“You’re good at this,” I tell him finally. “The whole mysterious billionaire prince thing. I can see why women line up to fall at your feet.”
“Do they?” His voice softens, almost contemplative now. “Maybe they do. But none of them catches my eye.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I mean it. And I’m not looking at any of them.”
That quiet honesty catches me off guard. I stare at him across the table, seeing—not the polished businessman, not the smirking prince—but a man with shadows under his charm.
And it scares me how much I want to understand them.
Dessert is brought out, and it’s sublime.
We eat.
We drink.
And when it’s time to go—Atlas takes my keys and hands them to a man in black—one of his bodyguards, I assume.
“Your car will be ready for you when you leave.”
“What?”
“I’m hoping you’ll join me in my room for a nightcap,” he murmurs, tucking my hand into the crux of his arm and placing his other on the small of my back.
“Does that line still work?” I ask, after we make it outside.
“You tell me, kardhoúla,” he says, and his face is so close I can see flecks of fire in his golden gaze.
“Okay,” I whisper, not ready to end the night.
“Come,” he says.
It’s not a request.
And as we walk quickly through the brisk night air to the glitzy hotel on the corner. Stargazer, of course.
The city lights glitter like fractured stars outside. And I can’t help but wonder what the hell I’m walking into.
One night of passion and pleasure? Or my ultimate ruination?
Because whatever Atlas James Stavros really is—he’s not just danger.
He’s the kind that smiles when you step closer.
And I have every intention of stepping closer.
Chapter Four-Atlas
The elevator hums like a held breath. We don’t speak.
There’s no need.
The silence between us is taut, alive—an animal waiting to pounce.
My pulse is loud in my ears, a drumbeat that drowns out everything but the cadence of my own desire.
God, I’ve courted a thousand distractions in my life, but none of them have felt like this.
