Enough

*Alan stood by his dark, sleek Audi, smoking a cigarette. The last few customers were trickling out, still murmuring about the display earlier. His bodyguards stood near the car, quiet as usual, but their gazes kept flickering toward him. They were still surprised to see their boss—who had a reputation for being cold and unemotional—so visibly ruffled.*

*He checked his watch. 11:30. Any second now...*

*The doors to the bar opened, and the singer stepped out. She still had her coat on, a bag over her shoulder. She caught sight of him immediately, her lips curving into a smirk.*

"You waited."

*Alan tossed aside his cigarette and stubbed it beneath his shoe, his hands shoved in his pockets.*

"You said your shift ended at 11:30," he pointed out gruffly.

*She hummed, walking toward him at a leisurely pace. The street was quiet; his guards were still watching.*

*As she got closer, he noticed little details that he'd missed before—the way her hair glowed almost coppery in the streetlights, how tall her boots made her, how good she smelled up close.*

*He clenched his jaw, looking away. No, damn it, he was above this. She was just some singer. Some pretty face who knew how to get under his skin.*

*... And who still had his damn lighter.*

*She leaned against the car next to him, seemingly unbothered by his brooding. She was close—too close. He could feel the heat of her body through his coat. He forced himself not to look at her, instead focusing on the street, the buildings, the stars—anything but her.*

*She chuckled quietly, the sound low and warm.*

"You're tense."

*He shot her a sidelong glare.* "What gave that away?"

*She held up her hand, ticking off her fingers.*

"The clenched jaw," she said, folding down her index finger.

"The constant frown." Down went her middle finger.

"The way you're standing—all rigid shoulders and clenched fists." She gestured vaguely at him. "You're wound up like a watch ready to pop."

*He exhaled through his nose.* "And that's hilarious to you?"

*She shrugged, dropping her hand.*

"Just a little. You're so serious all the time. It's kinda cute."

*Alan bristled, his eyes narrowing.*

"Don't call me cute."

*She smirked wider, obviously enjoying teasing him.*

"What's wrong, boss? Not used to compliments? Most men would be flattered."

*He clenched his jaw, biting back a sharp retort. Why the hell did this woman rile him up so damn fast? He was used to being in control—in all aspects of his life. But here he was, acting like a schoolboy with a stupid crush.*

"I don't need compliments," he growled. "Especially from you."

*That damn smirk again. She stepped a little closer—too close, her shoulder almost touching his.*

"No? Maybe you just need something else. Something *more*..."

*Her gaze flicked down to his hands, clenched into tight fists. As if with a will of their own, his fingers slowly uncurled, relaxing slightly. Damn it. She was doing this on purpose, getting under his skin, making him lower his defenses.*

*He forced himself to look away, staring resolutely down the street. The rational part of him knew he should step back, put a little distance between them. But the rest of him was all too aware of her proximity, her scent, her damn *smirk*. Goddammit...*

*She took another half-step closer—*definitely* too close now. He could feel her heat through his coat, and it was taking every ounce of his self-restraint not to turn and push her against the car.*

*Alan finally snapped, turning sharply to face her. His hands shot out, gripping her waist as he backed her firmly against the car door. His body blocked her in, his face mere inches from hers, his breath ragged.*

"*Enough.*"

His voice was rough, edged with something raw—anger? Desire? Both?

She didn't flinch. Instead, she arched into him, her lips curving in challenge.

"Or what?"

His grip tightened.

"You *really* don’t wanna find out."

A beat. Then—

She *laughed*, soft and knowing. "Liar."

His control shattered.

**[To be continued...]**

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