Page 6 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire (Heart & Soul #2)

Four

Rose stood over the porcelain sink, her hands working furiously to scrub the deep red stain from her grandfather’s sweater. Her fingers were numb from the cold water—she barely noticed. All she could feel—truly feel—was the echo of his mouth against hers.

Her lips still tingled. Her body ached. Every nerve screamed one warning: Theo Kallistratos was dangerous.

She wrung the sweater out with a sharp twist, sending droplets of Syrah-tainted water splashing against the basin. Her breath hitched—too loud in the hush of the private restroom—and she braced herself on the edge of the counter, her head bowed, her heart hammering.

Get a grip, Rose. It was just a kiss!

That kiss—it had cracked something wide open inside her. Something raw and frightening. She had nothing to compare it to. No string of wild romances, no list of previous lovers, no youthful flings. She was just a smart-mouth maintenance tech with a minor in sarcasm and a major in solitude.

Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror—eyes too wide, lips too swollen, cheeks too flushed against the sweep of dark hair that had fallen from her ponytail. She looked like a woman who’d stepped off a rollercoaster without a safety bar, thrilled and terrified all at once.

“Seriously?” she whispered to herself, her voice ragged. “What are you doing?”

Theo Kallistratos was wealthy, sophisticated, impossibly magnetic—and utterly out of her league.

She, on the other hand, was the theatre’s resident jack-of-all-trades.

A walking toolbox in sneakers and duct-taped dreams. Sure, she had a shiny new degree in accounting—but her only real-world experience was managing her grandparents’ bills and fixing leaky pipes with a wrench too big for her hand.

She shook out the sweater, folded it neatly over one arm, and took a deep breath.

“One kiss,” she murmured. “You got your kiss. That’s all you needed—right? Now go.”

She nodded at herself in the mirror. Go back in.

Say thank you. Then walk away. It was late—or early, depending on whether you were Cinderella or the cleanup crew.

She had a theatre to clean, a to-do list as long as her arm, and no time to fantasize about a man who collected women the way some people collected selfie images.

Her resolve hardened.

Disappear, Rose. Just this once, listen to your good side.

She took one more deep breath before she stepped into the quiet hallway. Her sneakers whispered over the plush carpet. The muffled pulse of the club grew louder with each step until she reached the door to the lounge. She squared her shoulders, drew in one final breath, and pushed it open.

And stopped.

Time crashed to a halt.

There was one sure way to burst any of her fantasy bubbles; and Theo Kallistratos wasn’t just bursting them, he was incinerating them with a freaking flamethrower.

She stared in disbelief at Theo, whose arms were wrapped around a tall, leggy blonde in a skin-tight silver dress that shimmered like molten moonlight.

His hand gripped the small of the woman’s back, his mouth locked to hers as if they were fused together. The blonde’s fingers were tangled in his dark hair as if she owned him.

Rose couldn’t breathe.

The sharp, unmistakable sting of betrayal punched through her chest. She took a step back; the door slipped from her fingers, clicking softly shut behind her.

He hadn’t even waited. Not ten minutes.

Her pulse thundered, fury bubbling up—hot and humiliating.

Of course.

Of course a man like Theo didn’t mean any of it. Of course he said all the right things, kissed like a god, made her body light up like the Fourth of July… and then moved on—at the speed of light.

I’m such an idiot.

Her fists clenched around the damp sweater.

She turned sharply, her breath coming too fast, and spotted the glowing red EXIT sign above a side door.

Without hesitation, she darted toward it, wrenching the handle and slipping into the narrow stairwell beyond.

It echoed faintly with the pounding of the bass and the throb of her bruised dignity.

She descended fast, taking the steps with practiced ease. Her cheeks burned with equal parts rage and mortification that she could be so stupid.

What had she expected? That he’d fall at her feet? That she, the theatre girl with a stubbornly unruly ponytail and a sarcastic streak, could hold the attention of a man like him?

Hell, no woman could. He was a player, and she’d just been played. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen it happen a million times at the theatre when she was growing up.

She shoved open the exit door and burst onto the main floor, the crush of bodies slamming into her like a wall. The club was still pulsing, oblivious to her inner apocalypse.

Head down, she elbowed her way through the mass of limbs and laughter and spilled drinks. Her only thought was escape.

When she finally burst through the front doors, the cool night air hit her like a balm—and so did a broad chest.

“Whoa!” Rhys blinked down at her. “Miss? I thought you were—uh—upstairs?”

She straightened, gripping her damp sweater and willing her voice not to crack. “Change of plans,” she said, pasting on a brittle smile. “Tell your boss… to-to have a nice life.”

Rhys opened his mouth to respond, confusion flickering in his eyes, but she was already moving—quick steps carrying her away from the pounding bass, the velvet ropes, and the man who had kissed her like she meant something… then shown her that she didn’t.

She didn’t look back.

She couldn’t.

Because if she did, she might cry—and she didn’t cry for anyone.

Especially not for the Devil in a tailored suit with a mouth that could undo her world.

Tonight, the rose had drawn blood.

But this time, it was her own.

The Manhattan skyline stretched out before him like a map of broken promises and unreachable answers.

Theo stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office, hands buried in his pockets, jaw locked so tight it ached. Below, the city moved—chaotic, tireless, oblivious. A sea of yellow cabs, steel canyons, and neon-streaked lives swirled beneath his feet like an ocean of distractions.

And somewhere in that sprawl—hidden behind one of those millions of lights—was her.

Rose.

A woman who’d vanished as completely as if she’d never existed.

He exhaled through his nose, fighting the tightening in his chest. It had been two weeks, and every hour since he’d tasted her, since he’d watched her walk into the restroom, clutching that damn sweater away from her body, only never to return, had been an eternity.

He suspected what had happened the moment he realized she was gone—that she had come back, seen Allegra clinging to him like a desperate barnacle, and drawn the worst conclusion.

And why wouldn’t she? The timing had been disastrous.

Allegra had arrived uninvited, sauced on French wine, and launched herself into his arms before he could shove her off. By the time he had disentangled himself, Rose had left.

Rhys had confirmed his suspicions after a search of the restroom to see if Rose was alright turned up nothing. The bouncer asked if everything was alright and told him that the young lady had asked him to tell his boss ‘to have a nice life’.

Those first few minutes had nearly brought him to his knees—and he hadn’t stopped bracing for impact since.

The realization that he didn’t even know her last name, that he could very well never see her again, hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest. Even now, the dull ache continued until he lifted his hand and rubbed at his chest—over his heart.

He turned from the glass with a frustrated growl, raking a hand through his hair.

His office was a study in sleek power: black marble floors, minimalist furniture, brushed steel accents, and the soft, perpetual hum of technology always working in the background.

Two enormous monitors glowed quietly on the wall behind his desk, running security algorithms and discreet surveillance scans.

Kallistratos Security Systems was one of the best in the world—but none of it had helped.

Finding Rose in New York—without a full name, address, or digital footprint—was like trying to find a diamond in the Sahara.

The office door opened without a knock. He didn’t need to look up.

“Nikos,” he said flatly.

“Still brooding over Cinderella?” Nikos asked, stepping inside with his usual irreverent energy.

Theo didn’t respond.

Nikos took one look at him and sighed. “You’re going to give yourself ulcers. Any luck?”

Theo’s fingers flexed at his sides. “No. She’s not a regular at The Rocks .

Considering our reputation as a top-tier security firm, we've been unsuccessful far too often lately. We’ve reached dead ends both in finding Lorenzo’s granddaughter and now…

now with Rose. Sometimes I wonder if the universe laughs at our misery, Nikos,” he murmured, turning to look back out the window again.

Nikos grunted and headed for the sleek espresso bar built into the far wall. “I would agree, but we are tenacious and thrive on this type of challenge. Don’t forget that either.”

“It’s almost like she didn’t really exist. She wasn’t on the guest list. There was no scanner entry of her ID, no facial recognition trace. Nothing,” Theo said in a disgruntled voice.

Nikos poured himself a double and winced. “Right. About that…”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Nikos took a sip, then ran a hand down his face. “I was thinking she—or one of her friends—might have known someone at the door. Someone who let them in—bypassing the club’s protocols.”

Theo’s rage sparked instantly. “Find them. Fire them.”

“I already did,” Nikos said, meeting his gaze. “But I decided to try a different approach before cleaning house.”

Theo’s eyebrows rose.

“I threatened to fire them all if I didn’t get some cooperation,” Nikos said with a dry grin. “And what do you know—it turns out, one of the new bouncers recognized the guy she was with. Rod Turner.”

Hope punched through Theo’s chest like a battering ram.

Nikos set his coffee down and pulled his phone from his jacket. “I tracked Turner down. He remembered the night—remembered Rose. Didn’t know her, though. Said she wasn’t with him. She was a last-minute fill-in. He gave me his girlfriend, Clarissa’s number.”

Theo’s pulse roared. “Clarissa knows Rose?”

“Not really,” Nikos corrected. “She just met her that night. Said Rose was quiet, but could be a bit of a b—witch. I suspect that Clarissa wasn’t happy about being thrown out of the club.

Anyway, she said Rose kept to herself. But Clarissa did give me another name—Kerry.

That’s the woman who invited Rose and knows her. ”

He held up his hands before Theo could speak. “Don’t get too excited. I called Kerry. She was polite for about ten seconds, then shut me down tighter than a bank vault. Said she didn’t know what I was talking about and hung up.”

Theo muttered a sharp curse and sat down heavily in the chair next to Nikos.

“But,” Nikos said, drawing out the word like a showman preparing a trick, “Clarissa did say one more thing—something interesting.”

Theo leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and glared at his friend.

“She said she thought Rose liked to go to the theatre a lot,” Nikos continued. “The one near The Rocks .”

Theo stared at him.

“And?” he asked, biting back the urge to wrestle the rest out of Nikos.

“And,” Nikos said, grinning as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a slip of glossy cardstock, “I got us tickets to tonight’s show. No guarantees, but maybe—just maybe—we’ll get lucky. Or at least find someone there who knows her.”

Theo leaned across and took the ticket when Nikos held it out. His heart thudded in his chest as he ran his thumb over the glossy paper.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.

For the first time in two weeks, the vast sprawl of Manhattan felt less like a desert—and more like a map with a single dot of hope. Somewhere out there, Rose was real.

He studied the ticket, his lips curling when he saw the play’s name— Beauty and the Beast . The irony didn’t escape him. She was his beauty, and she probably thought of him as a beast.

He definitely felt like one at the moment—and only Rose could break the curse she had placed on him.

He was going to find her.

No matter what it took.