Clause One: No emotions.
That was the first line of the contract. Stupid. Naïve. Dangerous. It lingered in his mind as Regina's breath warmed his neck, her thigh curling higher over his hips.
They were in bed again.
Not a surprise.
Not after the last day's intense pleasure that left them both breathless, speechless, and clinging to each other like enemies during a ceasefire. They were still Daniel and Regina Smith—married by arrangement, not affection.
But her mouth was at his collarbone now, tracing lazy shapes that contradicted everything they had written.
"You're violating Clause One," he muttered, his voice rough, half-gone.
Regina didn't even blink. "Feelings are only triggered if you make eye contact for longer than five seconds."
He met her eyes. Held. Counted.
"One," she whispered.
He kissed her.
Clause One didn't stand a chance.
It started out as a joke. Sort of. A necessity disguised in sarcasm.
