That's the lie I tell myself every time I see her Léa, with her sharp brown eyes and that damn red dress that clings to her like a second skin. She's the new lawyer at my father's firm, the one everyone says is untouchable. Smart. Professional. The kind of woman who doesn't look twice at a guy like me.

But I caught her looking.

It was at the charity gala last week. I was bored, half-drunk, leaning against the bar when she walked in. The room went quiet for a second just long enough for me to notice the way her heels clicked on the marble, the way her lips parted when she saw me. I smirked. She looked away.

That's when I knew I wanted her.

I cornered her by the terrace, the Paris skyline glittering behind us. "You're avoiding me" I said, my voice low, rough.

She crossed her arms, but her breath hitched. "I'm working"

"So am I" I stepped closer, close enough to smell her perfume something dark and sweet, like sin wrapped in silk. "I want something. And I always get what I want"

Her eyes flashed. "Not this time"

I laughed, running a finger along the edge of her glass. "We'll see"

She didn't move when I leaned in, when my lips brushed the shell of her ear. "Tell me to stop, Léa"

She didn't.

The terrace was empty, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and neon below us. Léa's breath was warm against my jaw, her body tense but not pulling away. I could feel the heat radiating off her, the way her pulse jumped when my hand found the small of her back.

"You're playing with fire" she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction.

"I like the burn" My thumb traced the curve of her hip, slow, deliberate. She shivered.

Then, unexpectedly, she turned her head, her lips brushing mine just once, just enough to make my blood roar. "Prove it" she challenged, her voice a dark purr.

I didn't need to be told twice.

My hands were in her hair, my mouth crashing down on hers, hungry, demanding. She gasped, but her fingers dug into my shoulders, pulling me closer. The taste of her wine and something uniquely Léa was intoxicating. I backed her against the railing, the cold metal biting through her dress, through my suit.

"Jérémie" she breathed, but it wasn't a protest. It was a warning.

I grinned against her lips. "Too late for warnings, chérie"

The sound of footsteps echoed from inside. She pushed me away, her chest rising and falling, her lips swollen. "We can't"

"Later" I promised, my voice rough. "My place. Midnight"

She......

Now, dear reader, you are Natalie, what happens next?

It is with eagerness and pleasure that I discover the end of your story,

Jeremie