Dangerously Yours.

Arianna Blake did not come to places like this to be noticed, she came to disappear from reality.

The lounge glittered with low gold lighting, crystal glasses, and conversations softened by money. A pianist played something slow and seductive near the balcony, the melody curling through the air like perfume.

Everyone here looked polished, important, and untouchable. Arianna felt perfectly at home among them.

Her week had been brutal, clients who thought her age meant incompetence, contractors who smiled while doubting her authority, emails stacked like threats in her inbox. Tonight was supposed to be her rebellion, one drink, one hour and no expectations. She wore confidence the way other women wore diamonds.

The red of her dress skimmed her curves without apology, ending just above her knees. Her hair fell in dark waves over her shoulders, lipstick precise and chin high.

She slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar and ordered champagne, ignoring the curious glances drifting her way. She was used to those. They came with being a woman who refused to shrink. The bartender handed her the glass.

"To survive," she murmured, lifting it.

"And how exactly did you survive?" The voice came from her left, low, rich, threaded with amusement.

Arianna turned slowly, prepared to dismiss whoever thought they were brave enough to intrude.

Then she saw him, tall, with broad shoulders outlined by a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent. Dark hair pushed back carelessly, as though perfection bored him. His jaw sharp enough to cut glass, his mouth curved in a knowing half-smile.

But it was his eyes that made her pulse hesitate. They didn't wander. They held.

Locked on her like he had already decided she was the most interesting thing in the room.

She'd dealt with charming men before. They usually folded the moment she sharpened her tongue.

"Work," she answered coolly, turning back to her drink. "I survived work."

Then, closer, warmer, "You don't look like someone who merely survives things."

Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass. He had moved without her noticing.

Now he stood near enough that she could feel the heat of him, the subtle gravity pulling at her awareness. He didn't touch her.

"Careful," she said lightly. "Lines like that usually come with expiration dates."

He laughed softly. "I don't use lines."

"Then what do you use?"

"Observation."

She faced him fully now, refusing to tilt her head up too far. She would not let him tower over her psychologically, even if he did physically.

"And what have you observed?" She challenged him.

"That you walked in here like a woman who owns storms," he replied, gaze deliberate. "But you sat down like someone who wanted five minutes of peace from them."

Her throat went dry. It was dangerously accurate.

"Is that supposed to impress me?" she asked.

"No," he said. "It's supposed to make you curious why I noticed."

Arianna swallowed a sip of