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"Because some things are worth the risk." I paused, needing her to understand what I was about to confess. "Harlow, I need to tell you something. Something I should have said years ago."

Her eyes searched mine, wariness and curiosity mingling in their hazel depths.

"Three years ago, you were right." The admission felt like releasing a weight I'd carried since she'd shut down my first casino.

"I was cutting corners. Taking risks I shouldn't have taken.

I was so focused on success, on proving myself, that I didn't see—or didn't want to see—the dangers I was creating. "

Surprise flickered across her features, followed by something softer. "Easton..."

"I blamed you for years," I continued, needing to complete the confession. "Told myself you were just making an example of me, climbing the career ladder on my back. It was easier than admitting I'd failed."

She reached up, her hand covering mine where it rested against her cheek. "I never wanted to hurt you. I was doing my job, but..." She hesitated, then added with unexpected honesty, "I questioned that decision for months afterward. Wondered if I'd been too harsh, too rigid."

The admission stunned me. Harlow Clarke, the paragon of regulatory certainty, had doubted herself? Because of me?

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked.

"What would have been the point? The decision was made, the consequences in motion." Her smile held a trace of regret. "Besides, would you have believed anything from the woman who shut down your casino?"

"Probably not," I admitted. "I was too angry, too humiliated."

"And now?" The question hung between us, carrying implications beyond our professional relationship.

"Now..." I met her eyes, finding myself drawn into their depths. "Now I'm grateful you held me accountable. Without that wake-up call, I might never have built the Jade Petal the right way. Might never have learned what really matters."

"And what's that?" Her voice had softened, the professional edge completely absent.

"Integrity. Doing things right, even when it's harder." My thumb traced her lower lip, feeling her shiver in response. "Building something that matters, something real—"

She closed the remaining distance between us, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that ignited everything that had been building between us since that first night. Her arms wound around my neck as I pulled her against me, years of antagonism transforming into a different kind of heat entirely.

The kiss deepened, her lips parting beneath mine as her fingers threaded through my hair.

I lifted her onto the desk, stepping between her knees as her legs wrapped around my waist. The taste of her—warm and sweet with a hint of the spicy food we'd shared—intoxicated me more thoroughly than any alcohol.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she murmured against my lips, even as her hands worked at the buttons of my shirt.

"Do you want to stop?" I asked, pulling back enough to see her face.

Her eyes had darkened with desire, her professional composure completely undone. "God, no."

I kissed her again, my hands sliding beneath her silk blouse to find warm skin. "I've wanted you since you walked back into my life," I confessed between kisses. "Even when I told myself I hated you."

"I know the feeling." Her clever fingers had finished with my buttons, pushing the shirt from my shoulders. "I kept telling myself it was just physical attraction. Something I could control."

"And now?" I traced kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips.

"Now I'm not sure I want to control it anymore."

Her admission broke the last of my restraint. I swept the financial reports aside, laying her back across my desk as I reclaimed her mouth. Her legs tightened around me, pulling me closer as her hands explored my chest and shoulders with undisguised appreciation.

I tugged her blouse free from her skirt, my fingers finding the buttons with clumsy urgency.

She arched up to help me remove it, revealing a lace bra in a shade of deep burgundy that made her skin glow in the low light.

I traced the curves of her breasts with reverent fingers, watching her eyes flutter closed as my thumbs brushed over the hardened peaks visible through the delicate fabric.

"You're beautiful," I murmured, bending to press my lips to the sensitive skin above the lace.

Her fingers threaded through my hair, holding me to her. "Less talking," she commanded, her voice husky with need.

I unhooked her bra with practiced ease, drawing it away to reveal perfect breasts tipped with dusky pink nipples already tightened with arousal.

When I took one into my mouth, she gasped, her back arching off the desk.

I savored her response, using my tongue and teeth to tease her until she was writhing beneath me.

Her hands weren't idle, finding my belt and working it open with determined focus. "Too many clothes," she muttered, tugging at my waistband.

I straightened just enough to help her, kicking off my shoes as she pushed my pants and boxers down my legs. Her eyes widened appreciatively as she took in my fully aroused state, her teeth catching her lower lip in a gesture so unconsciously seductive I nearly lost what remained of my control.

"Now yours," I insisted, reaching for the zipper of her skirt.

She lifted her hips, allowing me to slide the garment down her legs along with her silky underwear. The sight of Harlow Clarke—composed, professional Investigator Clarke—naked and wanting on my desk was more erotic than any fantasy I'd ever harbored.

I bent to kiss her again, our naked bodies pressing together in a contact that sent electricity through every nerve ending. Her legs wrapped around my waist, bringing me against her core where I could feel her wet heat against my hardness. The sensation nearly undid me.

"I want to taste you," I whispered against her ear, delighting in the shiver that ran through her body at my words.

I trailed kisses down her throat, between her breasts, across her stomach, until I knelt before her.

She propped herself up on her elbows, watching with dark, hungry eyes as I pressed her thighs wider apart.

The first touch of my tongue against her center made her cry out, her head falling back as pleasure overtook her.

I savored her thoroughly, alternating between gentle exploration and focused attention on the bundle of nerves that made her thighs tremble.

When I slid first one finger, then two inside her, curving upward to find the spot that made her gasp my name, I knew I'd found a rhythm that was driving her toward the edge.

"Easton," she panted, her internal muscles clenching around my fingers. "I'm going to—"

I intensified my efforts, wanting to witness her surrender. When her release came, it was with my name on her lips, her body arching in a perfect curve of pleasure.

Before she'd fully recovered, I stood and positioned myself at her entrance. Her eyes opened, meeting mine with startling intimacy as she reached up to cup my face.

"I want you," she whispered, no trace of her professional persona remaining. "Now."

I pushed forward slowly, watching her expression as I entered her inch by inch. The tight heat of her body gripping me was nearly overwhelming, and I had to pause once fully seated, my forehead pressed against hers as I fought for control.

"This changes everything," she whispered, vulnerability and desire mingling in her gaze.

"Good," I replied, brushing my lips against hers. "I want it to change everything."

I began to move with deliberate strokes, watching her response to find the angle and rhythm that made her breath catch. When I found it, her nails dug into my shoulders, her hips rising to meet each thrust.

"Harder," she demanded, surprising me with her boldness.

I complied, driving into her with increasing force as the polished wood of my desk creaked beneath us. Her second climax built visibly—in the flush spreading across her chest, the tension in her thighs, the gasping breaths she couldn't control.

"Look at me," I commanded as I felt her approaching the edge again. "I want to see you."

Her eyes locked with mine as she shattered, her inner muscles pulsing around me in waves that threatened to pull me over with her. I held off through sheer determination, wanting to prolong her pleasure.

When her tremors subsided, I withdrew despite her murmur of protest. "Turn over," I whispered, helping her to stand on shaky legs.

She complied, bending over the desk with her palms flat against the wood, looking back at me with an expression of such raw desire that my cock twitched in anticipation.

I positioned myself behind her, running my hands over the perfect curve of her ass before gripping her hips and entering her again in one long stroke.

This new angle allowed me to go deeper, and her moan of pleasure confirmed the intensity of the sensation. I established a steady rhythm, one hand sliding around to find the sensitive bud between her legs. Her response was immediate, pushing back against me to take me deeper.

"You feel incredible," I growled, watching the point where our bodies joined. The sight of myself disappearing into her was almost too much to bear.

"Don't stop," she gasped as my fingers worked in time with my thrusts. "Oh god, Easton, I'm going to come again."

Her words pushed me closer to my own release, but I was determined to feel her come around me once more before I surrendered.

When she cried out, her body clenching around me in rhythmic pulses, I finally let go.

My climax hit with stunning force, pleasure radiating through every cell as I emptied myself inside her with a hoarse shout of her name.

For several moments, we remained joined, both of us breathing hard as aftershocks of pleasure rippled through our connected bodies.

Eventually, I withdrew gently, turning her to face me.

The vulnerability in her expression—a Harlow I'd never seen before—made my chest tighten with emotions I wasn't ready to name.

I pulled her against me, her head resting on my chest as our heartbeats gradually slowed. There was something unexpectedly tender about holding her this way, more intimate somehow than the passion we'd just shared.

Eventually, awareness returned. We were in my office, surrounded by scattered financial reports and discarded clothing, having just crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

Yet instead of regret, I felt a strange sense of rightness, as if we'd been moving toward this moment since our paths first crossed.

Harlow stirred in my arms, her expression unreadable as she straightened. I braced for professional panic, for the inevitable retreat behind regulations and propriety.

Instead, she smiled—a genuine smile that transformed her face and sent my heart racing all over again. "Well," she said, her voice husky from our activities, "I guess we finally found a way to work together effectively."

The unexpected humor broke any potential tension. I laughed, pulling her against me for another kiss. "Extremely effectively, I'd say."

She traced patterns on my chest, her professional focus temporarily abandoned. "I should feel guilty about this."

"But you don't?" I asked, searching her face.

"Strangely, no." She looked almost surprised by her own admission. "It feels like crossing a line I didn't even realize I'd been approaching for days."

I brushed back her tousled hair, marveling at how different she looked with her careful composure undone. "So where does this leave us? Still just an accidental marriage we're planning to dissolve at the first opportunity?"

Something flickered in her eyes—uncertainty, possibility, perhaps both. "I don't know. This complicates things even further."

"Life is complicated," I pointed out, dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder. "Especially in Vegas."

She laughed softly. "That's one way of looking at it."

We dressed in comfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances or casual touches that spoke of newfound intimacy.

I watched her transform back into Investigator Clarke—smoothing her hair, straightening her blouse, becoming once again the composed professional I'd first encountered.

Yet now I knew what lay beneath that careful exterior, and the knowledge felt like a precious secret.

"We should get back to the investigation," she said finally, though her eyes lingered on me with unmistakable warmth. "The saboteur isn't going to identify themselves while we're... distracted."

"Excellently distracted," I corrected, earning another of those rare genuine smiles.

As we returned to the scattered financial records, reorganizing them on my desk where moments before we'd been lost in each other, I found myself wondering if our accidental marriage might have been the best mistake of my life.

Whatever came next—the saboteur's identity, the commission hearing, the Jade Petal's future—at least we'd face it together. And "together" with Harlow Clarke was rapidly becoming my preferred way to face anything.