I nod, not sure whether there is any point continuing this little conversation. The only fans I want and need in my life are my mother and sister.

“Cal, you look a million miles away. You okay?” Grant asks, his eyes flaring with amusement. “So Lucia, you’re a fan of architecture then?” he continues, watching me like a hawk. The smug bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. Asshole.

“I am,” she states with a smile. I don’t miss the slight blush on her cheeks though, as if she’s just revealed one of her darkest secrets. If only she knew the depth of my own secrets, she wouldn’t see me in anywhere close to the same light. “It’s ironic considering the apartment building I live in is more like a modern abomination, but since I definitely couldn’t afford to live in any of the more beautiful heritage properties, I’m happy with a little modern twist in my life.”

This is definitely not how I saw this conversation going. She sounds genuinely interested in architecture, and intelligent too.

My fascination with this beautiful woman continues to grow.

“I think it’s a beautiful happenstance that we decided to enjoy a fine meal in your restaurant, Lucia.” Grant reaches forward and places his hand on top of hers, giving me an amused glance. An uneasy roll of my stomach along with a touch of what feels like heartburn hits me. It should be my hand on her skin, caressing the soft surface with a whisper-light touch of my fingertips. Her melodic laugh spilling across the table should be for my ears only, in private.

“You live locally?” I ask, finally finding my voice while directing daggers at my business partner across the table.

“I do. Just a few blocks from here actually. It’s handy to the restaurant, and I love living here. What’s not to love about this area?” I watch her closely—her gestures, her nuances—everything about this woman has me ensnared. “How about you, Callum? No doubt you live in the most beautifully designed pièce de résistance in the city?”

I chuckle. “You’d think so. It is my personal masterpiece though.”

“We’ve been focusing on the more high profile projects of late, masterpieces for the future,” Grant explains. “I’m not sure Cal will ever build his ultimate dream house. You could call his place his dream house of right now.”

“Really?” Lucia turns to me. “What do they say about perfectionists?”

“They make the worst partners?” I retort, looking at Grant with amusement.

“And what about hot-shot celebrity architects?” she asks.

“They’re the worst. You’re best to avoid them at all costs.” I smile at her, my eyes dropping to her lips, not missing the way her tongue darts out to wet them. This woman is enthralling, her laugh and quips endearing, drawing me into her web, turning me into willing prey.

“I—” A low whistle from the kitchen interrupts us.

Lucia takes a last sip of her wine before turning her body toward mine and staring at me, trying to convey some unspoken message that I’m wishing I could translate into something comparable to ‘take me home and do me dirty,’ because that’s the only train of thought my blood-starved brain can conceive in that moment. Her sea green eyes scattered with the smallest flecks of amber—and the flash of heat I witness within them—bore into mine, adding to the predicament in my groin.

With a slight upward curl of her ruby red lips, and a delicate tilt of her face, she acknowledges Grant briefly before standing up from her chair. Holding her hand out for me, both Grant and I stand automatically, as manners demand. I clasp her hand in mine, and rest the other hand lightly on her shoulder before leaning forward to place a soft kiss on her cheek. Her perfume’s alluring floral scent fills my senses as I struggle to hold back the urge to whisper a seductive demand in her ear, willing her to stay just a little longer. Her breath stutters and I realize I was not wrong. The twitch of her hand in mine tells me she feels this too. The mere thought of that has my heart thrumming faster in my chest, a most unfamiliar feeling for me.

When I hear Grant clear his throat, I know I’ve somehow lost myself in the moment. Grazing my cheek against hers as I move backwards, I loosen my hand and try to ignore the jolt of awareness that sparks between us. When our eyes lock, her all-knowing stare astounds me, the heat and desire shining back almost too much for this exhausted yet exhilarated man to handle .

She blinks and jerks her head slightly before regaining her composure. “Thank you for the delicious glass of wine, gentlemen.” She looks at Grant then back to me, like a moth drawn to a single sliver of light in the darkest of rooms. “And the illustrious company, of course. But I must return to the kitchen if I’m to interpret my brother’s inconspicuous signal correctly. I hope to see you here again though.” She smiles brightly before turning toward the back of the restaurant.

My eyes follow her, refusing to miss a single curve or nuance of this intriguing woman.

“Oh,” she calls out, spinning on her heels and walking backward, “your money is no good here, Mr. Alexander. If you want to make it up to me, I’m sure you can think of ways to make it happen.” With a wink and an even more spellbinding smile, she disappears behind a set of glossy black doors leading toward the back of the restaurant.

That is a woman that could never go unnoticed. Even with her hair flicking back and forth in a high-placed ponytail, I could see the different hues of reds and browns. When she was talking to us, her eyes were focused on me and only me. When I replied, her attention never wavered. Those soulful eyes of hers made me want to bare my soul, tell her anything and everything—hopes, fears, dreams and nightmares.

I fight the instinct to get up and chase after her. There’s something about this woman that has me losing the ability to think rationally.

Shaking my head, I turn around to see a smug-faced Grant grinning at me like an idiot.

“Knew you liked that. Picked it at the function when you two were in a world of your own but now that we know where she works, I have a feeling we’re going to be eating a lot of Greek in future.” He smirks at me and nods as if he is privy to the world’s worst kept secret.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, my lips twitching as I try to hold back a grin. I raise my wine glass to my lips and swirl the wine around my mouth, the tannins dancing on my tongue before I swallow it down. Grant and I have known each other for more than twenty years, and he’s just proven yet again that he can read me like a dog-eared book every single time.

He lifts his chin toward the back of the restaurant where she disappeared, not looking away, his shit-eating smile never waning. “At the function last month, you couldn’t drag your eyes away from her. Now, that kitchen door is the only reason you’re looking at me.”

“She definitely doesn’t need a man like me. She can’t be a day over twenty-five.” Doesn’t stop me from wanting her though.

“Maybe that’s what you need, old man. Something to combat the walking cane look you’ve got going on,” he retorts sarcastically.

I half-heartedly scowl at him, failing to hide my smile. “Don’t mistake restraint and class for a lack of interest or options.”

“I think you doth protest too much, Mr. Alexander.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t need nor want a trophy wife like Olivia.”

“I didn’t say you had to marry the girl, Cal. I just think it’s about time you got laid regularly . . .”

“I get—”

“Regularly being the operative word. It won’t hurt the public image, or that of the firm, if you were to have a permanent fixture on your arm that isn’t a family member.” I scoff at his bluntness, but can’t argue his inferred reasoning. “Let alone the fact that it would make your parents happy. Shit, I can see it now. Their baby boy finally bringing a girl home after a decade of nothing.” The smug look on his face is unmistakable.