Page 29

Brooklyn

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

"Thank you for . . . uh . . . everything," I say, trying not to sound embarrassed.

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 want you . 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.

He cups my chin and brushes a soft kiss against my lips. "You need a name for what we are," he says, sensing the confusion swirling inside me.

"I . . .” I start, but I can’t lie, so I let the words die.

He places two fingers over my lips. "We’re dating," he declares. "Does that make it easier for you?"

I feel a pang of irritation. I hate seeming needy, even though, deep down, I probably am. "Don’t patronize me."

"I’m not. I’m just giving you what you want. I don’t care about labels, but I care about what we have when we’re together. If you prefer to be called my girlfriend while I’m buried deep inside you, that’s fine by me—just know you’re mine."

I draw in several shaky breaths, trembling and deeply aroused by the possessiveness in his voice.

I could lie, deny it, but I choose honesty even though it might bruise my pride.

"Yes, I prefer a label," I admit, starting softly but determined to make him taste his own medicine. "And wouldn’t you prefer it that way, too? Knowing that when you take me, when you make me moan in your ear begging for more, I’ll be your girlfriend?"

He lets out a low growl before whispering in my ear, "Tomorrow, I’ll send my driver to pick you up at eight. Be ready for me."

"So, how did it go?" Madison asks over the phone.

"Wow, are you spying on me now? I just bathed the babies and put them to bed. I was literally walking into my room when you called."

She laughs. "I was dying to know. I didn’t call earlier because I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your ‘god.’"

"He didn’t come inside. That’s something I love about him, Madison. Athanasios pushes me almost to my limit. He says exactly what he’s thinking, doesn’t sugarcoat anything, makes my knees weak, but he knows exactly when to stop—when not to go further than I can handle right now."

"That’s the difference between dating a boy and dating a man, sis. Experience."

I scowl. "I don’t like thinking about that. At forty, he must have plenty of experience. I’ve just realized I’m jealous."

"Don’t even start! Even with my massive belly, women still practically throw themselves at Zeus in front of me. Ugh, I hate it!"

It’s my turn to laugh. Seeing Madison, usually so self-assured, in this possessive mode is something to behold. "He told me we are ‘dating.’ Said it’s what I needed."

"And is it?"

"This probably sounds dumb, but yes. I may only be twenty-one, but I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a mother. The idea of casually hooking up doesn’t appeal to me."

"It never did, did it? Look how quickly you started dating that loser."

"Exactly. I’m not modern. Casual flings don’t suit me."

"What are you thinking?"

"Athanasios said he didn’t care what I called us as long as I knew I was his."

She laughs. "Our men are still living in the Middle Ages."

"This alpha-male thing is unreal. Part of me, the feminist part, screams against the concept of possession, control . . .”

"But there’s another part that completely melts for it, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Welcome to the club, sis. Now, tell me about the weekend."

"I’m not giving you intimate details if that’s what you’re expecting."

"Ew! No thanks. But wait—did you guys ‘finish the game’?"

"Wow, Madison, that’s a lame analogy."

"What do you want me to say? Did you two fuck like rabbits?"

I hear a deep laugh in the background. "Oh, God! Is Zeus there?"

"He is. Now answer quickly—I’m about to get busy. My husband can’t hear me say the ‘F-word’ without wanting to ‘discipline’ me."

"Too much information, sister. As for your question, let’s just say I got a great introductory lesson in what it means to belong to him."