“Sure, I’d like that,” I grin.
“Thursday it is.” He leans in.
I know what’s coming. The kiss. I should want this. I should meet him halfway. I should—
A hand clamps down on Aiden’s shoulder and yanks him backward so hard he nearly tumbles down the stairs.
“Get thefuckaway from her.”
Standing on the stoop, vibrating with barely contained violence, his fist cocked back like he’s about to punch Aiden in the face, is Nico.
Aiden stumbles, catching himself on the railing. “Who the hell—”
Nico pulls his fist back even farther.
“Nico, stop!” I jump between them before he can actually throw the punch. My hands press against his chest. He’s practically shaking with rage, and breathing hard like he sprinted all the way here from Manhattan.
Because he did.
He literally followed me here.
Like a psychopath.
“Get this fucker out of here!” Nico snarls over his shoulder.
And then there are other people. A man and a woman, moving with synchronized efficiency, appear and grab Aiden by the arms. I recognize Callahan, Nico’s head of security, and a woman I think is his driver.
“Bree, what the hell?” Aiden’s voice pitches with confusion and fear. “Who are these guys? What is this?”
Great question.
This is my boss.
You know, the billionaire CEO who treats me like garbage and then shows up at my apartment like a possessive lunatic before my date can kiss me.
Totally normal.
“It’s fine,” I manage. “Aiden, I’m so sorry, just go. Please.”
“Bree—”
“Go!” I tell him.
The security team is already guiding him toward the SUV. Not roughly, but firmly. Aiden keeps looking back, bewildered and hurt, and guilt coils in my stomach because he didn’t do anything wrong. He was just trying to kiss me goodnight like a normal human being on a normal date.
And now he’s being escorted away by bodyguards while Nico glares at him like he’s considering murder.
Nico’s eyes finally lock onto mine. Dark and burning. His chest heaves under my palms, and I realize I’m still touching him, still pressed against him like I’m the only thing keeping him from violence.
“Inside.” His voice islethal. “Now.”
I should tell him to go to hell.
I should scream at him. Call the police. Report him for harassment.
At a minimum, I should refuse to let him into my home after he just revealed that he’s beenstalking me.
But my hands are shaking and my heart is pounding and something hot and furious and terrifyingly close to arousal is flooding through me, and I turn and unlock my door instead.
