Chapter 5 Heat In The Morning, Shadows At Noon

• Sunlight filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden streaks across the white sheets tangled around Sandra’s bare body. She stirred, eyelids fluttering open to a warm, unfamiliar stillness. Then she remembered.
• The night.
• The way Steve had touched her like she was more than temptation like she was his.
• His scent still lingered on her skin. Musk, spice, and something elemental. It clung to the sheets, the air, her memory.
• She turned her head.
• The space beside her was empty.
• No Steve.
• Only a folded note on the pillow.
• “Had an early call with Tokyo. Didn’t want to wake you. Coffee’s in the kitchen. You were… unforgettable.
• —S”
• Sandra exhaled slowly, unsure whether to smile or scowl. It was thoughtful. It was also vague. Typical Steve Lancaster—intensely present one moment, disappearing the next.
• But the ache between her thighs wasn’t vague. The bruises his lips left on her collarbone weren’t vague. The things he whispered when no one else could hear those were real.
• She sat up, letting the sheet fall. The cool air hit her skin, but her body still burned from the memory of him. The way he’d lost control. The way she had, too.
• God help her, she wanted more.
• But she also wanted answers.
• In the Lancaster Global boardroom later that morning, the temperature dropped several degrees when Steve walked in. Hair slicked back. Navy suit. A flawless, unreadable mask.
• Sandra, now dressed in a tailored white blouse and sleek black slacks, sat near the far end of the table present, but not with him. It was a silent rule they'd never spoken aloud.
• He didn’t look at her.
• She didn’t look at him.
• But tension rippled like electricity between them.
• Across from them sat Harold Drummond, Steve’s uncle and a longtime board member. Greying, shrewd, and always polite enough to be dangerous.
• “The media has been sniffing around the Vega girl,” Harold said offhandedly as the meeting wrapped up. “Quite the story—driver’s daughter now dancing with the king.”
• Steve’s jaw tightened. “Is that your official concern, Harold?”
• “I’m concerned with appearances,” Harold said coolly. “Your father would be, too.”
• Steve stood. “Then be sure your own don’t shatter glass houses.”
• An hour later, Steve’s office door clicked shut behind Sandra.
• “You knew they’d start poking into my background,” she said flatly.
• “I warned you.”
• “You kissed me anyway.”
• He looked at her then really looked. “I didn’t regret that.”
• “But you regret this.”
• “No,” he said, stepping closer. “I regret that I can’t keep you out of this storm.”
• She met his gaze, unflinching. “Then don’t try. Let me stand in it.”
• Steve stared at her for a long moment before brushing his fingers against her cheek. “You really are fearless.”
• “No,” she whispered. “Just tired of hiding.”
• Later that day, while scanning logistics reports in the basement analytics suite, Sandra’s phone buzzed.
• UNKNOWN NUMBER: “You don’t know what you’ve gotten into. Walk away before you drown.”
• She stared at the message, fingers frozen above her keyboard.
• Another buzz.
• UNKNOWN NUMBER: “He’s not who you think he is. You’ll see soon enough.”
• Her pulse spiked. She copied the number, forwarded it to the cybersecurity lead, and logged out of the system.
• Steve had enemies. That much she’d expected.
• But this felt different.
• This felt personal.
• That night, Sandra stood in her apartment, the city lights glowing outside her window, and wondered what she’d stepped into.
• She had no illusions about Steve Lancaster. He was brilliant, magnetic and dangerous. But there was something about the way he looked at her, the way his hand fit against hers like it belonged there. It wasn’t just lust.
• It felt like fate with scars.
• Her phone buzzed again.
• This time, it was Steve.
• > Meet me on the rooftop in twenty minutes.
• She hesitated for only a second before grabbing her coat.
• The rooftop of Lancaster Tower was quiet. Wind rustled her curls as she stepped out into the night. Steve stood at the edge, his back to her, hands in his pockets.
• When he turned, there was something different in his eyes.
• Not heat.
• Not hunger.
• Worry.
• “I traced the messages,” he said without greeting. “They were routed through multiple proxies, but one of them originated inside this building.”
• Sandra’s breath caught. “Someone in your company?”
• “Or someone pretending to be.”
• He stepped closer. “I don’t know what they want, but I know they want to hurt you. Or use you to get to me.”
• “I’m not a pawn,” she said fiercely.
• “No,” he agreed. “You’re a queen. And I’ve made you a target.”
• Sandra reached out and touched his chest, just over his heart. “Then teach me how to survive the board.”
• Steve’s eyes darkened. “You already know how.”
• And this time, when he kissed her, it wasn’t desperation.
• It was a promise.