Not smooth like the corporate men I usually deal with—he feels real.
Rough-edged. Capable.
Like a man who’s handled more than just money.
And for one dangerous, reckless moment, I let him.
Because his eyes are on mine, molten gold in the low light, and the world suddenly feels too small for the two of us.
Too hot. Too intimate.
“You know,” I say, throat tight, “this business deal is pretty important. Maybe we shouldn’t?—”
“I agree,” he says smoothly, voice dipping lower, brushing over me like a caress. “It’s important. But what happens in the boardroom happens there for a reason.”
He tightens his grip on my hand just slightly, enough to make my pulse skip.
“This?” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “Out here? Me and you? This is outside the boardroom. And yet—equally important. Tell me it’s not.”
My breath catches.
Every part of me is telling me to pull away, to remember who I am and what kind of man this is.
But his words—his tone—sink into me like honey laced with poison.
“You’re dangerous,” I whisper, because I need to say something.
“I can be,” he admits easily, leaning closer until I catch a hint of his scent—cedarwood, smoke, and sin. “But not to you.”
A sharp, humorless laugh escapes me.
“I don’t believe that.”
His lips twitch.
“Then maybe you just don’t know me well enough yet.”
Before I can answer, the waiter appears, all starched white linen and impeccable timing.
“Pardon me, monsieur, mademoiselle,” he says softly, moving between us to clear the plates.
Atlas releases my hand, slow and deliberate, like he’s forcing himself to do it.
And the second his skin leaves mine, I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
He leans back in his chair, composure restored, while I sip my wine to hide the trembling in my fingers.
He shouldn’t affect me like this.
I know better.
Men like him are the reason women like me build walls in the first place.
I’m supposed to be the calm one, the rational one, the one who knows exactly how to read the danger in a smile like his.
But Atlas Stavros isn’t a man you can read.
He’s a cipher. A contradiction.
