Kisses In Denial

The words followed her into the elevator.

On the twenty-second floor, the doors opened onto polished stone, muted lighting, and the low mechanical hum of a building designed to hear everything. Cameras watched from every corner. A silver dome above the corridor turned a fraction as she passed.

Annie kept her shoulders loose. Her pulse had no such discipline.

The conference suite waited behind a glass door marked PRIVATE. A man in a charcoal suit stood on the other side, one hand braced against the frame. He had the controlled stillness of someone who never entered a room without first locating every exit.

He opened the door.

“Annie.”

His voice moved over her skin before she could stop it.

She hated that.

“Rafe.”

Rafe Mercer looked exactly as dangerous as the rumors suggested: dark hair damp at the temples, pale eyes, mouth made for saying things that sounded reasonable until they cut. He was Wilson Security’s senior acquisitions strategist, and for the last three years he had made a sport of taking assignments from her, correcting her projections, and smiling when she objected.

Today, he wore no tie. The open collar showed a narrow strip of warm skin.

Annie stepped past him without looking down.

“Still dramatic,” he said.

“Still blocking doorways.”

His hand moved from the frame. Not quickly. Not reluctantly either. The space he gave her was barely enough to pass, and the sleeve of his jacket brushed her arm.

A small contact. A deliberate one.

The room smelled of rain, coffee, and expensive wood polish. At the far end of the table sat Victor Hale, chief executive of Meridian Apex, the client Annie had spent six weeks pursuing. His expression suggested he had already found the meeting disappointing.

“Ms. Wilson,” Victor said. “You’re late.”

“Your building rejected my credentials.”

“Your credentials are issued by this building.”

“Then your building has a problem.”

Rafe shut the door behind her. The lock clicked with a heavy finality.

Victor’s mouth tightened. “That attitude is precisely why I asked for Mr. Mercer to attend.”

“Of course it is.”

Rafe moved to the opposite side of the table. “Annie.”

Just her name. A warning dressed as courtesy.

She placed her portfolio on the table and sat. “I’m here to secure Meridian Apex’s protection contract. If you want someone who agrees with you before hearing the facts, you invited the wrong person.”

Victor leaned back. “Your proposal is aggressive.”

“Your current security provider has recorded three unauthorized access attempts in the last month.”

“Two,” Rafe said.

Annie turned to him. “Three.”

“The third was an internal credential error.”

“An error that opened a restricted floor at 2:14 a.m.”

Rafe’s gaze held hers. “You reviewed the access logs?”

“I wrote the risk assessment.”

“Then you should know an isolated credential error isn’t proof of an active breach.”

“Neither is a body on the floor, apparently, if we’re waiting for your standard of proof.”

Victor’s fingers tapped once against the table. “Enough. I want a solution, not a quarrel.”

“Then stop hiring people who confuse politeness with security,” Annie said.

Rafe’s eyes sharpened. There it was - the moment she had been trying to avoid. The flash of interest beneath the irritation. He liked her temper when it was aimed at someone else. He liked it even more when it turned toward him.

She saw it and hated that too.

Victor pushed a folder across the table. “Your proposal gives Wilson Security control of access, surveillance, and executive protection for ninety days. No subcontractors. No exceptions.”

“Correct.”

“And you personally oversee the transition.”

“Yes.”

“Then explain why your own headquarters can’t recognize you.”

The question landed harder than it should have.

Annie looked toward the glass wall. Her reflection stared back: rain-dark hair, steady mouth, eyes that refused to show how quickly the floor had shifted beneath her.

Rafe reached for the folder. His knuckles brushed hers.

Neither of them moved.

The contact was warm, startlingly intimate in the cold room. His thumb rested beside her hand, close enough that she could feel the heat of him without being touched. Annie lifted her eyes.

“Careful,” she murmured.

His voice dropped. “You’re the one who put your hand there.”

“I put it on the contract.”

“Then stop pretending the contract is the only thing you’re watching.”

For one dangerous second, the room narrowed to his mouth and the faint scent of cedar clinging to his skin.

Annie pulled her hand away. “I don’t mistake proximity for permission.”

Something changed in his expression - not offense. Respect, perhaps. Or a more patient kind of threat.

“Neither do I,” he said.

Victor cleared his throat. “Are you two finished?”

“No,” Annie said.

Rafe’s mouth almost curved. “Not remotely.”

She opened the folder before her face could betray her. The access logs were printed on heavy paper, each page stamped with an internal verification code. She scanned the entries, then stopped.

The third incident was there.

So was the second.

But the timestamps were wrong.

Annie turned the page back. “This report was generated at 9:08 this morning.”

Victor frowned. “And?”

“The incident occurred last night. Why was it regenerated?”

Rafe took the page from her. His fingers were careful this time, avoiding hers. “The system updates automatically.”

“Not with a new verification code.”

He studied the bottom corner. “This code belongs to the conference suite.”

Annie looked up. “Why would an access report be verified from this room?”

The hum in the ceiling seemed louder.

Victor rose abruptly. “That’s a technical question for your systems team.”

“No,” Annie said. “It’s a security question.”

Rafe stood as well. “Victor, who authorized this meeting?”

“I did.”

“Who requested the revised logs?”

Victor’s expression hardened. “I don’t appreciate being interrogated in my own negotiation.”

“Neither do I,” Annie said. “But someone altered the report after it was generated.”

Rafe looked toward the nearest camera. The silver dome remained motionless now.

“Bring up the suite feed,” he said.

The wall display woke with a soft click. A grid of camera views appeared: lobby, elevator bank, corridor, conference room. The image in the conference room showed Annie entering alone.

She watched herself cross the room.

Then she frowned.

The timestamp read 10:17.

Her watch showed 10:42.

Rafe stepped closer to the screen. “That’s impossible.”

“Is it?” Annie asked.

The feed skipped. For half a second, the room appeared empty. Then the image resumed with Annie seated at the table, her portfolio open.

Victor swore under his breath.

Rafe’s hand came to the small of Annie’s back - not gripping, not claiming, but directing her away from the table as he moved between her and the camera. Heat spread through the thin fabric of her blouse.

“Don’t touch me,” she said softly.

His hand lifted at once.

The absence felt worse.

“Someone is looping the feed,” he said.

“Someone inside,” Annie replied.

His eyes met hers. “That’s what I said.”

“No. You said someone is looping the feed. I said someone inside is doing it.”

The door lock clicked.

Annie turned. The handle did not move.

Victor crossed the room and tried the access panel. A red light blinked.

“Open it,” Rafe ordered.

The guard’s voice came through the speaker. “We have a system delay.”

“Convenient,” Annie said.

Rafe moved beside her, close enough that his shoulder touched hers. “Stay behind me.”

She gave him a cold look. “I’m not one of your clients.”

“No. Clients usually follow instructions.”

“And rivals?”

“Rivals usually make me regret having eyes.”

The words were too intimate for the locked room. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then returned to her eyes.

Annie’s breath caught, and she despised him for noticing.

The door released.

A security officer stood outside, one hand on his weapon. “Everything all right?”

“No,” Annie said. “Your surveillance system has been manipulated.”

The officer glanced at Rafe. “Mr. Mercer?”

“Lock down the conference floor,” Rafe said. “Nobody enters or leaves until I clear it.”

Victor stepped forward. “You can’t shut down my meeting.”

“You can leave,” Annie said. “The rest of us are going to find out who altered the feed.”

Victor stared at her, furious. For a moment, she thought he would walk.

Instead, he returned to the table and sat. “If Wilson Security can’t protect its own conference room, why should I trust it with my company?”

“Because I found the breach before you did,” Annie said. “And because I’m willing to put the contract on the line to correct it.”

Rafe watched her, expression unreadable.

Victor looked between them. “Ninety days. Full authority over the transition. But Ms. Wilson stays personally responsible.”

Annie held out her hand. “Agreed.”

Victor shook it.

The contract was hers.

The cost arrived immediately.

Rafe placed a second document beside the first. “Joint authorization.”

She glanced down. His name was already printed beside hers.

“No.”

“You need an internal partner to access the audit trail.”

“I need someone I can trust.”

“Then you’re going to have a difficult career here.”

She looked at him. “You altered the proposal before it reached Victor.”

“I corrected a liability clause.”

“You removed my authority.”

“I prevented you from accepting responsibility for a breach you didn’t cause.”

His voice had lost its usual edge. Beneath it lay something rougher, almost private.

Annie lowered her voice. “Why?”

Rafe leaned toward her. The warmth of him reached her before his words did.

“Because you walk into dangerous rooms as if being afraid would insult you.”

The confession struck deeper than an insult.

His gaze stayed on hers. “And because I know what it costs when someone decides your confidence is permission to use you.”

For the first time, she saw the fracture beneath his control.

Not weakness. A wound with the door locked around it.

Annie’s fingers tightened around the pen. “You don’t get to protect me and call it strategy.”

“I’m not protecting you.”

“No?”

“I’m trying to keep you alive long enough to hate me properly.”

The room seemed to tilt.

She should have stepped away. Instead, she remained close enough to feel his breath skim her cheek. His hand lifted, stopping inches from her face.

“Tell me to move,” he said.

The choice settled between them, clear and dangerous.

Annie looked at his mouth. “Move.”

He did.

Immediately.

That restraint unsettled her more than any stolen touch could have.

She signed the joint authorization.

Rafe signed beneath her name.

As they left the suite, Annie reclaimed her phone from the lobby desk. The guard scanned her claim tag twice before returning it.

Outside, rain silvered the pavement. Annie stepped beneath the awning and checked her phone.

One new message waited.

No number. No text.

Only a photograph.

It showed her sitting in the conference room, captured from above, her hand resting beside Rafe’s on the contract.

The timestamp was three minutes before she entered the building.

Annie looked up at the black windows of Wilson Security headquarters.

Rafe came to stand beside her. “What is it?”

She turned the screen toward him.

His face went still.

“Someone knew you were coming,” he said.

“No.” Annie locked the phone. “Someone knew what we were going to sign.”

Behind them, somewhere inside the headquarters, a camera clicked.

Rafe’s hand hovered near hers without touching.

This time, Annie did not tell him to move.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 10,327 words in the full book.