My heart does something crazy when my eyes spot Christos at the bar. His head is bent to his phone, and he’s frowning over something he’s reading.
He’s wearing a black shirt and gray slacks, his hair slicked back, and he looks drool-worthy. I lick my lips, and then he tilts his head as if he senses me, and my heart flips a little more.
Please like this little dress, I pray as I draw in a breath and wind toward the bar.
Then I wonder why I want him to like it—if for my business, or for me—and I annoy myself for wondering when the answer isn’t clear.
He’s on his feet, and I can’t say he’s smiling with that full mouth of his, but his eyes are definitely smiling at me.
He smells like cologne and freshly used soap, and warm skin. “This is a House of Sass dress,” I say, in greeting, when I stop so close to him his delicious scent is in every nook and cranny of my lungs.
“I like it,” he says, his voice sort of moving the hair on the top of my head as he looks down at me, and because my legs don’t feel too steady, I take one of the bar stools.
Christos takes his stool, and when a glass of wine appears within my view, I take a long gulp.
“It’s not water, bit,” I hear Christos rasp amusedly in my ear as he reaches out, taking the glass from me. “You’re better off letting it breathe.” He twirls it, slow and easy, letting it breathe, and I’m the one who can’t breathe when my eyes meet his.
He’s really close. Much closer than I ever get him in his office.
It’s nerve-wracking.
Familiar but new.
Exciting.
I can see flecks inside his eyes, the lightness of the tips of his lashes, and the laugh lines drawn around the corners of his eyes.
“I’m thirsty,” I breathe in answer, and he hands it back after looking at my mouth.
Offering him a shy smile, I take another long gulp, the tension between us so palpable it feels as if any word would shatter it like glass.
“Okay, so this is good. I’m getting the money?” I ask him as he only watches me drink from the wine, his eyes holding a mischievous, secret gleam that makes me crave to know what he thinks.
Chuckling softly, he twirls his own glass of wine, and says, “No. We’re just getting started. The vetting process is just getting started.” He leans forward, his gaze probing and inquisitive. “How much time are you going to dedicate to the business? And how much personal money have you invested so far?”
“I’d dedicate as much time to the business as you’d need. I just need six hours of sleep a day, and I’m willing to invest the 3,450 dollars I’ve got saved.”
He nods at that, shifting his legs under the stool to face me more fully. The move bringing his knee up to bump into the side of my thigh.
I swallow back a little gasp of surprise, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “What is your daily schedule like, bit?”
“I, well…”
“Do you sleep?”
“Yes.”
“How many hours?”
“Seven. Eight.”
He says nothing, sipping his drink. His knee still touching the side of my thigh. “Any routines before bed?” he then asks.
“Um…No. I wear socks, but take them off in the middle of the night.” I avoid telling him that I do have a thing for alarm clocks. Ugh.
“Why is that?” he says. Referring to my socks.
“I like my feet cold.”
He chuckles, shaking his head, and my skin pricks pleasurably at the sound of his chuckle and at the barest shift from his knee against my thigh.
I feel vulnerable—telling him how I sleep. I can’t suppress the embarrassment from my voice when I breathe, “Do you vet everyone like this?”
Christos notices I’m flustered, and he calmly explains. “I’m investing in the person, not in the business. The business doesn’t exist, currently.”
“True.”
“I want to know who I’m getting in bed with. So to speak.” He shoots me a wily grin, and that wicked smile of his causes my brain to scatter.
“Well, I won’t tell you a single other thing until you return the favor. Tell me more about you, Aaric,” I say.
He motions the bartender for something, then turns his attention back to me.
“What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know. How long have you been living in Manhattan?”
“About nine years.”
“Why Manhattan?” I frown curiously.
“I followed the money trail.” He winks, then watches as they bring us two glasses of ice water. Christos has already pulled out my updated business plan and is scanning it when they set them before us.
“No ice. She doesn’t like ice. Thanks.” He hands over my glass to the bartender and starts reading my business plan.
I blink.
“How do you remember that?” I’m mind-blown by the fact that he remembers.
He lifts his brows.
“I didn’t like ice in high school; it made my throat hurt,” I admit. “But it’s always a hassle for people to take it back, so I’ve gotten used to it and don’t return my glasses anymore.”
He eyes the bartender and motions at the glass he was setting back. “Take that back and bring the lady one with no ice?”
The bartender scurries away, and I swallow, smiling to myself.
“You always brought tension to the parties,” I tease.
“Tension.” A smile ruffles his sexy mouth for a brief moment before he somberly replies. “It’s not your problem if what you want is a hassle for someone. You take care of yourself or nobody else will.” His eyes gleam protectively on my face for a heart-stopping moment.
I bite down on my lip and then realize his eyes fall there. I can’t breathe as he stares at my mouth.
“Are you dating anyone?” he asks then. His voice gruff.
My breath catches even more.
“Um. Why?”
He’s silent.
“Oh. The vetting. I’m sorry, I…” I shake my head, cursing myself for thinking he was asking for himself. “No. Of course not. I haven’t found the right guy.” I lower my reddening face, hoping he doesn’t realize I’m talking about maybe…well. Him. “Looks like you found your Miss Right.” I lift my gaze.
My smile fades; his eyes are intense as he looks at my whole face as if memorizing it all over again.
“We made sense,” he says.
“Made?” I’m feeling a little light-headed, so I’m impressed that I catch on to this so fast.
“Make,” he coolly corrects.
“I ended up giving my V card to Ted Cross,” I blurt.
“Rowdy Ted?” He seems surprised and instantly vexed.
“Yep.”
Christos says nothing. I have more wine to try to quell the heat his possessive stare is generating. But it’s no use.
His body is so close to mine, all my cells are buzzing.
“I was nervous about the whole process. Look! Don’t look at me like that. If I’d wanted someone thorough and good with his hands, I’d have given it to someone like…well, you.”
I take a quick breath of utter astonishment when I realize what I’d said.
I’m fully buzzed.
Fully stupid drunk.
Fuck, I need to stop drinking, but instead I take another sip.
All while Christos’s gold-green laser-like gaze is locked on me like a missile target. “He was no good for you.”
I look down at my lap. “I know. But I didn’t want it to mean something. I didn’t want to make a fuss of it. I didn’t want you to think I was awkward at it. So I gave it to him.”
He stares at me, the muscle in his jaw working as he looks at the bar as if trying to get a grip of some unnamable emotion.
“He was no good for you,” he repeats. Softer this time. As his eyes slide back to mine.
Intimacy—it’s all over. In how close his eyes are looking into mine, how close his leg is to mine, his should
er, his elbow, to mine.
“See? This is what you get for asking so many questions. TMI. And now awkward silence. And a drunk client-slash-business-partner or whatever.”
He stops me from drinking more with a hand motion, then signals for the check.
I bite my lip on the inside. “I wasn’t ready for you then,” I admit.
He winks at me. “Nobody ever is. Come here. Lean on me.” He raises me from the chair and I slip my arm around his waist as we head outside, where his car waits.
“I’m only two blocks away,” I say as he leads me to his car.
“Then I’ll walk you there.”
“I’m going to regret all this tomorrow, won’t I?”
An irresistible grin appears on his face and it makes my knees wobble even worse. “Nah. I don’t think you’ve stepped far enough beyond your comfort zone to regret a thing.”
“My comfort zone is very close to me; I’m already stepping dangerously outside,” I contradict.
I lean into him as we head down the block.
I’m acutely aware of the buzzing energy of his body walking next to mine, his arm holding me up by the waist. I want to die a little. He’s a powerful, attractive man and I’m only human, and maybe a bit too alchoholized for my liking.
“Say something.” My voice is soft. Worried. As I look up at his profile.
“Your smell does shit to me,” he gruffs out.
His presence is intense and overwhelming as he stares down at me and then, frowning and thoughtful, at the street ahead.
I laugh, and so does he.
But we’re not laughing in the next instant when we reach my building and face each other.
“Say you won’t take any of this seriously,” I beg.
He nods.
“I mean I hardly know what I’m saying,” I explain.
He silences me with his thumb. “Then stop talking,” he says gently.
I swallow, then lean on him again.
Christos is quiet. I am too.
He puts his arm around my shoulders, and I press my cheek to his chest as he leads me up my elevator, into my apartment, my room, and then into bed, where I kick my shoes off before he tucks me in. “I’d like a do-over of tonight,” I say.
“I can make that happen.”
“Thank you.” I slip into my bed, then realize I need to set my alarms. “Oh shit.”
I rummage through the nightstand drawer.
“Tell me where your socks are and I’ll bring them over,” he says as he closes my curtains.
“No, it’s just that…” I take out my five small alarm clocks, each a different size and shape. “My parents slept through the hotel fire.” I set the first one for 1 a.m.
He watches me from the foot of the bed, his brows practically joined over his nose as he tries to make sense of what I’m doing.
“They were on their anniversary trip. Twenty years. They were the only ones that didn’t hear the alarm,” I explain.
“I got it,” he says, crossing over and taking one of the alarm clocks from me.
“So what do you do when they ring?” he asks, flipping them on, one by one.
“Nothing.” I sigh, exasperated with myself as I drop my head back on my pillow. “I just make sure everything is calm and quiet. Then I fall instantly asleep.”
Watching him turn on the last alarm clock, I rest my head on the pillow again and look at him. His face etched to perfection, creased with puzzlement as he finishes his task.
He smells really good. Like incredibly good.
“Are you mad I didn’t tell you? When you asked before?” I’m worried. I can’t help it.
He raises his eyes to meet mine.
Is there tenderness there? I feel mushy under his gaze.
“No,” he says. “I could tell you were evading. I knew there was more. You going to be okay?” he asks, his voice husky with tenderness as he tips my face up by the chin.
“Hmm. Stay.”
I don’t know if he will. He heads outside. I hear him make a call. He comes back in, tilts my chin back up.
I like it so much I want to push the rest of my face into his hand. “I can’t stay,” he says.
“You can’t? Or you don’t want to?”
“I can’t. It’s not just your scent. You do shit to me. You understand?” His eyes blaze in the shadows—the heat and intensity roiling in their gold depths making my stomach constrict. “The only thing that can keep me away from you tonight is distance.”
I nod, ever so slowly.
“It’s not convenient for you, is it?” I ask, breathless.
“No, bit, it’s not convenient.” His smile is devastating as he pulls up my covers. “I thought I finally had my shit together and then you come along to fuck it up. You tend to do that to me—you really are quite the Wicked Miss Kelly.”
I grin.
He brushes his thumb over my lips. One second.
The best second of my adult life.
“Good night, bit.”
“’Night.”
We stare at each other for longer than necessary, then he walks away.
When my alarm sounds at 1 a.m. all I know is all is okay, but it’s not, not really, and I don’t know why it doesn’t feel like it is.
Christos
12 1/2 years ago…
I ask Cole where she’ll be Saturday—he tells me at Kelly’s, so I stop by the department store and find her behind a register, giving instructions to a new employee. She spots me and her honeyed eyes widen in surprise. “I’m taking a small break, but call me if you have any questions.” A pop of pink appears on her cheeks as she hurries out from behind the counter and toward the west side of the ground floor.
I follow her down the hall and toward a small office with her mother’s name, Katherine Kelly, embossed on it.
She walks inside, grabs a drink from the fridge, and offers me one.
I shake my head and just smile—taking a good look at her. Enjoying how frazzled she seems by my presence.
She takes a huge sip, leaning back on her mother’s desk, then she sets the drink aside. “What?” She touches her mouth, as if she thinks she’s got something on it.
“What what?” I counter.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“How am I looking at you, bit?”
She struggles for a reply, her cheeks very flushed, very fucking adorable. “You look like a boy who thinks he’ll get to kiss me.”
My eyebrows rise. “I’m not a boy.”
She clears her throat, bristling and turning around. “No, but you’re kind of a jerk.”
I grab her wrist, smiling as I turn her back. “I will kiss you though.” At her wide-eyed look, I nod. “Cole told me he told you I like you.”
“He did, did he? Cole’s been very busy.”
“He’s an idiot.”
She bites down on her laugh. “Then why are we discussing him?”
“Because in this case, lips…”—I lift my hand to grab her by the back of the neck, my other hand coming to her mouth, unable to keep myself from touching the soft, silky flesh—“he’s right.”
I brush my thumb over that mouth. Sexy little Bryn Kelly. One day, she walked in with her father to the shop where Cole and I worked. I went stone cold. She glanced at me before leaving, and I almost went and searched her pockets to see if she’d taken my brain with her.
I can’t think of shit since I met this girl.
She’s younger than I am, and shy. From a well-known family. Better than I deserve.
But I want her anyway.
I want to treat her like a princess, wish I could offer her the treasures of a queen. My mother is dying. The only thing keeping Cole and I in Austin is her. This is where she was born. This is where her roots are.
I’ve hated everything about Austin except
This
Girl
HERE.
“In fact, I think I’ll kiss you right now.” I continue to purposefull
y touch the bottom lip she bites.
God, that flush is adorable.
I lean closer, brushing my lips over hers with only my thumb between us. “Go out on a date with me,” I coax.
She whimpers.
I drop my thumb—my lips touch hers for the smallest fraction of a second before she flushes and drops her head, and I lower my hand, giving her room.
“I can’t. I need to work,” she whispers.
Can’t even breathe right, I’m so lust-ridden. I just want to taste those lips some more. Taste all of her.
She’s beet red now and turned around to give me her back. I’m watching her fidget with stuff on the desk. “Let’s meet after work. Before work. I’d say during work, but I’m not sure you’d enjoy greasing irons for fun,” I say, my lips hiking up at the corners.
She turns, biting down on her lower lip. “Not really.” She laughs nervously, then raises her eyes to meet mine as if it takes great effort to do so. “But you might enjoy helping me lug some boxes at the warehouse.”
“Do you need someone to lug boxes at the warehouse?” I ask.
“Actually, yes. Our usuals are spending Easter weekend with their families, and with the upcoming sales—”
“What time do you get in?” I interrupt.
Her eyes drop to my mouth. “Huh?”
“My eyes are up here.”
She pulls her eyes up, blushing again.
“What time do you get in to lug boxes?” I insist.
“5 a.m.”
“I’ll be there.”
I grab her jaw and kiss it, and she inhales sharply as I do. I smile and walk away, hearing her call back, “Thank you. But IT’S NOT A DATE!”
Bryn
I wake up with a throbbing head and pray that I didn’t say what I am pretty sure I said to Aaric last night. About my V card. About possibly wanting to have given it to him.
Ohmigod.
I’m not getting a loan now.
I’m not getting another meeting ever again; I’m sure of it.
I need a distraction or I’ll do nothing all day but kick myself in the foot for last night. So I quickly shower and change, ready to cajole Sara to go out with me, when Sara raps on my door.