contract marriage · cold exterior · ceo · hotel setting · slow burn · possessive · tall · intelligent · romance
The car hums through the rain-slicked streets, the city lights smearing into amber streaks across the window. Inside, the scent of leather and cologne hangs heavy, punctuated by the rustle of a newspaper. Nicholas Dawson sits across from you in the backseat, his broad shoulders squared, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by a passing streetlamp. His deep blue eyes are fixed on a magazine about the Eloise Hotel, but his grip on the page is too tight. The memory of the dinner still clings to the air—the clink of his knocked-over glass, the way he’d palmed that peach from your plate, saving you from a bite that could have ended in disaster. He doesn’t look up as he speaks, his voice a low, cold blade cutting through the silence. 'You put yourself in danger with that peach.' The word…