Slow Burn

The tiny rectangle of space was suddenly heavy with what was not being said as he moved with a smooth, easy gait into the room. He had changed clothes for the festival and was elegantly casual in a charcoal gray suit with a plum shirt. Micky thought he was too handsome to be real, and he seemed to be watching for her every physiological response as he stopped and stood looking down at her. She imagined he could even see what was going on inside her. "You didn't think you could...
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The tiny rectangle of space was suddenly heavy with what was not being said as he moved with a smooth, easy gait into the room. He had changed clothes for the festival and was elegantly casual in a charcoal gray suit with a plum shirt. Micky thought he was too handsome to be real, and he seemed to be watching for her every physiological response as he stopped and stood looking down at her. She imagined he could even see what was going on inside her.
"You didn't think you could get away from me so easily, did you?"
His voice was deep and dangerously calm in the mostly empty space. Her silence was all the answer he needed. He took her gently by her trembling shoulders and pulled her up into him. She didn't have the strength to fight him.
"I, I wasn't trying," her lie petered off, and she gave a burdened sigh.
"I didn't become what I am by walking away from what I want, Micky."
She lowered her head, avoiding the burn of his gaze.
"You scare me," she finally confessed, shocking even herself.
He lifted her chin, softly, and attentively smoothed the stray wisps of voluminous hair from her face.
"And you consume me," he whispered, caressing her cheekbone with his knuckles. "I've never been consumed by anyone."
She melted as her body responded to his touch. Again, she castigated herself for knowing the unpredictability and volatility of chemistry and becoming careless in its presence, nevertheless. Now, she was consumed too.
"I want you, Micky," he said simply.
"Mal," she shook her head. "There is too much at stake. I can't think. I can't, I can't breathe when you're around."
She felt frantic and confused and keen. The keen part is what made her so afraid. She wanted him with a desire that was so new to her. She had never before experienced such depth of longing. She'd had lovers. She knew what it was to ache for someone's touch. But not like this. Never like this.
"Say it," he commanded, taking her hand into his as if she had not just expressed any reservations.
Micky pulled away, shaking her head.
"No. I, I can't."
She had made so many sacrifices, taken so many hits, bore so many bruises for the sake of her own autonomy. She'd always prided herself that no one, not even Ibrahim, Segunda, or Isabella, had ever been allowed to dictate to her how to make her vision something real, how to live her life, how to walk out her own narrative. Temperance had always been one of her greatest virtues, the ability to say no to even some of the things she wanted most. She believed such discipline was the reason she'd made Isi such a successful brand, and she believed it was the reason she'd recover the Botea trademark and resurrect its greatness, as well. Temperance; patient self-denial.
"You can't?" Malcolm was pressing into her so that she felt compelled to walk slowly backward. "Or you won't?"
She stopped when her back hit the far wall, and there was nowhere else to go.

WHEN THE FIRE THAT STARTED IN THE COURTROOM, REACHES THE BEDROOM.

Glissant Spirits is the number one rum distiller in the world. Until an upstart named Michael Winter enters the spirits arena. Now, the fight is on for a legendary trademark. And may the best man win. Except, Malcolm Glissant discovers, Michael Winter isn't a man. She's a woman. All woman. And the rules of combat have suddenly become what neither of them expected!