Page 15

Brooklyn

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Do you have plans for what you'll do after you fully recover?" he asks while driving through the streets of Manhattan.

Athanasios insisted on pushing my wheelchair all the way to his car. From what I could tell, the garage where it was parked is part of a private area, which confirms what Madison told me—that he owns the hospital.

I was surprised. I don’t know why, but I imagined he’d have a driver at his disposal. From the little I’ve observed, he doesn’t strike me as the type who’d have the patience to deal with Manhattan traffic. When I pointed this out, Athanasios said that, yes, he usually uses a chauffeur, but today he wanted to drive himself. He didn’t offer further explanation, but I understood that he wanted to be alone with me.

I’ve never been the target of something like this—a deliberate, relentless pursuit. Sure, I’ve been flirted with, but never with this kind of determination.

I glance at his profile as he drives. He’s breathtakingly handsome, almost unfairly so. Why, of all people, did this man become obsessed with me?

"I don’t have any concrete plans yet," I finally reply. "But I think I’ll go back to work once I’m fully recovered."

"A hairstylist," he says matter-of-factly.

"How do you know?"

"I looked you up on Facebook."

I shake my head, half in disbelief. "You’re unbelievable."

"Just honest."

"Why did you look me up?"

"I wanted to know more about you."

"Why go to all that trouble just to get me into bed? That’s what this is about, isn’t it?"

"That too," he answers enigmatically.

"And what if I want the same? To know more about you, I mean."

"Ask me, Brooklyn. I don’t play games. At least, not outside the bedroom."

My pulse spikes.

Dear God, how does he manage to unravel me with just a hint of innuendo?

"Are your parents alive?"

I notice his hands tighten on the steering wheel. "My adoptive parents, yes. They’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive."

"Which would be?"

"Forty years. Subtle way of trying to figure out my age. Does the age gap between us bother you?"

"No, but I’d like to know if you usually date younger women."

"Is this an inquiry about my sexual past?"

"No, just curiosity."

"I don’t typically date women under thirty."

"Oh! Why me, then?"

"You attract me." He briefly glances away from the road to look at me. "You attract me a lot, Brooklyn."

Jesus, I must not be fully recovered yet because suddenly I feel dizzy and feverish. "Have you already started trying to seduce me?"

"No. Did it feel that way?"

"Uh . . . no, of course not."

"You’re a terrible liar, Brooklyn Foster."

"I don’t play games. Moses was my first boyfriend."

"You got pregnant by your first boyfriend?"

He has no idea.

"I’m pretty sure it was during our first time, actually."

"You didn’t use protection?" He looks shocked now.

"I did. I had sex ed in school, thank you. It was an accident," I say, immediately regretting my words. "I mean, not the babies. I love my kids. I wouldn’t trade being their mom for anything in the world. But getting pregnant so young—it was an accident."

"I understand." He looks serious now, his jaw tight.

What on earth just happened?

"Are you mad at me?"

"No. At that idiot who got you pregnant and didn’t even put his real name on your kids’ birth certificates."

"Zeus is helping me with that. He got a lawyer for me. Their certificates will list only my name." I shake my head, smiling. "How did we jump from the age of the women you date to the paternity of my kids?"

"Everything about you interests me."

"You can’t say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because it’s a very serious thing to say. I don’t know what kind of women you’re used to dealing with, but don’t think I’m some na?ve girl who’ll make the same mistake twice. I made a misjudgment in the past; I’m not easy to fool."

"Are you comparing me to that scumbag?"

"No. How could I? I don’t even know you." I sigh in frustration. "See? This is why we’d never work out. It’s our first time talking outside the hospital, and we’re already arguing. Seriously, who fights before they’ve even kissed?"

We’re on a tree-lined street, which I believe is where Zeus arranged for Eleanor to live with my children. Madison explained that while I was in a coma, a shady social worker tried to have Soraya and Silas put up for adoption. Zeus first secured a house to meet the worker's demands and later moved them here.

He remains silent, and I think he’s going to drop me off with my family and leave as quickly as possible, realizing there’s no compatibility between us. But then, to my surprise, he turns on the blinker and parks under a tree.

"What are you doing?"

"You’re right—things need to happen in the proper order: the kiss first, then the argument."

Before I can take another breath, he releases my seatbelt. His large hand moves to the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

"What—”

"Tell me to stop, Brooklyn. If you don’t, I’m going to kiss you. I’ve been dying to taste that mouth."

I try to summon a shred of willpower, but his other hand moves to my hip, gripping it possessively, and a sigh of pleasure escapes me.

I meet his gaze, captivated by the intensity in his eyes. There’s nothing cold in them now. Like his touch, his gaze melts me.

Before I can think twice, my hand moves to his face, caressing his rough jawline. The coarse texture against my palm makes me moan softly, my body responding with startling intensity.

"I didn’t plan this," he says, as if talking to himself.

"Does everything you do have to fit into your plans?"

"Not this time. I want to kiss you too much to resist."

His gaze makes me burn. Every cell in my body reacts eagerly to his slow seduction. The anticipation is almost painful, especially since just moments ago, I thought I didn’t want to be kissed.

And then, when it happens, I’m not prepared for it.

I’ve kissed men before—even before Moses. But there’s no comparison between a casual meeting of lips and the way Athanasios takes my mouth.

The masculinity I already sensed in him makes me melt instantly, surrendering to his hungry demand. His hot, rough tongue explores my mouth, tasting me, making me want more.

I can’t stifle a whimper, and my response seems to excite him further. His hand tangles in my hair, caressing the nape of my neck, sending a sharp ache to my swollen, sensitive breasts.

When he sucks on my tongue, my other hand moves to his hair, holding him in place. A low growl escapes his throat, and he lifts me, likely intending to pull me onto his lap. But at that exact moment, the sound of a passing car startles me, and I pull away.

I don’t have the courage to look at him, embarrassed by how easily I gave in.

I take several deep breaths, trying to calm myself, but it’s no use. My entire body is still humming, refusing to obey my mind’s commands.

"We’ve had our first kiss and our first argument now. Those are checked off the list, Brooklyn," he says, smug.

"It was just a kiss."

"Look me in the eye and say that again."

I swallow hard and keep my gaze on the street.

"That’s what I thought," he says arrogantly, restarting the car.