sure it's not important?" he asked, voice low.

Lexi's gaze dropped to his collarbone.

Her voice came barely above a whisper. "I've just been trying to protect myself."

A breath passed between them.

"I didn't want to get hurt," she added, softer now. "And I didn't want to be… confronted. Or attacked. By women who feel the need to mark their territory."

There it was. Not a confession. But a truth.

His eyes stayed on hers. Unflinching.

Then—

> "Is that what you think this is?" he murmured, smile tugging at his mouth. "A game of territory?"

Lexi didn't answer. Couldn't.

He took a step closer.

> "You don't have to protect yourself from me, Lexi."

Again. Her name. Quiet. Devastating.

> "And you're not in competition with anyone."

Another step. His voice dropped further.

> "Because when I look at you—"

His voice was low and rich with something deeper.

> "—I don't see anyone else."

Lexi's breath caught.

> "You walk in," he said, "and everything else fades."

"You speak, and I forget what I was doing."

"You exist… and I notice."

He closed the space between them and kissed her — slow, deliberate, lips brushing hers with the weight of a thousand withheld thoughts.

Lexi's fingers clutched his shirt, knees almost giving in.

He deepened the kiss — not rushed, not greedy, but desperate in a quiet way. Like this was a secret he'd been dying to taste.

His arms wrapped around her, lifting her effortlessly onto the marble counter.

The cool stone beneath her, the heat of his mouth against hers — everything blurred.

His hands stayed respectful, but they held her like he didn't want her to leave. Like he couldn't afford to let her slip away.

He pulled back — just slightly — forehead against hers.

> "Tell me to stop," he murmured.

She couldn't.

Didn't.

Wouldn't.

She leaned in and kissed him again — answer enough.

A Minute Later

The second kiss wasn't softer.

It was bolder. Certain.

Lexi curled her fingers into the fabric at his shoulders, drawing him closer, her pulse thudding in places she didn't know could throb. His lips moved with the same restraint as before — but the tension beneath them told another story.

There was something tortured in the way he held back. Like a man used to control… struggling to keep it.

When they broke apart again, her chest heaved against his.

> "We should stop," she whispered.

His voice came rough.

> "Then tell me to."

Her gaze held his — heat, fear, wonder — all tangled in silence.

She didn't say it.

She just nodded once, barely.

And that was enough.

Ethan exhaled, like he'd been holding something in too long.

> "I'll sleep on the couch."

Lexi blinked. "You don't have to—"

> "I do."

His tone was gentle, but firm. Protective, even from himself.

She nodded faintly.

Then padded toward the bedroom — heart pounding in her ears.

She paused in the doorway, but didn't turn back.

Lexi lay beneath the sheets, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of his kiss still tingling on her lips.

Her chest rose and fell quietly.

But inside her, everything had shifted.

She didn't know what this was.

Didn't know where it was going.

But one thing was clear.

> One room.

One night.

One kiss.

> Everything had changed.