Page 5 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire (Heart & Soul #2)

She gave a brief nod before she sighed and placed a slender hand against her stomach. Her words cracked right through his control.

“Do you guys serve food here? I haven’t eaten all day, and I’m starving.”

That strange sense of protectiveness surged up inside him.

His gaze swept over her again, noting her clothing, the tattered, worn condition of her purse, and finally her shoes—was that duct tape on the heel?

His arm immediately lifted when she swayed.

His eyes flashed when she stepped back before he could touch her.

“The Club has a world-class chef working in the kitchen,” he replied, signaling to a server. “I’ll have something brought up. Get me a menu.”

“Thank you,” she muttered. “I think I’m running on breath mints and attitude.”

“You? Attitude? I would never have guessed that from the reply Rhys gave me when I invited you up here the first time,” he teased.

“Yeah, well, if he had said you had food, I would have dragged his butt up the stairs and delivered my reply personally. My ribs are talking to my spine at the moment,” she replied.

“Easily remedied. Please, have a seat,” he said with an amused chuckle.

A woman who admitted she was hungry was a rarity in his world.

He realized this was the second time he had laughed—genuinely laughed—in as many minutes. And with the laughter came a realization. He felt a rush of exhilaration he hadn’t felt in years.

This was something special.

He was already addicted to it.

Addicted to her.

He was many things: powerful, ruthless, untouchable—but as he watched the woman with the sharp tongue and the sparkling, defiant eyes take her seat across from him and lift her glass of water like a toast to fate itself…

He knew one thing with absolute certainty.

He was already in over his head.

The table filled slowly—course by course—until it became a miniature feast laid out between them. Theo watched, equal parts fascinated and amused, as the woman with sapphire eyes devoured everything in front of her with unapologetic hunger.

She didn’t bother with daintiness. She ate—moaning with pleasure as she sampled the olives, the chicken skewers, the crusty bread dipped in warm herbed oil.

When the truffle flatbread arrived, she murmured something reverent that made his body react as if he’d been sucker-punched in the gut.

He leaned back in the booth, sipping a deep red Syrah, watching her with growing intrigue.

She hadn’t given him her last name. He wasn’t even sure she had given him her first. He wouldn’t put it past her to have made it up.

She hadn’t given him much of anything, actually.

Every time he turned a question on her, she redirected it. Cleverly. Effortlessly. With that crooked smile that curled like ribbon around his spine.

“So,” he tried again, leaning an elbow on the edge of the booth, “what’s a woman like you doing alone in a club like this?”

She paused mid-bite of chicken and stared at him. “I wasn’t alone. I came with a group. Granted, they aren’t my favorite group. One of them thought a first hello came with butt privileges, and we separated from there.”

“If he is still here, I will be happy to have Rhys escort him out,” he vowed.

She laughed and shook her head. “Poor Rhys. What did he ever do to you?”

A laugh burst from his chest before he could stop it. “I’m pretty sure Rhys’s butt would be safe.”

She smiled and shrugged. “Honestly… the person I was supposed to meet was called into work and forgot to tell me until it was too late. I was biding my time as the unofficial table guardian for the sacred drinks of Clarissa the Glitter Queen and Rod the Human Sponge until I could make a strategic escape without damaging my real friend’s relationship with said duo. ”

He nodded, intrigued. “You’re loyal.”

“No, I’m an idiot for agreeing in the first place,” she deadpanned. “There’s a difference.”

He laughed again—and didn’t miss the way her eyes sparkled when she made him do it.

By the time the tiramisu arrived—delicate layers of espresso-soaked sponge and mascarpone—he realized something unsettling.

She’d flipped the entire script on him.

He had been answering the questions.

Not generic small talk. Not safe, curated soundbites.

Real things.

Stories from his family home on Syros. His grandfather’s old boat. The time he and Alexandros hotwired a Vespa to get to the local market and ended up being chased by wild goats. His first job in military intelligence. His decision to create the firm.

He’d told her things he had shared with fewer than a handful of people—none of them women.

He was in the middle of recounting how he broke his arm as a teen trying to impress a girl who would later become his first lover, when it hit him.

Hard.

He sat back, his gaze narrowing.

She was good.

Too good.

A flicker of suspicion crept in. Was she a journalist? Paparazzi? Some kind of plant?

The idea unsettled him—but he still wanted her. Desperately. He didn’t know what it was about her that made him feel off-kilter, as if he were trying to walk on a surface that wasn’t quite solid.

He studied her, watching as she spooned a bite of tiramisu into her mouth with a soft, indulgent moan that nearly drove him insane.

Focus, Theo.

He cleared his throat. “What do you do for a living?”

She glanced at him, mid-chew, and shrugged with deliberate casualness. “I’m a bit of a jack-of-all-trades.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Her smile returned—mischievous, knowing, laced with something deeper he couldn’t quite touch. She licked her lips, laughing silently when she noticed him following the movement.

“Do you know what a jack-of-all-trades is?” she asked, lifting her chin.

Before he could respond, she deliberately took another slow bite of her dessert. Parting her lips slightly before she licked them again.

“You missed a spot,” he said, his voice low, his gaze flicking to the corner of her mouth.

Her eyes stayed locked on his as she lifted her fingers and touched her lips. “Where?”

He leaned in closer.

“Let me,” he murmured.

His hand lifted before he could stop it, brushing lightly along her jaw with his thumb, catching the imaginary speck of cream. Her breath hitched.

So did his.

He didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Time seemed to slow around them—the air charged, as if reality itself was holding its breath.

She lifted her fingers to his lips.

“One kiss. You can only have one,” she murmured before sliding her hand along his jaw to his nape and meeting him halfway.

Their mouths touched like a match being struck—soft at first, then catching fire.

Her lips were warm and slightly sticky from the tiramisu.

She tasted like sweet coffee and sin. He deepened the kiss with aching restraint, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, cradling her like something precious.

And it was that lightning strike all over again—only this time, it didn’t stop at his chest.

She responded—not shyly, but with a confident curiosity that made his knees tighten beneath the table. Their mouths moved together in perfect sync—exploring, teasing, testing the edges of restraint.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a detonation.

Everything else faded.

The music. The people. The room.

There was just her. Just this.

And then—chaos.

A shriek.

A crash.

The sharp shatter of glass.

They broke apart just as Clarissa, eyes wild and limbs loose with alcohol, stumbled into the booth and knocked over Theo’s wine glass. A crimson arc of Syrah splashed across the front of Rose’s sweater.

Rose let out a startled sound, standing abruptly. She snatched a cloth napkin off the table and dabbed furiously at the spreading stain.

“I—I need to rinse this out before it sets,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. “Do you have a restroom?”

Theo pointed silently toward the set of private doors just behind the lounge.

She grabbed her handbag, clutching the wine-soaked sweater away from her body, and slipped through the door without another word.

The second it clicked shut, Theo turned.

His fury was instantaneous.

Clarissa was hiccupping something about Rod pushing her. Rod, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, looked confused—mostly because he was clearly two seconds from unconsciousness.

“Rhys,” Theo said, his voice sharp as a blade.

The bouncer appeared instantly.

“Get them out. Now. Flag a taxi. Make sure they don’t come back.”

Clarissa started to object in a drunken slur. “It wasn’t?—”

But Rhys had already moved, his massive form blocking her protest. “This way,” he said, his tone like concrete poured over steel.

Rod mumbled something as Rhys herded them both toward the stairwell. Clarissa’s squeals cut off when the door closed behind them.

A server hurried over to mop the spill, murmuring apologies. Theo barely noticed.

He walked to the railing and gripped it hard, knuckles white.

Below, the dancers moved like ocean waves. Oblivious. Shimmering. Meaningless.

He stared blindly into the crowd, his pulse still pounding from the kiss, from the feel of her mouth yielding and daring all at once.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear the fog in his head. His fingers weren’t steady. His body wasn’t steady.

He’d kissed dozens of women—maybe more—over his lifetime, but never like that. Never with the world dissolving around him.

Never with the earth shifting beneath his feet.

Damn it, he didn’t even know her last name.

Rose—God help him—had just rocked his entire world off its axis with her smile, her laugh, and her kiss.

“One kiss will never be enough,” he murmured, stunned and shaken.