I feel myself claw at his scalp and his fingers fist my hair, the kiss full of tongue and teeth and frustration and lust.
Six minutes later or a lifetime later, we stop kissing. My mouth hurts like hell, but I still want more. He looks ready to turn to ash from the heat in his gaze as he takes in my expression.
He looks about as wrecked as I feel, because I’m stealing this moment from him. A moment that should belong to another girl.
He looks wrecked but hungry, so hungry that when he ducks his head for another kiss, I turn my head and breathe, “We can’t. We can’t do this.” He lets out a soft but frustrated laugh and whispers in the back of my ear, “We can. But I’ll wait for you, Bryn. I’ll wait to get any piece of you I can get.”
It’s almost enough to break my resolve.
Bryn
It felt surreal to wake up at his place at 1 a.m.
At 3 a.m.
at 5 a.m.
and at 7 a.m.
The first three times, he turned off the alarm and whispered in my ear that I was okay. For some reason, I believed him and went back asleep. At 7 a.m., a different sound began buzzing. The clock on the nightstand.
I scanned his empty bedroom in a panic.
Did I really sleep here?
I breathe, spot a note on his pillow, and get out of bed.
I consider using the shower, but then rule against it. When I return his sweatshirt to the drawers, I can’t help but peek at the long line of female things in his closet. The clothes Miranda has left here. They are made of high-quality fabrics. I don’t want to do this to myself. In fact, I’m not going to compare. It’s ridiculous to think she’s the better woman because of her clothes, because she wears European designer and I wear my own, and I know it’s not true. But I can’t help but remember what Christos told me. They make sense as a couple—and in the light of day they make more sense. Last night seems more reckless and impulsive than ever.
This is just not who I am!
Proof of how much this guy gets to me.
Once back in my clothes, I pull out his note and read it.
Coffee in the kitchen. Meet me at 1 p.m. tomorrow at C & Co. I want you in the board of directors meeting to introduce them to HOS.
Christos.
I shut my eyes.
Oh God, how can I face him?
“Hey. Hankypankier,” Sara says when I get to our flat. It’s a sunny morning, and as I get off the train and walk to the apartment building, the streets are back to its usual Monday hectic pace.
“Hey.” I drop my bag on the small dining table and head to the bathroom to turn on the shower.
“No hanky panky?” Sara calls as I join her while I wait for the water to get hot.
“No, so you can stop calling me hankypankier.”
“Oh.” She brings me a cup of coffee. “Is it the tycoon?”
“No. It’s…well, yes. He’s my new business partner now. So hanky panky isn’t really a good idea. Last night I was just…I just had an emotional breakdown, a little one. I thought he was playing around with me. Then he gave me the check and I felt like a fool…and I felt grateful, and it just…brought his memories back up again. It was a weird night. It’s over. Now I’m all business.” I have to be.
“He gave you all the money?”
I meet her startled gaze. I feel just as shocked as she looks. Is my startup really going to happen? Am I really going to be able to dress people, help them choose their outfits with minimal effort, and design my own things? “More than I was asking for. I need to spend it better than ever. Do you want to model?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you want to model—”
“When and where.”
“Soon. I need to talk to Christos, but I’ll tell you more when he gives me a green light on everything.”
On Monday, I present my ideas to the board, with Christos—quiet, sexy, dangerous-to-me Christos—at the head of the table.
My legs tremble as he gazes at me.
He’s dressed in plain gray slacks and a white shirt, and he looks as untouchable as ever. I can’t believe the things we do in the night when we feel like there will never be daylight again.
Oh God. Could I have not gone home on my own instead? Please?
“House of Sass is a brand-new concept,” I tell the group of twelve men seated at the long mahogany oak table. “Embracing the traditional as well as the modern-day woman who shops online more than at physical stores. We aim to meet both needs—with fashion stylists in-store and with our avant-garde software aimed to give women an edge to dress to impress and step into the roles of their dreams more easily…”
Christos scans his board members’ reactions before he returns his gaze to me.
My blood feels thick as oil in my veins when I remember the way his mouth moved over mine. I was so undone. So worried that he’s with another woman, that it’s wrong.
I look at him across the table, quiet, simmering with tightly leashed energy.
He looks like a man who’s physically enjoyed life, but the hard lines on his features makes me wonder if he’s ever loved anyone. Mentally, emotionally, with his soul. And if he’s ever been loved back. During all these years apart, I don’t think Christos has ever experienced what we could have had together when we were young, and for a moment I feel sorry for us—for him, for me—sorry we didn’t experience it. Then I admire him, envy him. For his freedom, the complete fullness of his being, where no pieces have broken off yet. Even when he’s with a woman, he’s still him—free, unattached in the most essential ways.
Unattached in a way I’m not sure I’m unattached—from him.
Once my presentation is over, I thank the board members for their time while Christos steps out with Cole.
I gather my things and overhear them arguing when I step out into the hall. Cole is passionately speaking while Christos stands with his hands in his pockets, his lips pursed tight, and a look of irritation on his face.
“What you did is bad business. Why would you possibly do that? She’s very unhappy about that. Plus to get on Santorini’s bad side when he owns half of Brooklyn…”
Trying not to overhear more, I hurry to leave when I hear Roberta, Aaric’s assistant’s, voice behind me.
“Miss Kelly?”
I stop and watch her rush up to my side with a business card in her hand.
“Mr. Christos wants you to meet him tonight at this restaurant. It’s in Chelsea. 7 p.m. Sharp.”
“Oh…thank you.” I raise my gaze past her shoulders, and Christos is still standing before Cole, but his eyes are now on me.
A little trembly, I take the card. I feel a strange tingle in my stomach as I read his handwriting. The top of the card reads FIG & OLIVE. I try to quell the sensation of tumbling down a huge mountain as I send him a smile—the feeling intensifies when he smiles back at me—and I tell myself this is going to be a business dinner. Nothing more. It cannot be more, not for the good of us, our business, or his relationship with the perfect society girl.
Bryn
At 7 p.m., I walk into the restaurant. He’s waiting at the entrance, dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, and he watches me as I step through the glass doors.
My mouth waters at his intense, unapologetic, possessive gaze.