Page 162 of Stranger to Love

Her voice was tired, but it carried that melodic edge that always made my skin prickle. I didn't answer. I stayed perfectly still in the armchair, my fingers white-knuckled around the stem of my glass, wanting—needing—her to find me on her own.

I heard her turn back. The footsteps grew louder, more deliberate, until they stopped right outside the lounge door. The handle turned with a soft, mechanical click, and the door swung open.

Carrie stood in the doorway, the light from the hallway silhouetting her frame. Her face was a mask of perfect neutrality, but her eyes were moving. Fuck, my stomach was doing a stupid flip. They swept over the helium balloons bobbing against the ceiling, the explosion of rose petals on the floor, the massive charcuterie board, and the "Will You Be My Valentine?" banner draped across her pristine walls.

Finally, her gaze landed on me.

She didn't move. Her hand stayed frozen on the door handle, her knuckles turning white against the polished metal. In an instant, all the confident poise I’d been practicing evaporated, leaving me chewing nervously on my lower lip as I searched her face for a reaction. For one terrifying second, I was convinced I’d completely crossed a line—that the ruthless supervillain in her was going to despise the clutter and the sheer, unadulterated sentimentality of it all.

The fire crackled, a log shifting in the grate, and the orange light danced across the silk of my robe. Carrie’s eyes dropped, taking in the flash of red lace at my thigh where the silk had parted, and her pupils blew fucking wide until her eyes were almost entirely black.

Her chest rose and fell in a sharp, shallow breath, and the hand on the doorknob tightened until the wood groaned.

"Alex," she breathed, and my name had never sounded so much like a prayer and a threat all at once.

"Happy Valentine's Day," I managed to whisper, the words feeling small and shy against the sudden, heavy silence of the room.

Carrie didn't say a word. She reached back, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that made my pulse spike. She began to cross the room toward me, moving with that slow, predatory grace that usually made me want to bolt—or, you know, fucking kneel. She was still in her work clothes: high-waisted trousers that rustled softly with every step and a light blue button-down tucked in with surgical precision. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing her forearms, and her hair was still pinned in that tight, professional clip, though a few stray strands had escaped to frame her face.

As she neared the armchair, my body reacted before my brain could. I stood up automatically, my legs feeling like fucking jelly. The movement caused the silk of my robe to shift, the belt loosening just enough for the fabric to part. The deep red lace of the lingerie—and the pale skin it barely covered—flashed in the firelight.

Carrie stopped inches away from me. The scent of her perfume, mixed with the faint metallic tang of the cold night air, hit me like a physical blow. She didn't look at the balloons or the roses anymore. She looked only at me.

Her hand came up, her fingers ghosting over the lapel of my robe. She didn't pull it open; she just hooked one finger into the silk, her knuckles grazing the curve of my collarbone.

"You did all of this," she murmured, her voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrated in my chest. "With my card. In my house. While I was stuck in a boardroom."

She leaned in closer, her breath warm against my ear. "Do you have any idea what it does to me, Alex? Finding you waiting here like a prize I haven't quite earned yet?"

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against the lace of my bra. "I... I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to show you..."

Carrie reached out, cupping my cheek so softly that the panic and nerves just drifted away. I bit my lip as she closed the gap, kissing me with a tenderness so profound I found myself wanting to chase her lips when she pulled back. The soft smile on her face stole what was left of my breath.

“Alex, just coming home to you is the most incredible feeling,” she said, her gaze sweeping the room again. “But this... I’ve never had anyone do something like this for me before.”

I could tell she was chewing the inside of her cheek then—that rare, soft side of her that made me absolutely fucking melt. Keeping the champagne glass steady in one hand, I wrapped my other arm around her waist and pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“You deserve all of it, my love," I whispered.

My voice was soft—a voice I never knew I had. It was a million miles away from the woman I had been a few months ago, the one who would have gagged at the word love, let alone spent hours orchestrating an "explosion of romance" for a woman who terrified and consumed me in equal measure.

Carrie looked at me so intently I felt like I was slipping into a trance, the world outside this room dissolving until there was nothing but the scent of roses and the heat radiating between us.

Then, all too quickly, the spell broke. Carrie pulled back and cleared her throat, though her composure was clearly hanging by a thread. She smirked, her gaze dropping to the silk robe before she reached out and deftly knocked the fabric open. Her eyes filled with a raw, unshielded fucking hunger as she bit her lip, taking in the deep red lace and the way the garter belt sat against my hips.

"Well," she purred, her voice thick. "I suppose I should get changed if this is how we’re celebrating the day."

I found my courage, meeting her gaze with a smirk of my own. "Perhaps," I teased, my heart racing. "But I quite liked you looking like a sexy, powerful woman. It suited the 'supervillain' aesthetic."

Carrie let out a low, rich chuckle, the sound vibrating in the small space between us. She hummed in agreement, the sound dark and promising, before she began to back away toward the door. She didn't take her eyes off me until the very last second, her hand lingering on the frame as if she was debating whether to leave at all.

"Don't move, princess," she warned, her smirk sharpening. "I won't be long."

The door clicked shut, and I finally let out the breath I didn’t realise I was holding. I sank back toward the armchair, my skin still tingling where her eyes had been. The house was quiet again, but the air was different now—charged, electric, and heavy with the knowledge of exactly what was coming when she walked back through that door.

A few minutes later, the door opened again, and I nearly lost my fucking grip on my champagne glass. Carrie had changed into a silk robe of her own, but she’d left it entirely open, revealing a set of black lace lingerie that made my brain short-circuit. The contrast of the dark silk against her skin was devastating.

"Careful, darling," Carrie chuckled, stepping forward to take the glass from my trembling hand before I could spill a drop. She set it on the table and brushed her fingers against mine, her eyes dancing with amusement. "You’ve gone to so much effort for this; it would be a shame if we didn't actually enjoy the food."