Chapter 18: The Kiss

Martina turned to face him fully.

In the golden light from the restaurant behind them, she looked ethereal. Untouchable. Already gone.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Marcus sees me, Jordan. He sees my value. He respects my intelligence. He treats me like an equal, not an accessory.”

“Why wouldn’t I take it?”

“Because of this.”

Jordan kissed her.

He didn’t plan it. Didn’t think about it. Didn’t consider the consequences or the complications or the thousand ways this could destroy everything.

He just kissed her.

And the world disappeared.

Her lips were soft and warm. Tasted faintly of the wine from dinner.

She made a small sound. Surprise or surrender, or both.

Then she was kissing him back.

Her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.

Five years of want and frustration and love pouring into a single moment.

Jordan’s hands cradled her face. Tilting her head back. Deepening the kiss. Trying to pour five years of apologies and explanations and promises into the press of his lips against hers.

She fit against him perfectly.

Like she’d been designed specifically to fill the empty spaces he hadn’t known existed.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Martina’s eyes were wet with unshed tears.

“That’s not fair,” she whispered.

“You can’t kiss me like that and expect me to think clearly.”

“What do you—”

“I don’t want you to think clearly,” Jordan said roughly.

“I want you to feel, Martina. I want you to feel what I’ve been too terrified to admit.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“I’ve been in love with you. Maybe since the first week you started working for me and you fixed a presentation I’d been struggling with for days. Then stayed until midnight helping me practice my delivery.”

“Maybe since the hundredth time you handed me coffee and knew without asking that I needed extra espresso because I’d been up all night worried about my father.”

“Maybe since the thousandth time you looked at me like I was worth something beyond my net worth and my last name.”

He pressed his forehead against hers.

Breathing her in. Memorizing this moment before she could take it away.

“I’m in love with you,” he repeated.

“And I’ve been a coward. I told myself it was inappropriate. That I was your boss. That crossing that line would be unethical.”

“But the truth is, I was terrified. Because loving you—really, truly loving you—meant risking the one relationship in my life that felt real.”

“You saw me, Martina. Not Jordan Blackwell, CEO. Not the man on magazine covers. Just me. Just Jordan.”

“The man who’s terrified of failing his father. Who works eighty-hour weeks because it’s easier than going home to an empty apartment. Who doesn’t know how to be vulnerable because vulnerability means weakness and weakness means losing.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Jordan caught them with his thumbs, hating himself for putting them there.

“But I’ve already lost,” he continued, his voice breaking.

“I lost five years ago when I decided being professional was more important than being honest. I lost every day that I took you for granted.”

“I lost the moment Marcus Ashford looked at you and saw what I was too blind to see. That you’re extraordinary. That you’re worth more than any company or deal or empire.”

“That loving you isn’t weakness. It’s the only brave thing I’ve ever done.”

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