"I should get back," I insist, my customer-service smile firmly in place.
"You know, I've never seen Christian bring anyone to these events," James continues, ignoring my attempt to leave. "Makes me curious what makes you so…special." His eyes travel down my body in a way that makes me want to cover myself with my hands.
"I'm sure I don't know," I reply, edging sideways. "Excuse me."
He steps fully into my path now. "Let me guess. You're hoping to leverage tonight into something more permanent? Smart. But you should know Christian doesn't keep his toys for long."
Anger flashes through me, hot and sudden. "I'm not anyone's toy."
"No?" James smirks. "Then why not have a drink with me instead? I'll show you what?—"
"She said excuse me."
Christian's voice cuts through the corridor like ice. I turn to find him standing a few feet away, his expression murderous. I've never seen anyone look so coldly furious while remaining completely still.
James straightens, his smirk never faltering. "Christian. Just getting acquainted with your charming companion."
"Sophie." Christian doesn't look at me, his eyes fixed on James with predatory focus. "Come here."
The command should irritate me. Instead, I find myself moving to his side without hesitation. His arm immediately circles my waist, pulling me against him.
"If you touch her, look at her, or speak to her again," Christian says, his voice soft but lethal, "I will destroy everything you've built in this city. Do I make myself clear?"
James's smile finally falters. "It was just friendly conversation."
"Nothing about you is friendly," Christian replies. "Now get out of my sight."
For a moment, I think James might challenge him. Then his self-preservation instinct apparently kicks in, and he nods stiffly before walking away.
Christian's arm remains locked around me, his body vibrating with tension. I can feel his heart hammering where my shoulder presses against his chest.
"Are you all right?" he asks, finally looking down at me.
"I'm fine," I assure him, though my voice shakes slightly. "He was just talking."
"He was hunting," Christian corrects, his jaw clenching so tight I worry he might crack a tooth. "And I warned you not to wander off."
I should be offended by his high-handedness. I should remind him that I'm not his to command or protect.
Instead, I find myself leaning into him, drawn to his heat, his strength, his absolute certainty that I belong with him and not anyone else in this glittering, dangerous room.
And that terrifies me more than any predatory executive ever could.
Christian guides me back to the ballroom with his arm still locked around my waist, his fingers splayed possessively against my hip. I should pull away, assert some independence, remind him that I don't need a bodyguard. I don't. Instead, I let myself be tucked against his side, shamefully grateful for his solid presence after my encounter with James. The heat of Christian's barely controlled anger radiates through his perfectly tailored tuxedo, warming my skin even through the velvet of my dress. It's a dangerous kind of comfort, like standing too close to a fire that could either warm you or consume you completely.
"I told you not to leave my side," he says, voice low and taut. Not quite scolding, but close.
"I just needed a minute," I reply, hating how breathless I sound. "I didn't expect to be ambushed."
"I did." His arm tightens fractionally. "Every man in this room noticed you the moment you walked in. Some have more self-control than others."
The possessiveness in his tone shouldn't make my pulse quicken. It does anyway.
"It was just talking," I insist, though we both know it wasn't.
Christian stops walking, turning me to face him. His eyes are storm clouds, dark and electric. "Sophie. Men like James don't 'just talk' to women like you."
"Women like me?" I echo.
