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I’m not a little girl; I’m a grown woman. He and I are both free, so what’s stopping us from enjoying ourselves a little?
That’s the modern Brooklyn trying to speak, but the real me—the true Brooklyn—has no idea how to navigate a casual relationship.
"Why are you embarrassed?" he asks.
Eleanor and the kids have already gone inside, escorted by the security team that has accompanied us the entire weekend. Athanasios told me he doesn’t usually use more than a pair of discreet guards who follow his car when he’s not with a driver. But to take care of me and my children, he’s employed at least half a dozen.
"I don’t know how to handle situations like this," I admit. "I don’t think I’m cut out for casual."
He turns on the car light, and I fight the urge to hide my face in my hands.
Don’t be ridiculous, Brooklyn Foster. Pull yourself together!
"I’m not being casual with you," he says, and my foolish heart races.
"You’re not?"
"No. I brought you into my home. I don’t share my personal space casually."
That calms me a bit. Deep down, I still dream of a fairy tale romance. Even though the physical attraction I feel for him is so intense it clouds my judgment, I don’t want just that. Because, if I’m honest, I’m starting to like Athanasios for much more than just his looks.
"I’m not asking for a commitment, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not relieved to know I’m not just another name in your little black book."
He frowns. "Did I give you that impression?"
"No. I mean, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only had one real boyfriend, and he asked me to be his girlfriend on the very first day."
"What do I need to say or do to keep you from feeling so uncertain?"
"Are you just telling me what I want to hear?"
"No. As I said before, I don’t lie. I’m just trying to understand. I’m not a smooth guy or someone who knows much about feelings or emotions beyond the physical, but I don’t want to hurt you by making you think I only want to fuck you."
I shake my head, marveling at how he manages to be both blunt and incredibly sensual—an intoxicating combination—without even trying. "I think I understand. It’s okay."
He gets out of the car and walks around to open my door. After helping me out, he pins me against the car. "I’m like a bulldozer when I want something, Brooklyn. I’m trying not to scare you."
"I’m not afraid of your intensity."
"It’s not just intensity—it’s control. I’m a natural-born controller."
"And you want to control me?"
"I wantyou. The control comes with it."
I swallow hard, aroused. "How much control? Was what we had yesterday just a preview?"
Instead of answering, he nibbles along my jawline. "Have dinner with me tomorrow," he says, pausing to pull back and look into my eyes. "At my house."
"Just us?"
He nods, and heat spreads from my toes to the tips of my ears.
Mortified, I loop my arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss.
It’s the first time I’ve initiated a kiss, and I’m a little clumsy, but the desire is so overwhelming that it drowns out my embarrassment.
I run my tongue along the seam of his lips, and his arms tighten around me, pulling me against his muscular body. I melt into him, writhing and moaning as his lips consume mine. When we finally pull apart for air, his gaze scorches me.