Focus.
The suitcase is half-packed when she gives me a long look. “I just have a few more things. Grab the equipment and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Nice try. No.”
“Eros, I’m about to start digging through my underwear drawers. Give me a little space.”
I start to argue, but stop when something else occurs to me. “A wedding dress.”
“What?”
“You need a wedding dress.”
Psyche frowns, but then curses. “I need a wedding dress. Shit. This will never work. There’s not enough time.” She keeps going, words tripping over themselves as she spirals. “Oh gods, no one is going to believe we’re really doing this if such an important piece isn’t involved.”
I grab her shoulders. “Psyche, look at me.”
“Guess I should start picking out my gravestone because—”
I don’t think about the implications of my actions. I just kiss her. She tenses, but before I can pull away, she’s melting against me, her hands instantly going to my hair and her body pressing to mine. Now’s the time to stop, to recalibrate this conversation for a solution. I’ve headed her panicking off at the pass, so I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. We just need to break the kiss…
I’m not ready to give up the taste of Psyche yet. She’s so fucking sweet on my tongue. Another reminder that she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Cunning and oh so careful about her public image, but beneath that, she’s soft and funny and so fucking sweet.
A good man would do anything to preserve this woman’s soft center. He would battle her demons and enemies alike to create a world where she could let down her barriers and live happily without the armor. He would get her the fuck out of Olympus, would promise her safety without any selfish gains for himself, would put her up on a pedestal and worship at the altar of her daily.
I’m not a good man, though.
I’m a fucking monster.
I want Psyche for my own. A desire that was kindled that first night but has grown beyond control in the last twenty-four hours. I don’t care if she deserves someone just as sweet as she is. I want her chained to me, and I’ll rip out the throat of anyone who thinks they can take her away.
I cup her jaw and angle her head back a little, taking the kiss deeper. Claiming her in this tiny way. Marking her as mine, even if we’re the only two people who will know it. She makes a little whimpering sound that goes straight to my cock. It would be nothing at all to nudge her back onto the bed and keep kissing her until we forget all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
Except we aren’t in my penthouse, with a locked door between us and the rest of the world. I can’t seduce Psyche into letting me do everything I want to her because it’s only a matter of time before we’re interrupted, and that will ensure I never get to touch her again.
Unacceptable. Nothing will keep me from this woman…not even my own selfish urges.
Reluctantly, I lift my head. She blinks those big hazel eyes at me, her lips plumped even more from our kiss. It’s almost enough to have me tasting her again, but reason chooses that moment to take control. I drag in a ragged breath. “Tell me your measurements.”
She blinks again. “What?”
The pure satisfaction coursing through me at the realization that I’ve affected her just as much as she affects me is worrisome. Just another piece of evidence showcasing just how out of control I am right now. I push it away and try to focus on the here and now. “Your measurements. I need them.”
She licks her lips, her gaze still distracted. “Um, we talked about this. It’s not—”
“Your measurements, Psyche.” I coast my hands down her sides to grip her hips. “Unless you want me to take them myself. You’ll have to strip down, of course.”
She takes a large step back, breaking our contact. “That won’t be necessary.” She rattles off a series of numbers that I promptly memorize. Psyche’s face has gone red, and she won’t quite meet my eyes. “Is that everything?”
“Yeah.” I grab the lighting equipment. “I’ll wait for you at the car.”
“Thank you.”
It takes more effort than I would have dreamed to turn and walk away from her. I retrace my steps to the living room and take the elevator down. Though I half expect Callisto to appear, I don’t run into anyone as I stride to my car and tuck the equipment into the trunk. There’s room for her suitcase and not much else, but we’ll make it work. After a brief debate with myself, I decide making the call from the car is better than standing on the street and waiting for Psyche. There’s not as much foot traffic here as there is around my place, but I’m still drawing stares. It’s only a matter of time before someone takes a photo, posts it, and then the paparazzi show up. The last thing I need is anyone overhearing this conversation.