Jamison stepped out of the shower, feeling fresh and looking every bit the handsome, irresistible man he was.

He pushed open the study door and spotted his wife, headphones on, deep in conversation. Her voice rolled out a stream of technical jargon, her expression focused and passionate – utterly captivating. Jamison leaned against the doorframe, content just to watch her.

After all that had happened during the day, and their little spat that evening, any other woman would probably still be fuming, unable to focus on anything else. But not her.

She could flip the switch, dive straight back into work as if nothing had happened, completely unfazed.

Jamison marveled at her. What an extraordinary woman.

And it was precisely this uniqueness that drew him in, making him fall even harder.

Ivy was still chatting with some industry bigwigs when she caught sight of the tall figure loitering in the doorway. She glanced up, meeting his gaze: “Do you need something?” her eyes seemed to ask.

Jamison just gave a lazy, crooked smile and didn’t answer, but the look he gave her was wickedly suggestive.

Ivy pursed her lips and looked away, unfazed.

The meeting was wrapping up anyway. She said goodbye to the two senior managers on the other end of the call, ended the meeting, and took off her headphones.

Only then did Jamison saunter over, crossing the room at his own unhurried pace.

“So, all your new bosses are men?” he asked.

Ivy looked up at him. “What, are you jealous again?”

“Are any of them married?”

She rolled her eyes. “I have no idea. I don’t gossip about people’s private lives.”

He came closer, leaning casually against her desk, towering over her as they faced each other.

“You’re beautiful and brilliant. Do you know what happens when you throw a woman like you into a pack of men?”

Ivy grinned. “Like a snow-white rabbit tossed into a den of wolves?”

Jamison chuckled, his laughter low and deep. “Exactly. You get it.”

She did get it – not his joke, but what was on her husband’s mind.

After the teasing, Jamison reached out a hand to her. “It’s getting late. Come to bed.”

Ivy, remembering she hadn’t showered yet, ignored his hand and got up, meaning to slip past him.

But he caught her, pulling her back into his arms.

“What’s this? Not even going to look at your husband now?”

“That’s not it. I just haven’t showered yet. Let go.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied, not missing a beat.

Before she could protest, he scooped her up with ease, cradling her in his arms.

Ivy was used to his sudden shows of affection; even as she pretended to protest, her arms instinctively circled his neck.

Jamison grinned, full of adoration, and kissed her softly.

Just as he was about to carry her out, Ivy suddenly called out, “Wait – my phone!”

With one arm still holding her, Jamison effortlessly reached back and grabbed her phone off the desk.

Ivy lifted an eyebrow, genuinely impressed.

He could actually carry her like this with one hand.

Night fell, deep and velvety, with passion simmering between them.

People say a little argument can spice up a relationship, and after their earlier quarrel – which hardly even counted as a fight – they found themselves more drawn to each other, more lost in the moment.

But maybe it was the lingering shadows in her heart; even though Ivy had grown comfortable with intimacy, she still preferred to be in control, to take the lead.

Jamison let her pin him to the mattress, his hands coming up to caress her face, utterly mesmerized.

Afterwards, he rolled over, taking charge, pinning her beneath him. As he leaned in, he whispered against her ear, voice thick with desire, “My turn to take control…”

Ivy frowned, cheeks flushed, swatting at him in playful protest. “Aren’t you tired yet?”

He caught her wrists, pinning them high above her head, and pressed a kiss to her neck. “Didn’t you promise three years? Guess your husband has to work a little harder…”