STELLA
A weekafter I moved into his house, I discovered Christian’s dirty little secret.
In a dark corner of his den, tucked between DVDs of Reservoir Dogs and The Godfather, he owned a collector’s edition of Spice World.
That was right. Christian Harper, the CEO of Harper Security and possibly the most terrifying man I’d ever met, owned a special edition of a movie featuring a nineties girl band that, coincidentally, was one of my favorites for no reason other than its pure campiness.
I didn’t know people still owned DVDs, but I wasn’t giving up the opportunity to rewatch one of my childhood obsessions on his state-of-the-art flatscreen.
Based on what I’d observed of his schedule, Christian wouldn’t be home for another two hours, so I allowed myself to let loose.
I sang and danced along to the movie, only stopping to take a bite of the ice cream sitting on the coffee table.
I wasn’t the greatest singer or dancer, so I probably looked ridiculous, but I was too happy to care.
It’d been a good day.
I’d officially signed the contract with Delamonte, and our first shoot was scheduled for next week in New York. It was a small shoot, hence the short notice, but I was excited to start the partnership and visit the city again.
I’d also finished another set of sketches and started filling out the business plan template Christian sent me. It wasn’t as boring as I’d feared, though some parts, like the financial analysis and production plan, gave me a headache.
Neither of us mentioned our almost/sort of kiss since it happened. We’d kept our conversations strictly to small talk, work, and my fashion line, which was just fine with me.
In fact, things had been so normal between us I questioned whether the “kiss” really happened. Maybe it’d been a figment of my imagination, born of the same craziness that’d compelled me to show him my sketches.
I’d never shown them to anyone before.
Meanwhile, fears of my stalker had receded, locked behind the bulletproof glass and steel-reinforced walls of Christian’s penthouse. If I thought too much about it, the anxiety came rushing back, but I was busy enough that I didn’t have to think about it. I could lose myself in my bubble of self-delusion for…well, not forever, but for a while.
So, like I said, it’d been a good day.
I spun, an ice cream spoon in my mouth and feet bare against the cool marble floors.
I was so caught up in my song and dance I didn’t notice anyone had entered until I glimpsed a dark figure on my next spin.
A surprised scream exploded into the air before my brain processed the lean, muscled frame and tailored suit.
The spoon clattered from my mouth to the floor and dripped melted dulce de leche ice cream down the front of my shirt.
“Not the usual greeting I receive from women, but an improvement to your prior yodeling.” Despite the wry insult, amusement softened the finely chiseled lines of Christian’s face.
His eyes, however, were anything but soft. They were blades swathed with black silk, their edges so cold they burned hot against my skin.
They traced the lines of my throat down my torso to my bare legs and feet before sliding back up to my face.
Slow and leisurely, like a cat toying with a mouse.
All the while I held still, afraid any movement would slice me open and bare my wild, beating heart to the electric air.
I was suddenly hyperaware of how short my shorts were, how much skin my cropped sweatshirt bared, and how ridiculous I must look with gel eye patches on my face and leave-in conditioner slicked in my hair, to say nothing of the fact that I’d been dancing and belting along to freaking Spice Girls in his living room.
Mortification chased the flames left behind by his scrutiny, but I clung to the tattered edges of my dignity with bloodied fingertips.
“I wasn’t yodeling. I was exercising my vocal cords.” I bent and retrieved the sticky spoon from the floor as gracefully as I could. “I also thought I was alone. You never come home this early.”
“I didn’t realize you paid that close attention to my schedule.” The velvety drawl brushed against my skin like the most sensual of caresses.
Christian peeled away from the shadows and walked toward me. He wore head-to-toe designer business wear, but those bright amber eyes and the predatory grace with which he moved reminded me of a panther lazily stalking its prey. A beast drawing out the inevitable because he’d grown tired of the ease with which he captured what he wanted.
“I don’t, but we’ve lived together for a week. I don’t have to study your comings and goings to know your schedule.”
Christian was an early riser. So was I, but by the time I went up to his rooftop for sunrise yoga every morning, I already heard his shower running and smelled coffee brewing in the kitchen.
He left at seven-thirty on the dot and returned twelve hours later, looking as polished as when he’d stepped out the door.
It was unnatural.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My pulse banged against my wrist and chest and in my ears when he stopped in front of me.
Spice and leather. Crisp black lines and silver cufflinks. Intimidating in their perfection but comforting in their familiarity.
“Do you know why I came home early today?” Christian lifted his hand, and for an exhilarating, terrifying second, I expected him to cup my breast.
Instead, he rubbed his thumb over the spot of ice cream above my chest.
The light touch scorched its way through my veins and pooled between my legs.
“No.” I barely heard myself over the storm brewing in the air.
The sounds from the movie had long faded, replaced by the frantic drum of my heart.
“We have an appointment.” Amusement filled his eyes at my frown. “Our first business consultation.”
I blinked, my brain too hazy to process his words in real time.
Business consultation…
I’ll schedule a weekly meeting and add it to your calendar. Come prepared.
“Oh. Oh.” My business plan. The one I’d only half filled out.
Reality washed the film of pheromones off my vision and returned my breaths to normal.
“I haven’t completed it yet,” I admitted. “It’s only half done.”