Page 19 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire

He sat forward, his gaze riveted on the movement high above the audience—on the catwalks where technicians adjusted spotlights and stage cables as if they were playing harp strings.

And then?—

A delicate figure stepped into the dim light.

Slim. Small. Hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. Dark jeans. A worn sweatshirt.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Rose.

Awareness struck him as surely as one of Cupid’s arrows. His heart rate increased, and adrenaline fired his blood.

She moved with the same graceful awareness, her hand resting lightly on the railing of the catwalk, her head tilted as she scanned the theatre below.

He couldn’t breathe.

Then she turned.

And their eyes locked.

The heat rushing through him exploded with the force of a major eruption. The world stilled. Music, lights, crowd—all gone. There was only her.

He saw it—the recognition in her eyes. The way they widened in disbelief, then darkened with dismay.

Her lips parted—and then she was gone.

She spun back into the shadows like an apparition, vanishing behind a column and out of sight.

Theo was already rising to his feet.

Nikos startled, his mouth open. “Theo?—?”

He didn’t answer. His mind had already mapped the corridor above, the narrow stairs he’d seen near the vestibule. He bolted from the box, his heart racing, his adrenaline roaring through his veins like a jet engine.

She was here.

He tore down the corridor, rounding a corner. A crimson velvet rope marked a narrow stairwell, an aged brass sign hanging beside it:

EMPLOYEES ONLY. DO NOT ENTER.

He didn’t hesitate.

He unhooked the rope, slipped past, and refastened it behind him with a quiet click—one more illusion maintained.

The staircase was tight and steep, built for crew, built to be unseen. It wound upward between aged brick and thick beams. The air grew warmer, filled with the scent of dust, paint, and aging wood. The throb of the stage below grew distant, like a heartbeat muffled by time.

He climbed faster, his muscles coiling with the memory of her scent, her voice, her lips.

Their kiss.

She had run from him.

But this time—he would catch her.

The stairwell narrowed as he climbed, the worn wooden steps groaning faintly beneath his shoes. Dust motes floated in the sliver of light from a grated vent, catching on the dark wool of his coat as the air shifted around him.

He rounded a turn, his hand brushing the brick wall—and stopped.