Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
ARIA
I hate the Jade Petal.
It’s flashy in all the wrong ways—gold-plated door handles, velvet carpets that probably cost more than my car, and that obnoxious cologne-pumped air that screams we’re trying too hard. Just like Presley.
I tap the elevator button with a little too much force and watch the numbers tick up as I ascend to the top floor.
Conference Room B. Eight o’clock sharp. The fact that I’m here—on time, no less—already irritates me.
And not just because this entire investigation is a logistical nightmare waiting to happen.
No, it’s him. Presley Dane. Security director for the Jade Petal. Smug. Infuriating. Always so sure of himself. He struts around like the Strip was built just to give him a place to lean on with his arms crossed.
And worse? Today, he looked good.
That suit. The way it hugged his shoulders. The way his tie was just a little loosened, like he didn’t have to try. Like he woke up knowing he’d look better than everyone else in the room. It was annoying. Deeply, offensively annoying.
And now, as I step off the elevator and head toward the conference room, I’m even more annoyed… because I chose this V-neck shirt. It’s subtle. Classy. Just a little lower than what I usually wear. Not unprofessional. But still—noticeable.
I don’t know why I picked it. Actually, that’s a lie.
I do know. Part of me wants to know if he’ll notice.
And that part of me deserves to be slapped.
I shouldn’t care what Presley thinks. He’s a rival.
A cocky, arrogant, polished distraction.
We’ve spent years in this cold war of one-ups—outmatching surveillance systems, recruiting away each other’s interns, even competing over who caught the blackjack scammer first.
But today… he was different. Focused. Direct. Like he actually cared about getting the jewels back instead of just showing off. He invited me here like it was a strategy session, not a power play.
And I agreed to it.
What is wrong with me?
I reach the door to the Conference Room and pause. My hand rests on the handle for a beat longer than it should. I square my shoulders. Professional, detached and in control.
He’s already here. Of course he is.
The moment I step into the Conference Room, I see Presley leaning over the table like he owns the place.
The entire surface is buried under maps, floor plans, and print-outs covered in red ink.
Security schematics snake across the paper like a web.
He’s got a marker in one hand, coffee in the other, and that trademark smirk just waiting for me.
“Wow,” I say, dropping my folder on the table. “Didn’t realize I was walking into Mission Impossible.”
He glances up, that lazy grin spreading. “I like to be prepared.”
“Prepared? Or overcompensating?” I circle the table, pretending to study his notes but mostly trying not to notice how annoyingly sharp he looks in rolled-up sleeves.
He taps one of the routes with his marker. “This—” he says, ignoring the jab, “—is the most probable path the thief took between the Citadel and the Jade Petal. Service tunnels, blind spots, maintenance elevators. I’ve traced every viable route within a two-mile radius.”
I raise a brow. “And how many hours did it take you to draw all this, Detective Dane?”
“Three,” he says proudly. “Two and a half if you don’t count the coffee break.”
I can’t help it—I snort. “Impressive. You must be a hit at parties.”
He grins wider. “Depends on who’s there. You might even have fun.”
“Doubtful,” I shoot back, leaning over one of the maps. “This one’s wrong, by the way. That corridor was sealed off last year after a flood in the mechanical room.”
He turns to me, mock-offended. “You sure about that?”
“Positive. Unlike some people, I actually read my maintenance reports.”
He chuckles, low and quiet, and I hate that it sounds good. “Guess that’s why I asked you to meet—so you could correct me.”
I narrow my eyes. “Oh, is that what this is? You playing humble now?”
“Call it… collaboration.” He steps closer, pointing at another path with the marker. “Between your sealed-off hallway and my unbreakable camera coverage, we might actually have something.”
I fold my arms, not missing how close he’s standing now. “Unbreakable cameras? Please. I could hack your feeds blindfolded.”
He laughs outright this time. “There’s the Aria Taylor I know.”
I pretend to study the map again, though my pulse has ticked up. He’s smug, cocky, impossible—and unfortunately, good at this.
“So what’s your theory?” I ask, forcing my voice steady.
He traces a route between the two buildings with the marker. “If I were the thief, I’d move through the Citadel’s underground parking, hit the delivery corridor, then jump to our maintenance tunnel before dawn. Minimal exposure, maximum access.”
I nod despite myself. It’s solid. Too solid. “Not bad,” I admit. “For a guy who still thinks every problem can be solved with red ink.”
“Hey,” he says, capping the marker, “the color’s on brand. Jade Petal green doesn’t pop as well.”
I roll my eyes, but a smile threatens at the corner of my mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” he says, stepping back with that infuriating calm, “you’re still here.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate that he knows it.
I’ve been here almost an hour now and every time I shift to look at a different part of the map, Presley somehow ends up right next to me — elbow brushing mine, voice low, smelling faintly like cedar and espresso. It’s distracting. Maddeningly distracting.
Focus, Aria. Jewels. Thief. Not… him.
I gesture toward one of the printouts. “If they used this access tunnel, they’d have to swipe through the service door on the Citadel side. But there’s no record of a keycard entry between midnight and four a.m.”
“Unless they cloned one,” he says, leaning over my shoulder. His breath ghosts against my neck. “Or walked out with someone who had clearance.”
I straighten, forcing space between us. “So an insider, then.”
He nods, eyes fixed on the diagrams. “Maybe one of yours. Maybe one of mine.”
The way he says it — low, smooth, teasing — almost sounds like a dare.
“Cute,” I mutter. “You think I’d let someone steal from under my nose?”
“Not intentionally,” he says, smirking. “But you’ve got new hires, right? That’s when things slip.”
I shoot him a glare. “You’ve got plenty of turnover yourself, Mr. Perfect Security.”
We trade barbs like this for the next half hour — dissecting routes, cross-checking staff lists, each trying to out-deduce the other. But beneath the professional edge, there’s an undeniable pull. A current under the words.
When he’s quiet, I catch myself studying his hands — steady, confident, always in motion. When he talks, I find myself listening harder than I mean to, caught up in the way his voice wraps around the details.
I shouldn’t notice any of this. But I do. And when our fingers brush over the same paper, I feel it like static — sharp, quick, and gone too fast. We both freeze for a second. His eyes lift to mine, and suddenly the air between us feels smaller. Denser.
“Sorry,” I say, too quickly, pulling my hand back.
“No need to be,” he murmurs.
I clear my throat. “Anyway. If the thief used the Citadel tunnels, they would’ve had to bypass at least three motion sensors. We both know that’s not easy.”
He nods slowly. “So whoever did it knows the systems inside and out. Could be a former employee. Could be someone on the inside right now.”
“Or,” I say, crossing my arms, “someone who thinks they’re smarter than everyone else.”
He looks up, that grin tugging at his mouth again. “You talking about me or the thief?”
“Both,” I shoot back.
He laughs softly, shaking his head. “You really can’t help it, can you?”
“What?”
“Pushing me,” he says. “Every time I think you might be warming up to me, you hit me with another jab.”
I bite back a smile. “You’re imagining things.”
“Maybe.” He looks down at the maps again, then adds quietly, “But maybe not.”
The clock on the wall ticks. The air feels warmer somehow.
I take a slow breath, trying to steady myself. This is business. Professional. Just two rival security directors chasing a lead. That’s it. The more I tell myself this, the less temptation there will be… at least in theory.
Presley leans over the table, reviewing a map again, and I’m still arguing about one of his theories. “That doesn’t make sense,” I tell him, circling a point with my pen. “If they came through the service corridor, the cameras in the freight elevator would’ve picked them up.”
“They didn’t,” he says, looking up at me. “You saw the footage yourself.”
“Yes, but—”
He moves closer, eyes locked on mine. “Then how do you explain it?”
I hate that I don’t have an answer. I hate that his confidence rattles me more than I’d ever admit. The silence stretches between us, heavy, charged, and when he steps just a little closer, I forget what I was going to say.
There’s that look again—the one that drives me crazy. Amusement mixed with curiosity, as if he’s trying to figure me out.
And before I can even think to stop it, he kisses me.
It’s quick. A heartbeat. A spark that shouldn’t have happened.
I pull back immediately, breath catching. “Presley—”
He looks startled too, eyes wide, like he didn’t plan it any more than I did.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. I can still feel the warmth of it, and I hate that part of me wants it back.
I take a step back, crossing my arms tightly. “That was unprofessional.”
He nods, quiet. “Yeah. It was.”
I expect him to smirk or make some smart remark, but he doesn’t. He just looks at me—really looks at me—and there’s something raw in his expression.
I turn back to the maps, pretending to refocus, even though my pulse is still racing.
I can feel his eyes on me. I don’t know what to do. I want more, but I don’t want to want more. He leans in, his lips meeting mine in a fierce, demanding kiss. The animal inside of me takes over. He’s on the prowl and I cannot resist his advances for one more second.
I moan into his mouth. The tension is unbearable. His hands roam my body. He is soft and warm, his skin rough under my touch. My nipples harden through my V neck. He breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down my neck, biting and sucking on my sensitive skin.
"Fuck, Aria," he gasps, his fingers tangling in my hair.
"Yes, right there." I moan as he kisses my neck.
He smiles against my skin as his hand slips down between my legs. I am already wet, my pussy hot and slick against his fingertips. He rubs my clit, feeling my body shudder with pleasure.
"Is this what you want?" He whispers, his voice thick with desire.
"Yes," I hiss, my hips bucking against his hand. "More."
He slips a finger inside me and I tighten around him.
I am so fucking wet and my pussy clenches around his finger as he moves it in and out of me.
I don’t want to want this. I want to resist, stay strong.
I want to walk away right now, but the pleasure is addicting.
He adds another finger, stretching me, making me moan.
"You're so fucking tight, Aria,” He murmurs, his thumb circling my clit. "I can't wait to feel you come around my cock."
I whimper, my head falling back, my eyes close. “Fuck me, Presley.”
“Say please.” He says.
“Fuck you.” I say.
“Say please.” He says.
“Fuck you.” I say.
He stops moving his fingers and looks me dead in the eyes. The look he’s giving me tell me he knows he has me hooked. I look at him with hate in my eyes. I hate that he’s going to make me beg. But I do anyway. “Fuck you… please.”
He smiles, his lips finding one of my nipples. He bites down gently, making me cry out. "Not yet," he says, his voice firm. "I want to taste you first."
He pushes her down onto the conference table, my legs hanging off the edge. He kneels between her thighs, his gaze locked on her pussy. I am glistening, he places his face on my slit, and my juices coat his lips. His tongue laps at me, tasting my sweet center.
"Oh, god," I moan, my hands fisting the maps. "Your tongue feels so good."
He smiles, his tongue flicking my clit. I’m getting close, my body tensing, my breath coming in short gasps. He slips a finger back inside me, curling it to hit that spot that makes me see stars.
“Presley,” I gasp, my body convulsing as I cum, my juices coating his hand.
He stands up and his cock looks like it’s aching, desperate to be inside me. I look up at him, my eyes glassy with pleasure and a satisfied smile on my lips. "Fuck me, Presley,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't need to be told twice. He pushes my legs further apart, positioning himself at my entrance. He rubs his cock against me, and my juices coat his pulsing rod. Then he pushes in, inch by agonizing inch, until he is fully sheathed inside me.
"Fuck," I hiss, my nails digging into my table. "You're so fucking big."
He smiles, his hips moving and his cock sliding in and out of me. "You can take it, Aria,” he murmurs, his voice low. "You can take all of me."
I moan, my hips meeting his, his body moving in time with mine. I tighten around him, clenching with each thrust. He leans down, his mouth finding mine in a fierce kiss.
I broke the kiss, his lips moving to my neck, biting and sucking as he penetrates me. I’m moaning, writhing, all while his hands grip my ass, pushing deeper and deeper.
I can feel a second orgasm building, his cock throbbing inside me. He reaches between us, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing it as he fucks me. I cum again, my body convulsing, my pussy clenching.
"Fuck, Aria,” he groans, his body tensing as he cums, his cock pulsing inside me.
He collapses next to me. "That was... incredible," he says, his voice breathless.
I smile, my fingers tracing patterns on his stomach. "We should do it again sometime."
He looks at me like a kid who just got a toy from Santa. “Not right now.” I clarify.
He laughs. What have I just done?