Delusional thoughts

"You're so beautiful, my beloved siren." Zane's voice is a low, soft murmur against my skin, each word a spark that sets my pulse racing. His lips press warm against my neck, trailing down slowly as if he has all the time in the world to unravel me, piece by piece. I lean into him, desperate, the electric pull of his touch lighting up every nerve. His shirt slips off, revealing the sculpted lines of his chest, his muscles catching the soft glow of light that bathes us. His green eyes burn with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

He moves lower, tracing gentle kisses from my neck, down my chest, along my stomach, until his mouth lingers close to my thighs, and a surge of need sweeps over me.

"So eager, aren't you, siren?" Zane's voice drips with amusement, his hand hovering, teasing.

"Please," I hear myself whisper, shameless and unguarded, and he chuckles, leaning closer until his hand finally—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The shrill, unrelenting sound of my alarm rips through the haze of my dream, and I jerk awake, staring up at my ceiling in pure frustration. My heartbeat races as the dream fades, leaving a lingering ache I can't shake. Groaning, I glare over at the alarm clock, half-tempted to throw it across the room. The insistent beeping doesn't let up, so I finally drag myself forward and switch it off, silence filling the room.

This is the second time this week I've had a dream like that. About him.

I press my palms to my cheeks, feeling the warmth rising there as I try to steady myself. It doesn't make any sense. Zane is a friend—a good friend, a great friend, maybe the best I've ever had. I mean sure he's kind, attentive, sharp, considerate, smart, hardworking funny, tall, and strong, with that perfectly chiseled jaw and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles… And those green eyes. They're a shade you could drown in if you weren't careful. He's thoughtful, protective, with that cocky charm and those maddening, soft pink lips—

I groan, flopping back against my pillow. Alright, so maybe I have a problem. A very real, very inconvenient problem. Sure, he's all those things, but he's still just a friend. A friend I don't want to see with anyone else. A friend I want to keep close, monopolize. Apparently, he's also a friend I want… in other ways.

This isn't good. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the memory of that dream, of his hands, his voice. He's been nothing but patient and respectful, treating me like I'm something precious, something worth caring for deeply. And the truth is, he deserves better than to be some foolish obsession in my head. But damn, if my heart could keep pace with that logic, life would be easier.

Taking a steadying breath, I throw off the blankets and get out of bed, determined to shove these ridiculous thoughts aside and focus on my day. After a quick shower, I pull on a simple blouse and jeans, hoping the cold water will chase the last remnants of that dream away. The mirror stares back at me, my reflection showing flushed cheeks and wide eyes, but I quickly look away.

*

Two hours in, and the meeting with Gemma and the contractors feels like a never-ending labyrinth of details. We're knee-deep in discussions about material choices, logistics, and timelines when she finally pulls up the results from the IGL. It's the hard truth: the renovation and construction for Pulsar's resort will take a solid six months. And that's with every piece of the best tech we could get our hands on, pushing the timeline to its absolute limit.

We dive back in, hashing out specifics for another three hours straight, going over costs, supply chains, permits—each decision adding a new layer to the project. By the end, my body feels like it's aged a decade. My bones practically squeak as I stand, shoulders stiff from hours hunched over blueprints and numbers.

But as I shake off the meeting fatigue, a single question settles at the forefront of my mind: What am I going to do with myself for the next six months while this project's underway?

Sure, I'll need to check in from time to time, oversee progress, troubleshoot—but for the most part, the heavy lifting is out of my hands now.