Burning Point

Part 1: The Spark

Nico

The conference room smells like ambition and overpriced coffee. Glass walls, polished table, downtown skyline slicing through the windows. I lean back in my chair, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and let my grin do the talking. The client’s team is eating it up—nods, smiles, the usual. I’m pitching a campaign that’ll make their brand the talk of the city, and I’m damn good at this. Marketing’s my game, and I play to win.

Then she walks in.

Riley Vaughn. Architect, rising star, and apparently the only person in this room immune to my charm. She’s late—bold move—and doesn’t apologize. Just slides into a chair, her dark hair pulled into a sleek knot, her navy blazer sharp enough to cut glass. Those eyes, though. Hazel, piercing, like she’s already sized me up and found me wanting. I flash her my best smile. She doesn’t blink.

“Nico West,” I say, extending a hand across the table. “Marketing consultant. Pleasure.”

She shakes it, her grip firm, her expression cool. “Riley Vaughn. Architect. Let’s make this quick.”

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

The meeting kicks off, and I’m in my element—tossing out ideas, cracking just enough jokes to keep it light. Riley, though? She’s all business, firing off questions like bullets. What’s the ROI projection? How does this align with the building’s aesthetic? She’s sharp, I’ll give her that. But every time I try to lighten the mood, she shuts it down with a look that says, I’m not here for your nonsense.

“Think of the campaign as a story,” I say, leaning forward. “Your building’s the hero. We make people fall in love with it.”

She arches a brow. “People don’t fall in love with buildings, Mr. West. They live in them. Work in them. Let’s focus on function.”

“Call me Nico,” I say, winking. “And trust me, Riley, people fall for all sorts of things when you tell the right story.”

Her lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s a challenge. “Stick to the brief, Nico. I’m not here for fairy tales.”

The room laughs. I don’t. Not because I’m offended, but because I’m hooked. Riley Vaughn’s got fire, and I want to see how hot it burns.

^^^

Riley

This guy’s trouble. I knew it the second he smirked at me, all dimples and swagger, like he’s God’s gift to conference rooms. Nico West. Marketing hotshot with a suit that probably costs more than my car. He’s got the whole package—broad shoulders, dark hair just messy enough to look intentional, and eyes that linger a beat too long. Too bad I’m not in the market for charm.

I’m here to make sure this project—my first big design for a downtown high-rise—doesn’t get derailed by some slick-talking consultant. The client’s paying me to deliver a building that works, not a fantasy spun by a guy who thinks a wink closes deals. So when Nico starts tossing around buzzwords like story and vibe, I shut it down. Hard.

He doesn’t flinch, though. Just keeps grinning, like my pushback’s a game he’s thrilled to play. Every time I challenge his ideas, he counters with something clever, his voice low and teasing, like we’re the only two people in the room. It’s infuriating. And, fine, a little distracting. Those forearms, rolled-up sleeves showing off tanned skin and a watch that screams money—it’s a lot. But I’ve got focus for days, and I’m not letting him throw me off.

By the time the meeting wraps, I’m ready to bolt. I need air, distance, anything to shake the buzz in my veins. Nico’s still talking to the client, all easy laughs and charisma, but I catch him glancing my way. I ignore it, grab my bag, and head for the elevator.

Of course, he catches up.

“Nice work in there,” he says, falling into step beside me. “You’re tough. I like it.”

“I’m not here to be liked,” I say, jabbing the elevator button. “I’m here to do my job.”

He chuckles, leaning against the wall, too close for comfort. “You can do both, you know. Multitasking’s a thing.”

I roll my eyes, but the elevator doors open, and we step inside. Alone. The space feels smaller with him in it, his cologne—something warm and spicy—filling the air. I stare at the floor numbers, willing them to move faster.

“So,” he says, voice softer now, “what’s it gonna take to get a smile out of you, Riley Vaughn?”

I turn, ready to snap something sharp, but he’s closer than I expected. Not crowding me, just… there. All heat and confidence, his eyes locked on mine like he’s daring me to answer. My pulse kicks up, and I hate it. Hate how my body’s reacting, how part of me wants to lean into this instead of away.

“You’d have to earn it,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “And you’re nowhere close.”

He grins, slow and dangerous. “Challenge accepted.”

The elevator dings, doors sliding open, but neither of us moves for a second. His gaze drops to my lips, just for a heartbeat, and my breath catches. Then I step out, heart pounding, refusing to look back.

This isn’t a spark. It’s a warning.

Part 2: The Game Begins

Riley

I should’ve said no to this dinner. Client meetings over steak and wine are Nico’s territory, not mine. But the project lead insisted, and here I am, in a dimly lit restaurant with chandeliers that scream money and a table set for power plays. My black dress hugs my curves just right—not that I’m trying to impress anyone. Especially not him.

Nico’s already here, of course, holding court with the client like he was born with a martini in hand. He’s swapped the suit for a crisp white shirt, top button undone, sleeves rolled up again. It’s a calculated move, that casual charm, and I’m not falling for it. When he sees me, his eyes light up like I’m the main course.

“Riley,” he says, standing to pull out my chair. “You clean up nice.”

I slide into the seat, ignoring the warmth of his hand brushing my back. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, keeping it light. Two can play this game.

The client—a silver-haired exec named Margaret—beams at us. “I love the energy you two bring. Creative tension, that’s what makes a project sing.”

Nico winks at me. “Oh, we’ve got tension in spades.”

I shoot him a look that says behave, but he just grins, sipping his drink. The conversation flows—budgets, timelines, design specs—but Nico keeps steering it to me. Riley’s vision for the atrium is bold. Riley’s got the practical side locked down. It’s strategic flattery, and I’m torn between calling him out and letting it ride. He’s good, I’ll give him that.

Dinner arrives, and the table talk loosens. Margaret’s laughing at Nico’s stories, and I’m trying not to notice how his knee brushes mine under the table. Not accidental, not with that glint in his eye. I shift away, but my skin’s buzzing, traitor that it is.

“So, Riley,” Nico says, leaning closer as Margaret chats with someone else, “you ever let your hair down? Or is it all blueprints and deadlines?”

I twirl my wineglass, meeting his gaze. “I have fun when it’s worth it. You haven’t earned that yet.”

His laugh is low, warm. “Yet. I like that. Gives me something to aim for.”

“Keep dreaming,” I say, but my voice betrays a hint of a smile. Damn it.

The night wears on, and the line between professional and personal blurs. Nico’s questions get bolder, his comments laced with just enough edge to keep me on my toes. I fire back, matching his wit, and the air between us crackles. Margaret excuses herself early, leaving us alone with a half-empty bottle of red and a dangerous vibe.

“You’re relentless,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Does that charm ever turn off?”

He tilts his head, studying me. “Only when I’m asleep. And even then, I’m probably dreaming about you.”

I snort, but my cheeks heat. “That’s a line, Nico. A bad one.”

“Maybe.” He leans in, voice dropping. “But you’re still here, Riley. Why’s that?”

My breath catches. He’s too close again, his eyes searching mine like he’s peeling back layers I’ve worked hard to keep in place. I could shut this down, walk away, keep it professional. But there’s a part of me—a reckless, stupid part—that wants to see how far this goes.

“You think you’re tempting me?” I say, holding his gaze. “You’re not that irresistible.”

“Liar,” he murmurs, his smile pure trouble. “Admit it. You’re curious.”

My heart’s pounding, and I hate how right he is. I’m curious—about the heat in his voice, the way his touch would feel if I let it happen. But I’m not some starry-eyed intern. I stand, tossing my napkin on the table.

“Goodnight, Nico,” I say, my voice steady despite the fire in my veins. “Try not to trip over your ego on the way out.”

He watches me go, that damn grin still in place, and I feel his eyes on me all the way to the door. I’m halfway to my car when I realize I’m smiling. This isn’t just a game anymore. It’s a gauntlet.

^^^

Nico

She’s killing me. Riley Vaughn, with her sharp tongue and those eyes that cut right through my bullshit, is the best kind of challenge. I’ve never worked this hard to get a reaction, and damn if it isn’t thrilling. That dinner was a chess match—every move calculated, every word a jab or a feint. And that moment, right at the end, when she looked at me like she might actually give in? Pure adrenaline.

I’m still buzzing as I pay the bill and head out. The city’s alive, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement, but all I can think about is her. The way her dress clung to her, the way she matched me quip for quip. She’s not just playing hard to get—she’s hard to earn. And I want to earn her, more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.

I catch a glimpse of her across the street, unlocking her car. For a second, I think about calling out, pushing the moment further. But she’s already slipping inside, and I know better than to chase too hard. Not yet. Riley’s like a wildfire—you don’t control it. You just get close and hope you don’t burn.

I shove my hands in my pockets and start walking. She’s tempted. I saw it in her eyes, that flicker of want before she shut it down. The question is, how long can she keep walking away? And how long can I keep pretending this is just a game?

Because it’s not. Not anymore.

Part 3: Pressure Point

Nico

The office is a ghost town tonight, all glass and shadows under the hum of fluorescent lights. I’m at my temporary desk, tweaking campaign visuals, when the power cuts out. One second, I’m squinting at a logo; the next, it’s pitch black, the kind of dark that makes your pulse jump. Then the emergency lights flicker on, casting everything in a dim, eerie glow. Great. Just what I needed.

I grab my phone and head for the conference room, where Riley’s been holed up with her blueprints. She’s still there, of course—because Riley Vaughn doesn’t quit, even when the universe throws a wrench. She’s standing by the window, silhouette sharp against the city lights, her arms crossed like she’s personally offended by the outage.

“Power’s out,” I say, stating the obvious as I lean against the doorframe. “You okay?”

She turns, her face half-lit, and I catch a flicker of something—annoyance, maybe, but softer. “Fine. Just hoping my laptop didn’t fry. You?”

“Same.” I step inside, the air between us already charged. “Guess we’re stuck till the lights come back.”

She snorts, brushing past me to grab her bag. “I’m not sticking around in the dark. I’ll finish this at home.”

But when we reach the elevators, they’re dead. No hum, no lights. I press the button anyway, because hope’s a stubborn thing. Nothing. Riley groans, muttering something about shoddy wiring, and I can’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she snaps, her eyes narrowing.

“You. You’re ready to fight the whole building right now.” I grin, nodding toward the stairwell. “Come on, let’s find another way out.”

We head back to the conference room, the only place with enough emergency light to see by. The silence is heavy, broken only by the creak of the floor and the distant hum of the city outside. Riley paces, her heels clicking, and I watch her, caught by the way she moves—graceful even when she’s pissed.

“This is your fault,” she says, half-teasing, pointing at me. “You probably jinxed it with all that charm.”

“Charm doesn’t break power grids,” I say, settling into a chair. “But I’ll take the blame if it gets you to sit down and relax.”

She glares but drops into the chair across from me, her guard still up. “Relax? I’ve got deadlines, Nico. Unlike some people, I don’t coast on smiles.”

“Ouch.” I clutch my chest, mock-wounded. “You think I don’t work hard? I’m hurt, Riley. Deeply.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile. Progress. I lean forward, elbows on the table, and lower my voice. “Tell you what. We’re stuck here, so let’s make it interesting. Truth or dare.”

Her laugh is sharp, disbelieving. “What are we, twelve?”

“Scared you’ll lose?” I challenge, raising a brow.

She holds my gaze, and I see the spark ignite. “Fine. Truth.”

I smirk, leaning closer. “What’s the real reason you keep shutting me down? And don’t say it’s just my ego.”

Her breath catches, and for a second, I think she’ll dodge. But then she leans in, her voice low, steady. “Because you’re a distraction, Nico. And I can’t afford distractions.”

The honesty hits me harder than I expected. I nod, letting it sink in. “My turn. Truth.”

She hesitates, then asks, “Why do you keep pushing? You could have anyone. Why me?”

I could play it off, toss out a line. But the dark, the quiet—it’s stripping away the game. “Because you’re real,” I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. “You don’t fall for the act. You make me want to be… more.”

Her eyes widen, just a fraction, and the air shifts. It’s not just tension now—it’s something deeper, raw. We’re inches apart, the table no barrier at all. I can see the pulse at her throat, the way her lips part like she’s about to say something. Or do something.

Then she stands, abrupt, breaking the spell. “We should check the stairs again,” she says, her voice unsteady.

I follow her, my heart pounding. The stairwell’s still locked—some security protocol, probably—and when we turn back, we’re closer than we should be. Her back’s against the wall, and I’m right there, not touching but close enough to feel her heat. Her eyes meet mine, and for one endless moment, I think she’s going to close the gap. I lean in, just a fraction, my lips hovering near hers.

“Nico,” she whispers, and it’s not a warning. It’s a question.

The lights flicker back on, harsh and sudden, and she steps away, her breath shaky. We don’t say a word, but the air’s still humming. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

^^^

Riley

I can’t breathe right. Not with Nico standing there, looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. That moment in the stairwell—his eyes, his voice, the way he said I make him want to be more—it’s unraveling me. I’m supposed to be the one in control, the one who doesn’t let guys like him get under her skin. But he’s not just under my skin. He’s in my blood.

The power’s back, but I’m still shaking as we head to the conference room to grab our things. He’s quiet now, not pushing, and that’s worse. It gives me space to think, to feel the weight of what almost happened. I wanted to kiss him. I still do. And that scares the hell out of me.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft as he zips his laptop bag.

“Fine,” I lie, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Just… tired.”

He nods, but his eyes say he’s not buying it. We walk to the elevator in silence, and this time, it works. The ride down is torture—him leaning against the wall, me staring at the doors, the memory of his breath so close to mine burning through me. When we step out into the lobby, the cool night air hits like a slap, but it doesn’t clear my head.

“Goodnight, Riley,” he says, his voice low, like he’s leaving the door open.

“Goodnight,” I manage, walking away before I do something stupid. Like turn back. Like kiss him. Like admit I’m not just tempted—I’m falling.

Part 4: Fireworks

Riley

The rooftop is a dream under the stars, all twinkling lights and sleek furniture, the city sprawling below like a glittering promise. The client’s hosting a cocktail party to celebrate the project’s progress, and I’m here in a red dress that feels like a dare. It’s bold, backless, and I wore it for me. At least, that’s what I tell myself. But when Nico’s eyes find me across the crowd, I know I’m lying.

He’s in a tailored blazer, dark jeans, and that damn smile, the one that says he’s already won. He’s mingling, charming everyone, but his gaze keeps drifting to me. I sip my champagne, pretending I don’t notice, pretending my skin doesn’t hum every time he’s near. After last night’s near-kiss, I’m on edge, my walls crumbling faster than I can rebuild them.

The party’s in full swing—laughter, clinking glasses, jazz floating through the air—when he finally makes his move. I’m by the railing, staring at the skyline, when his voice slides over me like a touch.

“Red’s your color,” he says, stepping close, a glass of whiskey in hand. “Though I’m starting to think you look good in everything.”

I turn, raising a brow. “Flattery’s cheap, Nico. You’ll have to do better.”

He grins, undeterred, and leans against the railing beside me. “How about honesty? You’re killing me tonight, Riley. That dress, that attitude—I’m a goner.”

My pulse skips, but I keep my voice steady. “You’re not gone yet. Still standing, still talking.”

“Barely,” he says, his laugh low, warm. “Dance with me.”

There’s a small dance floor where a few couples sway to the music. I hesitate, knowing this is dangerous, knowing one touch could unravel me. But his eyes are soft, not just teasing, and I’m tired of fighting this pull.

“Fine,” I say, setting my glass down. “One dance. Don’t get cocky.”

He takes my hand, and it’s like a spark igniting. His touch is warm, sure, guiding me to the floor. One hand settles on my waist, the other holding mine, and we move, slow and easy, the world fading to just us. The music’s a soft pulse, but it’s his heartbeat I feel, steady under my palm.

“You’re not bad at this,” I say, trying to keep it light.

“High praise,” he murmurs, his lips close to my ear. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

We’re closer now, my body brushing his, and the air’s thick with what we’re not saying. His hand slides lower, resting at the small of my back, and I don’t pull away. I tilt my head, meeting his eyes, and there’s no game here—just want, raw and real.

“Riley,” he says, his voice rough, “I’m done pretending this is just banter.”

My breath catches. “What is it, then?”

He stops moving, his hand tightening on mine. “It’s you. It’s me. It’s this thing between us that’s been burning since day one.”

I should step back, say something sharp, keep my guard up. But I don’t. I lean in, just enough, and whisper, “Then what are you waiting for?”

His eyes darken, and then he’s kissing me. It’s slow at first, a question, his lips warm and deliberate. But when I kiss him back, it’s fire—deep, hungry, like we’ve been starving for this. My hands slide up his chest, his fingers tangle in my hair, and the world disappears. It’s just his mouth, his heat, the way he tastes like whiskey and want.

We break apart, breathless, foreheads touching. The party’s still humming, but it’s distant, irrelevant. His thumb brushes my cheek, and I shiver, every nerve alive.

“Riley,” he says, voice low, “tell me you feel this.”

“I feel it,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper. “But…”

“But what?” His eyes search mine, vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen.

I swallow, my heart pounding. “What happens now?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just looks at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking forever. Then he kisses me again, softer this time, and I’m lost in it, in him. But when we pull back, the question lingers, heavy in the air. I step away, breathless, needing space to think.

What happens now? I don’t know. And that scares me more than the fire still burning in my veins.

^^^

Nico

Kissing Riley is like touching a live wire—electric, dangerous, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. She’s standing there, lips swollen, eyes wide, and I want to pull her back, keep her close, never let this moment end. But she steps away, and I see it—the doubt creeping in, the walls she’s trying to rebuild.

I let her go, for now, because pushing her would be a mistake. Riley’s not someone you win with force; you win her with patience, with truth. And I’m all in, whether she knows it yet or not.

The party’s still going, but I’m barely here. My mind’s on her—her taste, her heat, the way she admitted she feels this. That’s enough for now. Enough to keep me burning.

I watch her across the rooftop, talking to Margaret, her smile polite but distracted. She glances my way, just once, and it’s like a jolt. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

But her question—what happens now?—is stuck in my head. I’ve never been this far gone for anyone, never wanted more than the chase. With Riley, it’s different. I want the messy parts, the real parts, the mornings after and the fights and the everything. And that’s terrifying.

I sip my drink, the ice clinking, and make a decision. Tomorrow, I’m laying it all on the line. No games, no charm. Just me, showing her I’m not just here for the fire. I’m here for the bond.

Because Riley Vaughn isn’t just a spark. She’s the whole damn blaze.

Part 5: The Burn or the Bond

Riley

The morning after the rooftop feels like a fever dream. My lips still tingle from Nico’s kiss, my head spinning with his words, his touch, the way he looked at me like I was everything. I’m in my office, staring at blueprints, but all I see is him. All I feel is the pull to run toward him—or away. I don’t know which scares me more.

Last night, I asked, What happens now? and I still don’t have an answer. I’ve worked too hard to let a man—no matter how electric—derail my focus. But Nico’s not just a man. He’s a force, and I’m caught in his orbit, questioning everything I thought I wanted. Alone. Independent. Safe. Those used to be enough. Now they feel like walls, not armor.

My phone buzzes. A text from Nico: Meet me at the site. 10 a.m. No games, I promise* My heart lurches. I should say no, keep my distance, protect myself. But my fingers type Okay before I can stop them.

The construction site is a skeleton of steel and glass, the future high-rise taking shape. I spot Nico by the atrium, no suit today—just jeans, a black sweater, and that quiet intensity that makes my breath catch. He’s not smirking, not playing. Just watching me, like he’s waiting for me to decide our fate.

“Hey,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “What’s this about?”

He steps closer, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on mine. “You asked what happens now. I’ve got an answer, but I need you to hear me out.”

I nod, bracing myself. “I’m listening.”

He takes a breath, and I see it—the vulnerability he’s been hiding under all that charm. “Riley, you’re not a fling. You’re not a game. You’re the realest thing I’ve ever felt, and it scares the hell out of me because I don’t do this. I don’t fall. But I’m falling for you, and I don’t want to stop.”

My chest tightens, his words hitting like a wave. “Nico, I… I don’t know if I can do this. My career, my life—it’s all I’ve got. I can’t risk it.”

“You’re not risking anything,” he says, stepping closer, his voice fierce. “I’m not asking you to give up who you are. I want you—the woman who calls me out, who fights for what she believes in, who makes me better just by being her. I’m in this, Riley. All the way.”

I want to believe him. God, I do. But doubt’s a stubborn thing, whispering that this heat will burn out, that I’ll end up hurt. “What if it doesn’t work?” I ask, my voice small. “What if we crash and burn?”

He smiles, soft, and reaches for my hand. His touch is warm, grounding. “Then we burn together. But I don’t think we will. I think we’re more than fire. I think we’re the kind of thing that lasts.”

I’m trembling, not from fear but from the truth in his eyes. He’s not promising perfection. He’s promising real. And for the first time, I let myself want it.

^^^

Nico

She’s standing there, her hand in mine, and I’m holding my breath, waiting for her to decide. I’ve never been this raw, this open, and it’s terrifying. But Riley’s worth it. She’s worth everything.

Her eyes search mine, and I see the battle—fear versus want, caution versus trust. I don’t push, don’t charm. I just wait, letting her see me, all of me, not just the guy with the quick lines and the easy grin.

Then she steps closer, so close I can feel her warmth. “You’re trouble, Nico West,” she says, her voice soft but sure. “But I think you’re my kind of trouble.”

My heart slams against my ribs, and I laugh, relief flooding me. “Does that mean you’re in?”

She nods, a smile breaking through, bright and real. “I’m in. But you better not make me regret it.”

“Never,” I say, and then I kiss her. It’s not like last night’s fire, all heat and hunger. This is deeper, slower, a promise sealed with every brush of her lips. Her hands slide up my back, mine cup her face, and the world falls away. It’s just us, here in the half-built bones of her dream, building something of our own.

When we pull back, her eyes are shining, and I know mine are too. “So,” she says, her voice teasing, “what’s next, hotshot?”

I grin, lacing my fingers with hers. “Next, we figure it out. Together. Dinner tonight, for starters. Somewhere quiet, just you and me.”

She laughs, and it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. “Deal. But I’m picking the place.”

“Bossy,” I say, winking. “I like it.”

We walk back to the site entrance, hand in hand, the city humming around us. The doubts aren’t gone—not hers, not mine. But they’re smaller now, drowned out by the certainty that this is right. Riley’s not just a spark or a flame. She’s the kind of fire that builds, not destroys. And I’m ready to burn with her, for as long as she’ll let me.

Because this? This is real. And it’s just the beginning.