Page 12 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter Eight

Seraphina

I can only hope that I am able to get back on my feet before he pulls the rug out from beneath me again.

Houston’s skyline blurs as we pass. Vionna is competent but not too aggressive, and she pulls up in front of the valet stand at the Bluewater Bistro.

Lila has talked about this place for at least two years.

Getting a reservation is next to impossible, and the bar area is hopping.

She swears it is the best place to meet the who’s who of Houston.

Plenty of times, she’s dropped names of the people she’s seen here.

A football player, the most beloved baseball player in the Bayou City’s history, people in the mayor’s and DA’s offices, the most powerful lawyer in the state who recently divorced for a third time and is reportedly on the prowl for a trophy wife.

Lila generously said she would volunteer as tribute.

We’re greeted by the owner herself and shown to a private room. I wonder if Lila knows it exists.

When a waiter hurries over to pull back my chair, Blackwell waves him off and takes his place.

As I sit, the dress clings to my waist and hips, tailored like as if it was custom made for me.

Wearing this silkiness makes me feel like I belong here. Suddenly I feel as if I’m someone I haven’t been in a long, long time.

As the waiter flicks open a napkin and places it in my lap, Blackwell sits across from me, all polished power in his tailored suit.

We’re handed high-end Bonds tablets that display the menu.

“May I start you with something to drink, Mr. Blackwell? Or would you like to look at the wine list?” He indicates the fancy leather folder that’s perched near the edge of the table.

Blackwell looks at me “How about a bottle of red?”

Absolutely not. “I won’t be drinking.” Wine on an empty stomach? With Blackwell across from me in a private room? I’m not that far gone.

“I’ll have a glass of my regular.”

“Very well, sir. And for you, ma’am?”

“Iced tea.” Although any caffeine right now is probably a bad call if I hope to sleep tonight. And since I’m already running on fumes I need the rest. “Sweetened, please.”

A second server delivers a basket filled with several different types of warm rolls. On a plate are pats of butter that have the restaurant’s logo stamped in them.

“How about an appetizer to go with that?” He recommends the seafood fondue.

I glance at the menu, and my mouth begins to water. There’s an image of the dish, and it is described as a creamy and savory mix of cheeses, Gulf shrimp, blue crab, and spinach.

How long has it been since I’ve had food that looks so tempting? “Sounds amazing.”

Blackwell nods, confirming the order.

When we’re alone, he doesn’t even pretend to hide the way he drags his gaze over me—as if he’s assessing his prize, deciding which part he wants to consume first.

Though his tie is looser than it had been, nothing about him is casual. He’s a shark in the shallows, all sleek lines and the promise of teeth.

We haven’t been here for five full minutes, and he’s already unsettled me. “We should be at the office.” I fold my hands in my lap so he can’t see how they tremble.

He just smiles, and the razor curve of his mouth makes my pulse skip. “Relax, Ms. Hollis. This isn’t a date.”

So why does every inch of me feel like prey, served up on fine china?

I study the menu. Even the lower priced entrees cost more than I’m used to spending each week for groceries.

Using a pair of tongs, Blackwell places a roll on my plate. The scent of yeasty goodness teases me, and I break off a piece and use it to scrape some butter off the plate.

I feel as if I’m in heaven.

As I nibble instead of devouring, he asks about my visit to HR. And I notice he doesn’t have a single bite of the bread.

Maybe that’s how he keeps his spectacular physique.

The server reappears with the appetizer. It looks even more amazing than I imagined.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

Blackwell surprises me by waiting on me again, heaping a few spoons of the fondue onto a small plate, along with a small piece of French bread that was served on the side.

While he takes some for himself, I try a bite and instantly squeeze my eyes shut. “This is amazing.” If it wasn’t so rich, I’d want to eat it as if it were a bowl of soup.

For a few minutes, he makes polite conversation, asking about my shopping trip and letting me know that I have a meeting with Tasha Leclerc, the property acquisitions specialist late tomorrow morning.

“So soon?”

“When I make a decision, I execute.”

No kidding. At warp speed. Obviously I’m not the only person whose life gets dictated by the CEO.

When I move my plate to the side, the waiter appears at our table, as if he’s been quietly waiting. Surely he has other customers? “Are you ready to order? Or would you like a few more minutes to relax?”

“I know what I’m having.”

At my statement, Blackwell nods.

“The Ceasar salad, please.”

“Any protein with that?”

“No, thanks.”

Blackwell flashes a scowl at me before directing his attention back to the server. “She’ll have the filet.” He glances back at me. “Medium rare?”

I sit there, blinking in shock.

When I don’t answer, he continues. “She’ll have that with the roasted potatoes and asparagus.”

“Very good, sir.” His eyes dart between us like he can’t decide which of us is the bigger threat.

When I open my mouth to object, Blackwell raises his hand. Fury is radiating from him. “You will not fucking argue with me, Ms. Hollis.”

I don’t dare. With the way a pulse is ticking in his temple, it’s clear he’s not above making a scene.

The waiter recovers more quickly than I do. “And for you, Mr. Blackwell? The usual?”

He nods.

Without taking any notes, the man double checks to see if we need anything else.

“We’re good, Lewis. Thank you.”

Moments later, we’re alone and adrenaline is crashing through me. “That was out of line.”

“So was ordering the least expensive items on the menu,” he counters instantly.

That offended him? “I like Caesar salad.”

“So have one for lunch tomorrow.”

I sigh. “We also have all this bread and an appetizer.”

“You’re not starving yourself on my dime.” He levels his gaze on me. Hard. “You’ve done enough of that.”

Heat burns up my neck. He means it as a dig. The maid’s uniform, the cheap shoes, my car, the way I’m living.

I pick up my iced tea glass. “And why do you suddenly care?”

For a moment—just a moment—I see a crack in his armor. Maybe a flash of guilt. It makes him almost human.

“What I did to you was reprehensible.” His voice is low enough that I feel it in my chest. “I didn’t mean to break you, Seraphina.”

A laugh bubbles up. “You didn’t.” What a lie. I feel the shards of that day every time I stand too close to him, every time he looks at me like he’s already stripped me bare.

My throat tightens, so I deflect. I’m good at it—old habits from the boardroom, from watching men like him lie with silk smiles and hidden knives.

“So. The Lockhart projections…” My voice is steady even though my pulse isn’t. “Of course, I’ve only skimmed them, but something doesn’t quite add up.”

He goes still. His eyes sharpen, and darkness flickers through them. Maybe respect? Or maybe I’m just wishing.

“I can’t find anything that’s off. I’ll need days to dive deeper.”

“Trust your instincts.”

Pride blooms in my chest anyway. “Thanks. I’ll figure out what’s bothering me.”

His mouth curves, a slow, dark movement that sends prickles up my spine prickle. “Good girl.”

The words hit me like a slap. Or a kiss. I can’t tell the difference anymore. “That’s inappropriate, Mr. Blackwell. The employee manual would consider that a boundary violation.”

“You’ve been reading.”

“Page twelve, if I remember correctly.” Which I do. “As you recall, you made me visit the HR department.” But the truth is, my body can’t keep my secrets. I like the way he said, “Good girl.” Shame scorches me as I squeeze my thighs tight against my forbidden desire.

I’m saved by the arrival of our meals.

My steak is seared to perfection. And he watches every bite I take, as if he’s imagining feeding me from his hand.

Where do these terrible, unwelcome thoughts come from?

After I have my leftovers wrapped to take home, he orders the dessert trio. I promise myself I won’t touch any of them, but the decadent opera cake proves irresistible.

But the first bite melts on my tongue, and a tiny sound slips out before I can stop it.

His jade eyes darken, and I hate that he noticed my moan of pleasure.

“I like seeing you happy.”

How he takes care of the bill, I have no idea since the server never presents him with a check.

But the owner wishes us a good evening as we exit and slide into the back seat of his car that is magically waiting.

He gives Vionna my address.

“What—?”

Unapologetically he shrugs. “Your HR file.”

“You know you are not supposed to?—”

“Who’s going to stop me?”

Who, indeed?

Then reality returns. “Wait. My car’s at the office. Please drop me there.”

“Vionna is happy to pick you up in the morning. Ensure you’re on time.”

I really don’t want him to see where I live. “Just in case something comes up, I want my own vehicle.”

Sharply he arches an eyebrow. “Planning to go somewhere tonight, Ms. Hollis?”

As exhausted as I am and how early I need to get up in the morning? Straight to bed. “That’s not the point.”

His eyes flash.

Jealousy?

No. I shake my head. That’s not possible. “Please take me to my car, Vionna.”

In the rearview mirror, Vionna meets his gaze, and he gives a quick nod. He sits too close, and the heat of him warms my skin through the silk of my dress.

His hand drifts, far too close to my knee. But he doesn’t touch me. Not really. Just makes me aware of his sizzling power, so much so that my breath catches in my throat.

“You’ll ask me to touch you.” His voice is like sin in the shadows. “One day, you’ll beg me to break every rule you made.”

I turn to him, ready to disagree, but the words tangle in my mouth. His eyes are heavy-lidded, hungry. I wonder if he knows, if he can feel the way my pulse hammers out the yes I refuse to give him.

I pull my knee away, biting the inside of my cheek so I don’t do something stupid like lean in.

He smiles, slow and patient, like the predator he is.

I wish my insides didn’t melt when he looks at me like that.

His expression says he’ll wait as long as it takes. And I’m not sure I can outlast him.

Minutes later, Vionna brings the sedan to a stop near my aging ride.

“This is it?” He glances around, noting the parking lot is empty except for this one slot, and I’m nowhere near a light.

“Yep.” Refusing to be embarrassed, I pick up the bag that’s filled with my leftovers and reach for the door handle. “This is it.”

Before he can say anything else, I grab my purse and slide out.

Instantly he’s at my side.

He takes my fob and opens my door. “Seven a.m., Ms. Hollis.”

Knowing I absolutely must escape while I still can, I slip inside and pull the door from his grip, slamming it closed and pushing the button to lock it.

Face set in lines that threaten a future reckoning, he folds his arms and watches as I start the engine and then pull away.

As I turn onto the main road, I look in the wing mirror.

He’s hasn’t moved an inch.

Why does a part of me wish he hadn’t let me get in without touching me again?