Tycoon

“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 shoulder, 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.