Time seemed to hang on a thread as they simply stared at one another. Neither moving. Barely breathing.
Draco's gaze was dark, deep, almost fevered, and Hermione felt her heart thump hard in her chest. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something, and when she didn't - found she couldn't - he looked down, some unidentifiable emotion etched in his brow.
"Malfoy," she whispered, a question, a plea, but he didn't look at her. His head was bowed, so all she could see of his eyes were the long pale lashes, wasted on a man, resting against his cheek.
Her hand had moved, quite without her noticing, to join the other on his chest. The warmth of his body was distracting - he felt like a furnace beneath her fingers - and she found herself stroking him gently. His polo shirt was so soft, a delicious contradiction to the firmness of his muscles underneath, and she wondered absently what his skin would feel like, what it would be like to touch him everywhere...
She stilled, rigid with shock. What was wrong with her? She'd never felt like this before, and she didn't know why, of all time, of all places, of all people, she was feeling it now.
It was almost too bizarre to be true.
"I don't-" she whispered, floored. "I don't understand."
She hadn't meant to say it out loud, and she didn't really - her voice was barely a breath - but, close as he was, Malfoy heard. He jerked suddenly, dislodging her hands from his shirt front and taking a step backwards.
She blinked, arms dropping uselessly by her sides.
"Malfoy?"
His hand was in his hair again, pushing it back from his face as he stared down at her, incredulous. She blinked again.
"What?"
"Merlin, Granger," he said with no small amount of exasperation. "For someone so supposedly intelligent, you really are the most clueless woman I have ever met."
Supposedly! Clueless! Offended and a little hurt, she opened her mouth to argue. But then his gaze dropped to her parted lips, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.
There was something very wrong here. But she had no time to ponder, because he'd moved forward, closing the distance between them once more. Her first instinct was to back away, but she couldn't move; she was utterly paralysed, pinned by the heat in those liquid silver eyes.
"Do I really need to say it?" he asked in a low, tense voice. "Do I really need to spell it out?"
Did he? Her body seemed to know it, even if her mind hadn't quite caught up. She was trembling, skin tingling all over as his eyes, smouldering with frustration, urgently searched her face.
When she did nothing but stare at him, open mouthed, he let out a growl.
"I have wanted to snog you senseless for months, Granger," he said crossly. "Months! But I haven't. Because you work for me, and I didn't want to put you in a position that would make you feel uncomfortable."
He paused, exasperation subsiding into a wry, resigned sort of humour.
"And I promised myself I'd never tell you, but there it is."
Very slowly, he reached up to curl a finger in the rippling end of her hair.
"There it is," he repeated softly.
Hermione stared at him, speechless. The world seemed to have narrowed to them, to this moment, and she could hear nothing of the midnight street, see nothing of the city lights. Just him, and the sound of her blood pounding in her ears.
She wanted to kiss him too, she realised. Probably had for a long time; she was just too stubborn to admit it.
"You - you want to snog me?" she asked eventually.
His eyes raked heatedly over her body, lingering on the curve of her hip, the v of her neckline.
"And the rest."
She rolled her eyes a little at that, but she'd already shifted into him, moving until her breasts brushed the lapels of his jacket.
"You're shameless, you know that?" she said.
He gave her an obnoxious but somehow extremely sexy smirk.
"A lot of witches like..."
But he couldn't finish, because she'd caught hold of his jacket front and tugged his mouth roughly down to meet hers.
White-hot lightning exploded across her skin. There was no hesitation, no gentle tentativeness she usually expected from a first kiss; Malfoy took swift control, hands sliding heatedly across her hips to pull her body flush with his. His mouth was hot, insistent, but she held her own, matching him touch for touch, bite for bite, swipe for swipe.
She should have guessed it would feel so good. That they would be so good together. But she was still shocked at the force with which she wanted him. And it seemed he felt it too, because he lifted his mouth briefly from hers with a groan.
"Merlin, Granger," he murmured in throaty disbelief.
Even pressed up against him as she was, drowning in desire, she couldn't resist a quip.
"Hermione Granger," she corrected. He rewarded her with a chuckle that shuddered deliciously through her body, and a sharp nip to her lip.
"Hermione," he murmured, sending dark sparks of pleasure up her spine. "Cheeky cow."
She might have smacked him for that, but he chose that moment to kiss her again, deep and dizzying, and she surrendered willingly. He tasted faintly of whisky, and he smelt of leather and apples and dark, rich wood. It was oddly familiar, so quintessentially Draco, and she clung to him, filling her senses with his touch, his taste, his smell.
This is what she'd wanted, she realised giddily. When he was driving her crazy with his saucy jibes, his late night work calls, his utter inability to leave her alone and let her get on with her job, this was what she'd wanted all along.
The realisation made her head spin. Intense emotions - emotions she couldn't name, couldn't even begin to describe - were bubbling up inside her, as his heat, his mouth, his hands threatened to engulf her.
It was all so overwhelming that she broke the kiss, turning her face into his neck to catch her breath. He was breathing heavily too. She could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly against hers.
"So," she panted after a moment. "It was me you were resisting."
He huffed out a laugh against her hairline.
"It's been you for a long time, Hermione, believe me."
His words, low and husky, sent a shiver across her skin, and she lifted her head to look at him. His cheeks were a little flushed, his lips damp and deliciously reddened by her kisses. From the way he was looking at her, she guessed she must look the same.
"We should go back to the hotel," she said. His eyes flooded black, then, in a flurry of movement, he was tucking her under his arm and fumbling inside his jacket.
"Wand," he said, when she gave him a questioning look. "To get back to the hotel."
"Wait, we can't just disapparate here," she said, glancing around and, in a sudden, terrible moment of clarity, remembering exactly where she was.
Standing on the street. Snogging her boss.
Her boss.
A flush swept through her as she realised their not so surreptitious make-out session had, in fact, attracted a small crowd of onlookers: a group of inebriated men on the other side the street. They were laughing, whistling encouragingly, and on seeing her look their way, amplified their approval with a choice selection of lewd gestures.
"Oh no," she moaned, burying her face in Malfoy's chest. He'd stopped rooting around in his jacket by now, and instead, gave her a reassuring squeeze. He turned her slightly, almost shielding her from the group with his body as he called across the road.
"Alright, alright, you've had your fun," he said, all dry condescension, and she could well imagine the sneer that matched that particular tone of voice. "Now move along."
Miraculously, they did so, still laughing and whooping but getting further and further away. Hermione didn't move though, even when it was clear they'd gone. Malfoy had her wrapped in both his arms. He felt strong and warm and masculine, and frankly, she wasn't quite brave enough to meet his gaze yet.
Her body was tingling, burning up, desperate for more, but cold reality was quickly seeping into her hot, sexy haze.
"This is a really bad idea, isn't it?" she said, her voice muffled against his jacket.
He sighed, breath fluttering in her hair.
"I think so."
"We probably should go back to the hotel," she said reluctantly.
"We probably should," he agreed.
Neither of them moved.
Hermione rubbed her finger gently against his collarbone. Could it really hurt? Just one night...
No. There were hundreds of reasons why this couldn't go any further. Millions, in fact. It was just so hard to think of them when she was pressed this close to him, the steady thump of his heartbeat reverberating in her ear.
"We drank quite a lot this evening," she managed finally.
Malfoy shifted her in his arms, but he didn't let go.
"We did," he said.
Hermione racked her brains for more.
"We're both tired," she said. "It's been a busy day."
His hand was tracing a slow, tantalising pattern on her hip.
"It has."
"We have an early start tomorrow."
"We do."
"And uh - meetings. Lots of them."
His lips had found the way to her forehead and were making their way languidly along her hairline. She lifted her head back and away.
"You're really not helping," she said accusingly.
His mouth quirked, looking a lot like he was trying not to laugh.
"I'm not sure it's in my best interests to help," he said. She snorted and, although she really didn't want to, pulled at the hands he had wrapped around her waist.
To her surprise, he tugged her in once more for a swift, bruising kiss. Despite her best intentions, she responded immediately and embarrassingly eagerly, opening her mouth to him and moaning softly as one strong hand lifted to cradle the back of her head and his fingers pushed through her hair.
She never wanted it to end, but end it did - and too soon, when Malfoy lifted his head and swore under his breath. Her eyes flickered open to find him looking down at her with a tortured expression.
"You're right," he muttered, and although Hermione usually enjoyed those words coming from him, now they just made her heart deflate.
It deflated even more when he let go of her and took a step away.
She felt cold all over without the heat of his body against hers.
"I usually am," she said soberly. She was hoping he might smile at that, but his eyes were serious, and she could feel the regret rolling off him in waves.
It hurt more than it should.
"I'm sorry," he said. "That was entirely inappropriate of me."
She swallowed.
"It's fine," she said. "It was just a kiss."
Was it though? The knot in her stomach said otherwise.
"It was unprofessional," he said quietly.
It was getting really difficult for Hermione to speak without her voice wobbling; she felt a bit like she might cry, although she didn't know why.
"It was," she said, forcing herself to speak lightly and not quite sure she was pulling it off. "But it's late, we're both tired, and we probably had a bit too much to drink. These things happen."
"But they shouldn't," he said. "I really can't begin to tell you how sorry I am."
"Don't be," she said. "I was as willing a participant as you."
Damn. She really shouldn't have said that. It only reminded her how willing. And apparently it reminded Malfoy too.
Something hot flashed in his gaze.
"You were," he said in that low voice that made her shiver.
This was no good. She was going to have to snog him again if he kept talking to her like that.
She looked down at the ground, taking a moment to compose herself. Her jacket was on the floor between them. She hadn't even noticed it fall from her hand, couldn't even recall the moment she'd let it go, she'd been that far gone.
She averted her gaze. The crisp professional suit jacket, lying so crumpled on the ground, only reminded her how inappropriately - how wantonly - she'd behaved.
She took a fortifying breath. She could do this. She could get back to the hotel with Malfoy at her side. Once she was back at the hotel, she could escape into her room. And tomorrow... Well, she'd deal with tomorrow when it came.
She bent and picked up the offending garment, tucking it determinedly over her arm.
"Come on," she said. "We really should get back."
...
Neither of them said a word as they walked the short distance to the hotel.
Hermione's mind - and hormones - were all over the place. She could barely believe what had just happened. But of course she had to. She could still feel his mouth on hers, his fingers scorching through the flimsy fabric of her blouse. And Merlin help her, she'd been the one to instigate it!
Ginny was going to have her guts for garters.
It didn't help that she was so intensely conscious of him beside her. Of his height. The breadth of his shoulders. The warmth of his body. She wondered if he was just as acutely aware of her. He didn't look at her once, the whole way back, but his body was tense, tightly wound like the string of a bow.
She still wanted him. She couldn't believe it, but she did.
It didn't take long to reach the small open square beside the opera house. They crossed it, then the road. Just outside the blue-edged door though, Malfoy paused, eyes sweeping swiftly over her from head to toe.
"Dammit," he cursed softly.
"What?"
"You look thoroughly debauched," he said, reaching over to tuck a particularly rebellious curl behind her ear. His hand lingered, warm against the skin of her cheek. Hermione's stomach flipped as their eyes met and the air around them seem to crackle.
She moved instinctively towards him, but he dropped his hand, gaze falling with it.
"Come on," he said resignedly. "Let's go inside."
Luckily, the foyer was empty. Hermione suspected the old hotel manager had been expecting them, so had discreetly removed himself from the room to give them privacy.
Not that she apparently needed it, considering how shamelessly she'd been snogging Malfoy at the harbour.
The memory sent an unexpected thrill up her spine, but she shook it off. Just how brazen was she?
They made their way up the grand staircase in the silence, moving quietly down the corridor until they reached Malfoy's room. For a brief heart-thumping moment, she thought he might kiss her again - the stiffness in his body, the fire in his gaze told her he wanted to - but he only murmured goodnight and disappeared inside.
She trudged down the hall to her own room in a bit of a daze. She knew she should be relieved that they'd both had the forethought and self-control to end it all before it truly began, but she just felt hollow. She had so desperately wanted him to kiss her again, to wrap her in his arms, to push her up against the wall and touch her everywhere, that when he didn't, it felt like a terrible loss.
She let herself into the room and closed the door behind her. Safe, for now anyway, she collapsed back against it, feeling all the energy seep from her body like a deflated balloon.
Kissing Malfoy had violated every ethical principle she'd ever possessed. He was her boss. She was his employee. She still needed his letter of recommendation.
Oh Godric, her letter of recommendation.
There had to be rules for that, didn't there? The Ministry would hardly accept a recommendation from someone romantically involved. What if the events of this evening - this crazy, terrifying, magical evening - had jeopardised her chances of getting the job she so desperately wanted at the Ministry?
Her head slumped back against the door as she realised the gravity of what they had done.
She had to be insane. Or drunk. Or both. That was really the only explanation.
She was just working up the motivation to peel herself from the door and get ready for bed, when a sudden knock on the door behind her made her jump.
She froze. She knew who it was - who else could it be? - and her heart stuttered in anticipation.
The knock sounded again, quiet but unmistakably urgent.
Something that felt very suspiciously like hope flared in her chest, but she squashed it, forcing herself upright to open the door.
Draco stood in the hallway. His hair was a mess, like he'd been running his hands through it, and he was breathless, panting. She didn't know why. It wasn't exactly a long walk between their rooms.
But then she saw the look in his eye, wild and wanting, and she, too, felt like she'd suddenly been winded.
Time seemed suspended as they stared at one another in the darkened hallway, the only sound their own breathing, the beat of Hermione's heart.
Then Malfoy cleared his throat.
"I know we decided not to," he said roughly. "And I promise you, Hermione, if you tell me no, I'll go back to my room and I'll never bother you again." His voice lowered and thickened, until she could feel it, hot and delicious, in every crevice of her body. "But I just can't talk myself out of it."
And that was it; Hermione was lost. She reached for his wrist and tugged him inside.
Ethics were overrated anyway.
...
A/N: Please review x