"Different how?" I ask, though I know exactly what she means.
"More…intense." Her gaze drops to my mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes. "Less controlled."
"You bring that out in me." The admission comes easily, surprising us both. "Consider yourself responsible."
A small smile plays at the corners of her lips. "I'm not sure whether to be flattered or terrified by that."
"Both," I tell her honestly. "Both is appropriate."
We turn again, and I catch sight of familiar faces watching us—board members, business associates, rivals. None of them matter. Nothing matters except the woman in my arms and the way she's slowly, inexorably surrendering to whatever this is between us.
"May I cut in?"
The voice comes from behind me, intruding on our moment, our space, our connection. I don't turn immediately, taking my time, making him wait. When I do, I find exactly who I expected—Victor Chambers, CEO of Chambers Industries, my chief competitor in three Benets. His smile is all polished charm, but his eyes are calculating.
"Victor," I acknowledge coolly. "You're interrupting."
"Just following tradition," he replies smoothly. "It's customary to share the dance floor, isn't it? Especially with such a lovely partner."
His eyes move to Sophie, traveling down her body in a way that makes my blood simmer. Not an overt leer—Victor is too sophisticated for that—but a thorough appreciation that crosses professional boundaries. I feel Sophie tense against me, uncertain how to navigate this situation.
"Sophie isn't interested in tradition," I say, my voice dropping to a register I rarely use outside of boardroom takeovers. "Or in dancing with anyone else tonight."
Victor's smile doesn't waver, but something shifts in his eyes—recognition of the territorial display, amusement at discovering a pressure point he didn't know existed.
"Perhaps we should let the lady decide," he suggests, extending his hand toward Sophie.
I don't move, don't create space between us for her to potentially step away. Instead, I tighten my grip fractionally, keeping her anchored against me.
"She's with me," I say, the words coming out as a low growl that surprises even me with its raw possessiveness. "Find another partner, Victor."
The message isn't subtle. Neither is the warning in my tone—a promise of consequences that has nothing to do with dancing and everything to do with the most primitive rules of engagement between men.
Victor's eyes widen slightly at the naked aggression in my voice. I never lose control, never show emotion in business settings. He's witnessing something unprecedented—Christian Hawthorne staking a personal claim, drawing a line that has nothing to do with profit margins or Benet share.
I feel Sophie's heart rate accelerate against my chest, her breathing quickening. Not from fear, I realize, but from something else entirely. The primal display of dominance has affected her. Intrigued her. Aroused her.
Victor raises his hands in mock surrender, his smile tightening. "No offense intended, Christian. Just being sociable." He nods to Sophie. "Perhaps another time."
"There won't be another time," I say, simple and final.
He retreats, but the damage is done—not to our dance, but to my carefully constructed façade. In that moment, I revealed more than I intended about what Sophie means to me. About how far I'm willing to go to keep her.
Once he's gone, Sophie tilts her head back to study my face. "That was…intense."
"He overstepped," I reply, guiding her back into the rhythm of the dance.
"You growled at him." There's wonder in her voice, and something darker, more intrigued. "Actually growled."
"Did I?" I ask, though I know perfectly well what happened.
"You know you did." Her eyes don't leave mine as we move across the floor. "Why?"
I could give her a sanitized answer. Could frame it in terms of professional courtesy or social norms. But the raw honesty between us deserves more.
"Because you're mine tonight," I tell her, watching her pupils dilate at the possessive statement. "And I don't share what's mine."
I expect her to protest, to remind me again that she doesn't belong to me or anyone. Instead, she swallows hard, her fingers tightening on my shoulder.
