Chapter Five – Too Close
(Lucas’s office, 11:50 AM)
Lucas
The whiskey burned my throat, but not even the 18-year-old scotch could dull what was about to happen.
Angel. On my team. Every day.
My hand tightened around the glass. In the reflection of the office window, my face looked tense—jaw clenched, eyes as dark as the São Paulo night outside.
And the problems had already begun. Carolina had just left my office after listing all the reasons why Angel couldn’t keep assisting with her work.
"She’s going to destroy you," my grandmother’s voice echoed in my memory, like it always did when Angel was around. "Boy, you’re a Silva. They’re Figueiredos. Never forget that."
But how could I forget? How could I ignore that woman when she was everywhere?
In the hallways of the mansion, with her dresses that flirted with decency.
At the family parties, with those daring looks.
In my most secret dreams, with that mouth that knew how to cut and tease like no other.
My phone vibrated. A message from Leonardo:
"Take care of her, Lucas. You're the only one I trust."
A punch to the gut.
The man who had done everything for me—paid for my education, bought me my first suit, gave me my first chance—was asking me for the one thing I couldn’t give.
How could I explain to him that every time his daughter walked into the room, I had to lock my hands behind my back just to keep from touching her?
When she wore those high heels that made her legs look endless, I counted to a hundred in German just to keep from staring.
The office door swung open. Without knocking.
She.
Even before I turned around, my body already knew.
The air changed when Angel was near—heavier, like right before a storm.
“Carolina said you wanted to see me,” Her voice was honey and poison.
I turned slowly. She was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed under her chest.
“You’re starting tomorrow,” I said, keeping my tone professional. “Financial reports from the subsidiaries. Nothing your business degree can’t handle.”
She laughed—soft and low—and something in my chest tightened.
“Trying to keep me busy, huh?” One step inside. Her scent (jasmine and rebellion) filled the room. “Or is that just an excuse to keep me close?”
My fingers dug into my palm.
“Angel.” My voice was a warning.
She stepped closer, ignoring all the invisible lines we’d drawn over twenty-four years of knowing each other. When her hand touched my tie—my tie—heat rushed through my veins.
“You’re shaking,” she whispered, eyes sparking. “Why, Lucas?”
Because I’ve wanted you since I shouldn’t have. Because you’re the only thing that makes me forget who I am.
Because in three seconds, I’d pin you to that wall and finally do what I’ve always wanted.
Because I'm Silva.
And you’re a Figueiredo.
And some lines should never be crossed.
But if you keep looking at me like that, I swear to God...
My body was screaming. My self-control trembled from the inside out, like every cell was at war. I knew what came next.
But her fingers were burning against my tie.
I could feel every curve of her nails through the fabric, the slight tremble she tried to hide.
Angel never knew how to lie with her body—and that was always her greatest weakness.
And her greatest weapon.
“Lucas?” she tugged on the silk, pulling me closer. Her perfume was a direct assault on my senses. “You didn’t answer my question.”
My pulse pounded where I was holding her, but I couldn’t let go.
I didn’t want to let go.
“Take your hand off me.” My voice came out rougher than I meant.
She laughed again, that low sound vibrating somewhere between my chest and stomach.
“Or what? You’ll punish me?” Another tug. Now we were just one step apart.
God.
Her breath was a mix of mint and cheap whiskey from last night’s bar.
Her lips slightly parted, painted that red that kept me up at night.
I knew exactly how it would be. One second of weakness and I’d find out if she moaned as sharply as she argued.
“Angel.”
I didn’t even recognize my voice.
She tilted her head, daring me.
“Yes?”
That’s when I felt it.
Tightening.
My tie was pulling down as she rose on her toes.
She was going to kiss me.
Shit. Shit. SHIT.
My body moved before my brain did.
In one sharp motion, I grabbed her wrist and pushed her against the wall. The impact made a picture frame rattle, but neither of us looked. Her eyes flew open—surprise, anger, and something else… something that made my blood boil.
“This,” I said, gripping her wrist tighter until I felt her pulse racing, “is never going to happen.”
She took a deep breath, her chest rising dangerously close to my suit.
“You don’t control me.”
“No?” I leaned in, close enough for my breath to blend with hers. “Looks like I just did.”
That’s when I felt it.
She was wet.
Through the thin fabric of her dress, her leg brushed mine—and there was no hiding it.
The scent of her desire was almost as intoxicating as everything else about her.
My whole body tensed. Angel noticed. Of course she did. Her eyes darkened, and for the first time in twenty-four years, I saw fear in those eyes that feared nothing.