Kellan's face remained as neutral as a clear sky, but the subtle tension in his fingers betrayed the storm brewing beneath. He hadn't expected Allison's response to be even more flippant than his own. Without a hint of embarrassment or awkwardness, he nonchalantly remarked, "It doesn't count. That night? Let's just say I wasn't exactly impressed with your performance."
His gaze darkened, the memory of the meager tip on the nightstand lingering like a bitter aftertaste. Allison's head slowly lifted; their eyes met, and a spark ignited—an intensity that seemed to charge the air. Kellan's pulse quickened, and he lowered his voice. "Let me make it up to you?" His words dripped with defiance.
Her response was disdainful, mixed with amusement. "No, thank you. Missed opportunities don't knock twice. If you screw up once, you're done. I don't give second chances."
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and they stepped inside. Silence filled the space, heavy with unspoken words. Just as the doors began to close, Kellan, rising from his wheelchair, was met by Allison, who grabbed his tie, pulling him forward with surprising strength. Their eyes met again, and in that heated exchange, unspoken desires were clear.
"Nice tie, Mr. Lloyd," Allison teased, her voice light but mischievous. "Your eyes are prettier, Miss Clarke," he replied softly, his hand sliding behind her neck as she held his tie. Their gazes locked; for a split second, their souls felt laid bare, raw and vulnerable. Kellan could feel his heartbeat pounding, the intensity hitting him like a tidal wave. In a synchronized movement, their lips collided with the force of lightning.
The kiss was searing, fierce, unapologetic. Unlike their previous chaotic encounter, this was deliberate, a silent challenge in every touch. Neither yielded. They fought for control, their tension sparking like locked swords. Allison's grip on his tie nearly stole his breath, while Kellan's fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. A low, tense whistle escaped them; neither would budge. The connection crackled like a thunderstorm, a chess match where one wrong move meant surrender. Yet, the thrill of the battle held them. This heady rivalry, this battle of wills, resonated with something primal and deep.
As the elevator descended to the underground parking lot, a cool blast of air, carrying the faint scent of gardenias, filled the car. The doors opened with a soft clink. As quickly as they'd come together, they separated, the fiery exchange seeming a fleeting illusion. Allison walked toward her car, casually twirling her keys, as if nothing had happened.
"Goodbye, Mr. Lloyd," she said over her shoulder, her tone calm and disinterested. Without a glance, she walked away, leaving him standing there. The ease of her departure reminded Kellan of someone leaving after a casual encounter—cold and distant, as if the moment held no meaning.
It wasn't until her car disappeared that Kellan noticed the fire still coursing through his veins, a slow burn consuming him. "Goodbye, Miss Clarke," he murmured, more to himself than to the empty air. Women had been a distant afterthought, but this kiss…this kiss was different. If their previous encounter had been pure instinct, this carried the weight of every latent emotion and unspoken power play.
Kellan couldn't untangle Allison's mind. It was like the ocean's surface, hiding dangerous currents beneath. Whether lust or intellect, she always seemed to have the upper hand, playing a game only she understood. He let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "You're taking me for a fool." She had kissed him and walked away, leaving him in the aftermath. No matter how long he pondered, he couldn't unravel the enigma that was Allison.
The faint scent of gardenias lingered, a ghostly reminder of their intense intimacy. As the floral scent caressed his senses, Kellan thought of the flower's meaning: everlasting love and promises.
The final sentence was removed as it was a website plug and unrelated to the story.