Heat Between the Sheets

Chapter 1 - Rules Are Meant to Be Broken

Amelia pressed her lips to the rim of her wineglass, letting the cool bitterness slide across her tongue. The city glittered beneath the rooftop bar, alive with laughter, music, and the clink of champagne flutes. She should have felt glamorous here, perched above the skyline in her little black dress. Instead, she felt like a fraud—an overworked executive pretending she wasn't exhausted to her bones.

Her best friend Clara nudged her. "You're glaring at your drink again. Are you trying to intimidate it, or just remembering your tragic taste in men?"

Amelia snorted. "Men are temporary. Careers are forever." She lifted her glass in mock toast. "Here's to staying single and sane."

Clara rolled her eyes. "You've been saying that for months. One-night fun, maybe. But no dating. No second chances. You act like love is a virus."

"Correction," Amelia said crisply. "Love is a virus. I had a bad case, remember? Nearly ruined my career. I'm not making that mistake again."

She meant it, too. After her last breakup—two years wasted on a man who left her for a rival colleague—Amelia had sworn off commitments. No more opening her heart, no more being distracted from her goals. She allowed herself pleasures—dinners, drinks, the occasional night tangled in someone's sheets—but nothing deeper. Nothing lasting.

Still, as her eyes swept the rooftop, they snagged on him.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark suit tailored like sin. His presence was magnetic, commanding attention without effort. A predator among partygoers. His jawline was sharp, his mouth curved in the faintest smirk, and when his gaze flicked toward her, it was like being pinned under fire.

Amelia's pulse betrayed her. "Absolutely not," she muttered.

"Who's absolutely not?" Clara followed her gaze and grinned. "Ohhh. Him. Absolutely yes."

"No," Amelia said quickly. "That man is trouble. Look at him—he probably chews up women and spits them out before breakfast."

As if hearing her, the stranger crossed the distance with unhurried confidence. Every step screamed arrogance. He stopped at their table, eyes locked on Amelia like she was the only one here.

"You look bored," he said, voice low and smooth, laced with amusement. "I thought I'd save you from your drink before it withers under your death glare."

Amelia arched a brow. "And you are?"

"Alexander." He extended a hand, but his eyes never left hers. "And you?"

"Someone who doesn't need saving," she replied coolly, ignoring his hand.

Clara coughed into her drink, hiding a grin.

Alexander smirked, clearly entertained. "Confident. I like that." He leaned closer, voice dropping so only she could hear. "But I don't believe you. I think you do need saving—from your own rules."

Amelia's spine stiffened. She should've walked away. She should've cut him down with a sharp remark and returned to her wine. Instead, she found herself leaning forward, lips curving in a dangerous smile.

"And what makes you think I'd ever break my rules for you?"

His gaze dipped, just for a second, to her mouth. Heat crackled between them, undeniable.

"Because," Alexander murmured, "rules are meant to be broken."