Tycoon

  I watch the way she climbs into the car, the way she nervously explains what happened to her dad, and the way she looks at me before they drive off.

  As they pull away, she smiles to herself. A sweet, shy smile I feel all the way down to my goddamned testicles.

  Moron Kyle charges forward. “You got a hard-on for Bryn Kelly?”

  I say nothing. Bend back over my work.

  He’s trying to pick a fight, but I’ve got better things to do.

  “She’s too good for you.” He spits on the motor.

  I straighten, grab my rag, and wipe it off. He slams inside to speak to the manager. I can get fired—but I know I won’t be. I work weekends, I work nights, I work for free. I work to forget my mom is sick and my future and Cole’s looks like shit. I work because I’m good at it. But despite myself, I frown from irritation.

  Because this girl I want? She is too good for me. But I’ve got plans, and a shit ton of ambition, and if I have my way—which I plan to—I won’t always be a grease monkey.

  One day, I’ll own the land morons like this walk on.

  Bryn

  I want to make a good impression on him and I really think being free to mingle will be the way to go, so I arrive at the dinner scene dateless, with a backless dress that I cut up and sewed myself, and a gung-ho attitude that quickly takes a hit when I say my name at the door and step in.

  Classical music plays in the background, and I’m instantly impressed by the edgy, simple floral arrangements and chrome banquet tables.

  It’s not a huge event. But the kind of people here aren’t numerous in the world to begin with. Two hundred of the most elite, rich, high-powered movers and shakers in the city. From bankers (I recognize some) to marketers, to successful business sharks like my possible investor himself.

  I feel a prick on the back of my neck, and when I turn, he’s there. He’s seated at a table next to a couple, and I feel my breath snag in my throat when I realize he’s looking at me. His expression pensive. His eyes curious.

  I try not to notice how hot he looks in his gray suit with his hair slicked back away from his forehead. A black button shirt and no tie. He smiles at something the couple says and looks away for a second, and I quickly turn around and try to find a glass of wine.

  I’m going to need it tonight.

  “Hey, babe.”

  I glance at the purple-haired man with a drink in his hand. He looks like he’s an artist. Long hair in a ponytail, eyes a little red. I think he’s stoned.

  “Want a drink?” he asks.

  “The one you spiked, amigo? No, thanks.” I turn away when he grabs my arm to spin me around back to face him.

  “How would you know if you haven’t even taken a sip, feisty? Come on, don’t be like that,” he says in an obvious attempt to be charming. “We’re here to mingle. Get to know each other. Aren’t we?” He winks. “I’m Yael—the brains behind every successful campaign you see everywhere.”

  My heart skips when I feel the warmth of a body behind me. A pleasant scent of soap envelops me, and my stomach clutches when I recognize the smell. Nobody else would have this effect on me.

  I feel his fingers on the small of my back and his voice so close to my ear that the warmth of his breath spills along the back of my neck. “I see you’ve met Yael,” he says.

  I feel myself blush and nod.

  “Did you go overboard on the coke tonight?” Christos asks him.

  “Just following my heart.” He grins.

  “Follow my advice—take it down a notch.”

  “Christos,” the man says, sobering up instantly. “Come on. I was nervous, all right? I want your gigs.”

  “I invited you here to show my partners what you have to offer—I regret you didn’t decide to bring your best to the table.” He nods at me. “He’s still good. You might consider him in the future. If you’ll excuse us, Yael.”

  I inhale as he moves me away. “That was harsh,” I say and reach out impulsively to take the glass of wine from his hand. His fingers accidentally touch mine. A million tingles race up my fingertip and arm, making me want to rub the touch away.

  Please God, I don’t need this complication.

  I down the wine, frowning up at him as he frowns down at me.

  “What?”

  “I told you to look like a million bucks.”

  “What?” I gasp, blinking in shock as he grins—slowly, predatorily.

  This man is lethal. His face isn’t spoiled by too much beauty, only chiseled angles and masculine features. It’s very attractive. More than a perfect face, its imperfection stuns you. Everyone seems to stare at it—at him.

  He leans forward. “You seem to have mistaken your millions with billions, Wicked Miss Kelly.”

  He winks, and all the heat in the world settles inside my stomach.

  “Are you all right to mingle?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  He leaves me and spends the night talking to everyone but me.

  He’s clearly the most powerful man in the room, but his attitude is calm. He’s in control, subdued, even though his energy is a pulsing, magnetizing, electric thing noticeable from far away.

  I try to ignore it as I make my way through the room, introducing myself to people. “Are you working with Christos?” I’m asked.

  “I…well. I might be.” I don’t know what to say. I mean, he’s been asking. He’s seemed interested.

  That’s when I realize he’s got other people here, people like me, whom he’s prioritizing with his introductions. I start to stew.

  He sends me a smile across the room.

  And that’s that.

  I start getting really pissed off.

  I exhale and try to head outside to get some air when he follows me. I don’t even reach the doors when I feel him behind me and I whirl around.

  “You son of a bitch, you’re playing with me. You’re not interested in my business!”

  He raises his brows. “I am.”

  “Why did you even bring me here? I don’t know what to answer when people ask me about our business. MY business. Which may not even see the light of day.”

  “Do you really believe it won’t?”

  I purse my lips.

  He takes me by the chin. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. I have every confidence you’re not only going to get on your feet. You’ll fly.”

  “If you believe that much in me, prove it. Say yes. Give me the money. Do something!” I croak out.

  His eyes lose their sparkle, and in its stead, a blazing gold hue takes over them as he reaches into his pocket. Ever so slowly, he pulls out a check. “I was planning to give it to you at the end of the night.”

  He stares me down as he hands it over: a check with my name on it and a six-digit figure.

  I cannot believe what I’m staring at.

  My hand trembles as I take it from him. I fold it in half and tuck it into my purse, my throat raw. “Thank you. I…I’m sorry I overreacted…”

  I want to cry. Nobody’s done anything like this for me. I blink and move away, heading to the restroom.

  I splash water on my face, then pat it dry and hasten to go back out. Christos is standing with Cole, and that same woman they were sitting with when I arrived is standing with them too.

  “Hey, little lady,” Cole says.

  “Hi and bye, Cole,” I say, smiling as I hug him.

  “You’re leaving?”

  I nod. “I’ve got some business cards and I’m inspired to brainstorm with myself now that Christos said yes.” I smile nervously, and Cole frowns.

  “Sugar, being invited here is an automatic yes,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

  I feel heat on my cheeks as I realize I must have sounded like a desperate idiot to Christos just now. “Well, it’s official,” I say, still avoiding Aaric’s gold gaze. “And he won’t regret it. Well, goodnight!” I nod at all three of them when I hear Christos’s gruff voice.

  “He,
” he specifies, “will take you home.” He reaches for his jacket on the back of the chair.

  “Oh no, I’ll take the train. Thank you. Goodnight.”

  “I insist,” he says, warning. Low.

  He puts on his jacket and grabs his cell phone from the table.

  I pause, breathless when our eyes meet as he pockets his phone. It’s as if he knows I was having a moment in the ladies’ bathroom. “I don’t want you to go out of your way,” I breathe.

  “I won’t.” He nods down at me, his voice a little tender.

  Cole notices something off for his tone changes too.

  “I’ll drop off Therese,” Cole interjects.

  “Thank you, goodnight,” Aaric says noncommittally, putting his hand on the small of my back as he leads me outside.

  We head for his car. I’m trembling. He puts his arm around me and pins me to his side.

  I press closer.

  His little act of kindness makes me feel accepted—understood. I feel as if he sees me, and it causes me to come unhinged.

  I slide into his car when he opens the door for me, despite my previous efforts to avoid it. I thought it would feel intimate and it does. He’s a powerful, attractive man and I’m only human.

  I smell the leather of the car and Aaric as he slides in behind me, shuts the door, and tells his driver his Park Avenue address.

  The car heads into traffic.

  I turn, and he cups my jaw and presses his lips to mine.

  Christos

  14 years ago…

  “He’s the new guy. The older one. He was held back for two years because his mom is sick.”

  I slam my locker shut, aware of the speculations around me and Cole.

  I scan the halls for my class when I spot the back of a girl’s head, and my eyes lock on it. On her. The girl who was at the shop last weekend with her dad.

  My chest feels heavy. My legs, thighs, every muscle in my body is ready to pounce. I hesitate for a second, aware of the curious gazes on me, then I charge forward and catch up with her and her friend.

  “Hi,” I say, my voice a little lower than I expected. “I’m Aaric.”

  “Bryn,” she says in return, a blush on her cheeks.

  She turns away to head off with her friend, but when she opens the door to her room, she glances back at me with a smile on her face.

  I stare at her. Bryn.

  I don’t know what it is, but I can’t take my eyes away from her. The way she looks. The way she walks. The way she smiles. The way she talks.

  The solar-plexus punching, gut-wrenching, bucket-of-water feeling of seeing my future in her eyes.

  Bryn

  His tongue flicks into my mouth, and it’s as if the whole universe is opening up to swallow me. I feel helpless to stop it, this sensation of being devoured as his mouth opens and his tongue plunges in—hot, wet, greedy.

  A soft moan escapes me, and a shudder of warmth wracks me head to toe as I reach out to slip my fingers in his hair. He groans hungrily, grabbing me by the back of the neck and holding me in place as he presses his thumb to my lips and eases back to look at me.

  He looks devastated.

  As if I just gave him food for the first time in his life.

  He murmurs fuck me under his breath and rubs his thumb over my mouth—like he did once, at Kelly’s. Then he presses his mouth to his thumb and sets his forehead on mine, waiting…

  I meet his gaze and pant wildly in shock. I want to open my mouth, but I know I shouldn’t. I am not sure if he knows that he shouldn’t.

  But, fuck me too, because oh, how I want. I want to crawl out of my skin and into him, if only to get rid of the fire burning every inch of me. I want everything this guy can give me. Things no one in my life has ever given me. Forbidden things that scare me, thrill me, churn a crazy wild fire inside me. Bryn the Good Girl wants out, and Bryn the One Who Doesn’t Play It Safe wants in.

  Christos is taken. He’s completely wrong and it doesn’t even matter. He’s the last man you’d take home to your parents because he doesn’t belong to you—because even when you knew he wanted you, you feared he’d never belong to you.

  But I want him. No, I don’t want to marry the guy, or even date the guy. I want his hands on me. His mouth on me. I want it raw and hard, but I’m afraid for him to know it.

  I’m afraid to even want it.

  I’ve seen him with his girlfriend, and he’s never looked at her with the warmth he looks at me. I’m shocked to realize I’m selfish, terrible, because at this moment nothing is as important as the fact that I want his hands on me.

  I stay in place, motionless, and feel his thumb push a little bit upward, then a little bit downward, opening my mouth and then…

  Fuck us both, because his mouth is covering both my top and bottom lips and his tongue is covering the tiny space in between, widening the part and going in.

  I get caught up in it, in him, in how right it feels, in how 14 years could have never happened because he is still him. I’m swept away by all of what really happened and dive into my what if…tasting him back. He’s moving his head, this way and that, never once taking his lips away from mine, groaning when my own tongue, thirsty and reckless and thoughtless, comes out to rub his. Taste his.

  He kisses a thousand times better than in my decade-long fantasies. So good my heart beats in my whole body—my chest, my stomach, my thighs, in between…

  The car jolts to a stop, and I jolt back—blinking again as I try to place myself.

  I can’t believe I’d ever be this girl. That I’d kiss a guy who had a girlfriend, but I know it would never happen with any guy. Only this guy.

  Christos sits up with an exhale that causes his nostrils to flare, and he pulls me up while I slowly come back to reality.

  I take a look at his lips, and feel a knot of guilt build up in my stomach and my throat.

  The stern look on his face is wholly intimidating—he’s either rethinking what he did or determined to do it again.

  I’m pinned in place, not moving a muscle. Grappling to come to terms with what I just did.

  How I just…lost control.

  With Aaric.

  Aaric Christos.

  Even when he has a girl. Even when I have his check in my purse. Even when I know now, for sure, that we’ll be doing business together.

  Ohmigod, I’m a bad person.

  I’m so bad, so bad.

  This is bad.

  The driver opens his door, and Aaric buttons his suit jacket as he comes to full height, glancing at me one last time. He wears no tie, as if he couldn’t be bothered.

  “Come on, bit,” he says as he draws me out of the car.

  I swallow nervously and twine my fingers together, trying to walk calmly toward his front door. Just breathe. But it’s hard to breathe when my whole life has been spectacular plus spectacular fall and he’s the only constant in it. I feel the loss of his body heat as we walk, inches between us, up his brownstone. But I don’t want to go home yet. I want my friend Aaric right now. I need his presence like I need air.

  He opens the door with his key, then leads me inside, to a living room with a view of the most perfect garden.

  I walk along the room, inspecting the shelves—trying to put some distance between us and pretend things are back like they were before…that kiss.

  He’s got a minimalist thing going on with very few items on the shelves—but each piece is striking. I stop before a large obelisk in a crystal white shade; the object looks as if it’s a piece of the moon itself.

  “This is beautiful. What is this?”

  “It’s a rare piece of quartz. One side is smoky quartz, the other clear quartz. It’s so pure you can see right through it.”

  “It’s gorgeous. A collectible. The kind on auction catalogues.”

  He smirks—and I realize that’s where he got it.

  “And this?” I point at another stone. “You got this at an auction too?” At his silence, I shoot him
a disgruntled look. “Can you tell me something you didn’t get at auction?”

  He removes his jacket and sets it aside. “I can’t recall.”

  “God, are you interested in nothing where there’s no competition?”

  “Competition makes every item here look all the better in my place.”

  He smiles, and I’m laughing. “This?” I point at a pre-Columbian figurine made of jade. “Don’t tell me. Auction.”

  “That was actually a gift.” His eyes somber, darken. “My mother gave that to me ages ago. It was part of a ring that belonged to her grandmother.”

  It’s a small thing, set in an acrylic base, which summarizes its importance to its owner.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “She was very strong, very dedicated. She fought very hard to live. She was never ready to go, not even in the last minute.”

  “She waved at me through the window, the few times I walked by.” I stare out the window, watching the streets outside.

  He’s near—behind me. I sense him like a boiler of hot water standing close to me, and I almost don’t move for fear of being scorched.

  “Are we going to talk about it?” he whispers, in my ear, slipping his hand around my waist.

  “I don’t know.”

  I turn and meet his gaze.

  “Are you going to marry her?”

  He looks down at me with the barest shadow of surprise in his expression over my question. “I’m 32 years old. I want a family of my own.” He narrows his eyes, tilting his head—rubbing my lips with his thumb.

  “You do?”

  He nods. “Never had a family. Not a traditional one. Just because I didn’t have a father doesn’t mean I don’t want to be one. I do.”

  “With her? What if she’s not the one?”

  “In marrying her, I’d be committing to her being the one even if it’s not a love match—and she would do the same with me. Isn’t that the point of getting the government involved?”

  “What if you love someone else, and someone else loves you? What if you want to take someone else to bed, and she wants to take you?”

  He’s silent.

  His thumb on my mouth. Rubbing side to side.