I never meant to get lost in the eyes of a man who could own the skyline—and me.
The gala buzzed like a live wire, all glittering gowns, tailored suits, and forced smiles. The kind of event where conversations were currency and every glance had an unspoken agenda. I maneuvered through the crowd with a practiced smile, clutching my champagne flute like a lifeline. My heels clicked against the marble floor, the sound echoing faintly above the murmur of networking chatter.
I had attended enough high-profile events to know how this worked. The rich, the ambitious, and the reckless, all in one room, circling like sharks waiting for a mistake. I should have been nervous, but excitement licked at my skin, fueled by curiosity—and, I suspected, by someone in the room I hadn’t yet spotted.
That’s when I saw him. Lucien.
He didn’t need to look around the room; people parted instinctively, a magnetic trail of silent attention following him. He was impossibly tall, impossibly poised, with a presence that seemed to bend the light around him. Sharp black suit, crisp white shirt, eyes like storm clouds—dangerous and impossible to ignore.
I felt a jolt in my chest as our gazes locked from across the room. It wasn’t admiration, exactly, and it wasn’t attraction… though the pull was undeniable. It was recognition, a sense that he could see me, the real me, and I didn’t know whether that terrified or thrilled me more.
Whispers drifted toward me from the guests nearby. “That’s Lucien Moreau, right? He doesn’t let anyone—ever—get close.” Another voice, lower, more curious: “And look at her… she’s not intimidated.”
I swallowed, aware of how exposed I felt. Not because of him—because of me. My pulse quickened, a dangerous thrill threading through my nerves. I told myself I was just observing, analyzing. Businesswoman, first and foremost. But the weight of his gaze made my rational thoughts evaporate.
Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, he began moving toward me. I should have stepped aside, pretended not to notice, but my legs betrayed me, carrying me forward as he closed the distance.
“Miss Rossi,” he said, voice low, silk and fire, sending a shiver down my spine. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I… I could say the same,” I stammered, my voice steadier than I felt.
He smiled, not the casual curve of polite recognition, but something sharper, more knowing. “You look… radiant.” The word was soft, deliberate, and it ignited a warmth along my spine that had nothing to do with the crowded ballroom.
I caught a flicker of movement behind him—the subtle, envious glances of other men who had noticed him notice me. A part of me wanted to retreat, but curiosity, tinged with something far more dangerous, kept me rooted in place.
“Care for some air?” His question was casual, almost too casual, but the edge of authority in his tone left no room for hesitation. I found myself nodding.
The elevator ride up to the rooftop was silent, except for the faint hum of the building’s systems. My chest hammered with anticipation. What was I doing, letting a stranger—someone not really a stranger at all—pull me into this private orbit? And yet, every instinct in me said it was inevitable.
The doors opened, revealing the penthouse rooftop. The city sprawled beneath us like a river of lights, and suddenly, I felt every nerve in my body alert, alive, raw. The wind teased at my hair, the night air brushing against my skin, but it was Lucien—close, impossibly close—that made my breath hitch.
He stepped toward me, deliberate, each movement measured and magnetic. One hand brushed against my arm—not a touch, more a whisper of contact that set every nerve alight. His other hand hovered near mine, and before I could think, his fingers entwined with mine.
“Relax,” he murmured, voice low, dangerous. “I don’t bite… unless you want me to.”
Heat flared through me, awareness sharpening. My pulse thundered in my ears. I wanted to pull back, remind myself this was a networking event, this was a business moment, that nothing between us had to mean anything. But the truth? I didn’t want to.
Every polite conversation, every small sip of champagne, every cautious glance across the room had led me here—to the rooftop, to this moment, to him. And suddenly, the gala, the guests, even the city lights below faded, leaving only the tension, the heat, the slow-burning, impossible pull between us.
Lucien stepped closer, his gaze dropping to my lips for just a heartbeat too long. My breath hitched. The wind teased, but it was his presence—the weight of him, the quiet demand—that made me tremble.
I didn’t know how tonight would end. I only knew it had begun, and that whatever this spark between us was, it was about to ignite.
The rooftop was a world apart from the chaos below. The city lights shimmered like liquid gold, but I couldn’t focus on anything but him. Lucien’s presence pressed against me even before he moved closer, his eyes dark, unreadable, demanding. Every nerve in my body screamed, my pulse a frantic rhythm I couldn’t control.
He stepped near, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his fingers grazing my cheek with just enough pressure to make my stomach clench. “You’re tense,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “Relax.”
I swallowed, aware of how every word, every touch, sent heat crawling under my skin. “I… I’m fine,” I stammered, but my voice sounded small, betraying my calm exterior.
“You’re lying.” He tilted my chin up with one finger, holding my gaze. There was no accusation, only observation… and something darker, more intimate lurking beneath it. My knees felt weak. I had never met anyone who could read me so easily, who could see through the layers I carefully constructed.
Then, as if testing me, Lucien’s hand traced along the curve of my waist, his thumb brushing lightly against my hip. I gasped, my breath hitching involuntarily. The wind whipped around us, but it was him—close, warm, impossibly alive against me—that made the world spin.
“Lucien…” I whispered, partly in warning, partly in surrender.
He leaned closer, the faintest tilt of his head brushing his lips against mine. Not a kiss, not yet. Just the promise of one, teasing, deliberate, leaving me trembling with anticipation. My fingers itched to reach out, but he held my gaze, holding me captive without force.
“You’re mine tonight,” he murmured, and my heartbeat stuttered. The words were velvet, fire, a quiet command that made me ache.
His lips finally met mine, slow, intoxicating. One hand cradled my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tilting my head back. I gasped, my hands fumbling for purchase against his chest, feeling the strength beneath his tailored suit. The kiss deepened, teasing, claiming, a storm building in every touch.
Lucien’s other hand slid lower, brushing along my thigh—not roughly, but possessively, deliberately, igniting a fire that traveled straight to my core. My knees went weak. I tried to step back, but his hand gripped my waist, holding me close, grounding me in the heat of his claim.
“You’re shaking,” he observed, his lips grazing mine between words. “Do you like this?”
I swallowed hard, voice trembling, “Yes… I—”
He silenced me with another kiss, deep and scorching, one hand tracing my side, the other resting possessively against my hip. Every breath, every heartbeat, every subtle shift of his body pressed into mine made me forget everything else—the gala, the city, the world. There was only this: him, me, and the unbearable tension coiling between us.
When he finally pulled back, just enough for me to see his stormy eyes, my chest heaved. “Stay close,” he murmured, thumb brushing over my cheek. “Tonight is only beginning.”
I nodded, barely able to form coherent thoughts, my body buzzing, mind aflame. The penthouse rooftop was silent except for our ragged breaths and the faint hum of the city below—but inside me, everything had ignited. Sparks had become fire, and I had no doubt that this night would consume me completely.
The wind whipped around us, tossing my hair into my face, but I barely noticed. Lucien’s hands were everywhere I wanted them—one brushing my thigh with a deliberate heat that made my knees tremble, the other holding my waist like he could claim me with just a touch. My breath hitched as his lips trailed from my jaw to my neck, a whisper of fire against my skin. “I can’t… Lucien,” I murmured, half warning, half plea. My body betrayed every word, arching toward him despite my racing mind. “You don’t have to fight it,” he murmured, lips brushing mine again, teasing, slow, making me dizzy. His fingers pressed into the curve of my hip, sliding just enough to ignite a fire that spread through me like wildfire. Every nerve ending was alive, every thought reduced to desire and breathless need. I felt him smirk against my lips, his dominance quiet but undeniable. My hands roamed—hesitant at first—against the fabric of his chest, feeling the hard planes beneath the tailored suit. He responded with subtle, intimate movements, guiding, teasing, claiming. A thumb grazed my thigh again, this time a little higher, just over the line of my dress. My pulse skyrocketed “Lucien… please,” I whispered, almost desperate now. Heat pooled through me, and every teasing, claiming brush of his hands sent sparks through my body. He tilted my head, lips capturing mine fully, slow and possessive. Teeth grazed, tongues teased, and my knees nearly gave out. Every subtle movement of his hands—the grip on my waist, the teasing along my thigh, the way he pulled me impossibly close—was a command, and I obeyed without hesitation The city below was nothing. The gala, the world, the whispers—they all disappeared. There was only him, me, and the fire we were igniting with every gasp, every touch, every stolen, heated kiss. “I want you,” he murmured against my lips, low and deliberate. “All of you. Here. Now.” I shivered, a trembling mix of surrender and need, lost completely in the storm of desir e he had ignited.
