Sasha's heartbeat quickened the mont she saw him, and she hated it.
Hated how he could affect her without even trying.
This ti, there was no Kristine to distract her, no shared glances or whispered warnings.
It was just her, Ross, and a very real tension hanging between them like a live wire.
He turned and saw her approaching, his gaze flicking montarily to her three silent shadows.
A slow smile curved on his lips as he pulled out her chair like a gentleman.
Once they were seated, Ross raised an eyebrow, his smile never fading.
"Three dogs," he said lightly. "Didn't realize you found so dangerous, Sasha. And here I thought you were a big girl already."
Sasha gave a soft chuckle, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
"They're good n. Loyal. Efficient." She sipped from the glass of sparkling water already waiting for her.
"Think of them like air—always there, but never in the way. Unless, of course, you plan to misbehave."
Ross tilted his head, clearly entertained. "Misbehaving was half the point of this evening."
"Then I'm glad I brought backup," she said smoothly, crossing her legs beneath the table.
"Or… are you nervous now, Ross? You seed more confident when I didn't have three sets of eyes watching my back."
Ross chuckled, genuinely amused. "You could have brought ten. It wouldn't make a difference."
"Oh?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just a touch.
"Because, Sasha, the truth is—when I want sothing, nothing stands in the way. Not even your bodyguards."
Her lips curled into a smirk. "And what exactly do you want?"
Ross didn't answer right away. His gaze lingered on her, unflinching and deliberate, as if he were taking his ti savoring the view.
"I want to know why you ca," he said at last.
Sasha paused, her expression unreadable. "Curiosity," she said finally. "You talk a big ga, Ross. I wanted to see if there was any substance beneath the surface."
"And?" he asked, his voice low.
"I haven't decided yet." She tilted her head. "But I like to play long gas."
Ross laughed, deep and rich. "So do I."
Their drinks arrived—champagne for him, a glass of aged white wine for her.
They clinked glasses, eyes locked, smiles carefully asured.
"And here I thought you might be scared of ," he teased again.
Sasha sipped her wine slowly.
"Fear and fascination aren't that different, Ross. But don't get too excited—I've been fascinated by prettier faces and left them in the dust."
Ross leaned in again, elbows resting on the table, that smile of his finally sharpening into sothing darker. "And I've tad fiercer won than you, Sasha."
She let out a soft, amused breath. "Good. Then we won't be boring."
There was silence again—thick, electric.
The city humd beneath them, but up here, in their corner of the night, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them.
Fire and ice circling one another, waiting to see which would lt or burn first.
They ate and talked for what felt like hours, though ti seed to lose aning in the haze of wine, candlelight, and sharpened glances.
Sasha was deliberate in her approach—her words were like knives wrapped in silk, sharp yet elegant.
She didn't co here to be chard; she ca to test him.
To see if the infamous Ross Oakley was really the predator the rumors made him out to be—or just another self-absorbed playboy in an expensive suit.
So she poked, prodded, and played with fire.
Ross, however, never flinched. He t every verbal strike with practiced ease, parrying each one with a grin, a witty retort, or a cool sip of champagne.
It irritated her. Excited her. Confused her.
"So why Kristine?" Sasha asked at last, her tone deceptively casual.
She set her fork down and crossed her arms, leaning forward slightly.
"She's married. Or did you think that made her more exciting?"
Ross raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Maybe I just love the challenge."
His eyes never left her—not even for a second.
And Sasha could feel the weight of that gaze, as if it were dragging invisible fingers down her skin.
She hated that it worked on her. Hated even more how her body responded despite her better judgnt.
Her breath had grown a shade more shallow. Her thighs shifted under the table.
Ross noticed.
He always noticed.
"Naughty," she said, arching a brow. "Are you trying to win over just to get to her? Seduce the best friend first so you can work your way in? That your ga, Ross? You want to fuck and then Kristine?"
"Would that offend you if it were?" he asked smoothly, voice like velvet and smoke. "I don't think it would. You don't strike as the easily offended type."
Sasha's lips curled into a dry smile. "No, I'm not. But I am the type who likes to know exactly what she's walking into."
Ross leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily across the backrest as if he owned the night itself. "Then here's your answer—I'm not interested in Kristine. Not anymore."
"And what changed?"
He tilted his head. "You walked into the room."
That earned a small laugh from her. "Please. Spare the lines."
"No lines," he said, his voice quieter now, more focused. "Just truth. I like complicated won. Won who think they're in control. Won who like gas but hate losing. Won who look at a man like and try to pretend they're not already wondering what I taste like."
Sasha's heart thumped once, hard.
"You sound very sure of yourself," she said, keeping her tone steady even as her legs pressed tighter beneath the table.
Ross smiled, that sa maddening, confident smile. "Confidence isn't arrogance when you've earned it."
She didn't answer. She couldn't, not with how her mouth had suddenly gone dry.
He leaned in, his voice a low murmur only she could hear.
"And I've earned a lot, Sasha."
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