“Did I lose you, Juliet?”

I blink Jonathan Marsh into focus. I’d drifted off again, unable to stop thinking about him.

Over and over my mind returns to the scene in the bathroom. Like a broken record, I replay how he’d touched me. How his hands moved over my body. How badly I wanted him.

And how he’d left me.

He’d made it clear I was powerless against him, turned on his heel and walked away. After, I’d stared at myself in the mirror, fighting the fierce longing squeezing my chest, and hating that he hadn’t looked back.

The weekend had been just as lonely and barren as I’d anticipated and I’d done the best I could to fill my time. Moving through my weekly checklist on autopilot. Now the days wore on and I heard and saw nothing. The startling revelation that I expected him left me shaken. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop waiting for him.

The phone would ring and my heart would leap into my throat.

A knock on my office door and I’d break into a sweat.

Sitting alone in the corner cafe during lunch and I’d find myself staring out the big picture window, searching for any sign of him.

The most disturbing thing of all is how my stomach twists every time I’m wrong.

An entire week has gone by, and Christos is nowhere to be found.

“Juliet?” Jonathan’s tapered fingers brush my forearm.

At his voice, I jerk back to the present.

I flash him my most dazzling smile and murmur an insincere “I’m sorry” while I shift away from his touch. There is nothing wrong with Jonathan. In fact, for a woman fast approaching the wrong side of thirty he’s a catch. That is if I like my men on the elegant waxy side.

I wave my hand over the glittery black-tie crowd littering the field museum. “I thought I recognized someone I knew. I apologize, what were you saying?”

I don’t want to be here. I want to be home. Tucked away while I sulk in private and regain control of my emotions.

I eye the man smiling down at me, his brown eyes shining with interest that has nothing to do with my business skills. I sigh. The price I pay for networking.

Jonathan’s hazelnut-colored hair is neat in a politician’s side sweep, his face classically appealing, and his bank account fat. Prime cut Chicago meat. “Robert said you were wonderful to work with. Perhaps we should talk?”

I don’t doubt where this is going. He’ll ask me for lunch, talk about business for an obligatory fifteen minutes, then spend the rest of the time trying to talk me into dinner.

I know this game.

I take a sip of my champagne and tilt my head. “Our work focuses on mid-size companies, not corporate giants. You boys have more than enough resources at your disposal.” If I thought there was a chance in hell he was serious, I’d never point this out, but since he wasn’t, I don’t have a problem stating the obvious.

Before he can answer, a prickle of awareness has the fine hairs on my neck lifting. In an instant, my heart rate picks up, pounding frantically against my ribs.

Christos.

My body surges like a live wire and I can’t help glancing over one bare shoulder. My gaze shifts through a sea of tuxes and long, sparkling gowns.

I see nothing.

I want to scream in frustration.

Where is he?

The corners of my eyes prick. What in the hell has he done to me?

Look at me.

One kiss and I’ve been shaken to my very foundation. One kiss and I’ve turned into one of those pathetic girls who spends countless hours staring at the phone, willing it to ring.

My fingers clench on my small evening bag.

He isn’t coming. I should be relieved. His abandonment has proven what I’ve believed all along. That once he knew for certain he could have me, the game ceased to hold his interest.

I frown. Where is the vindication for being right? All I feel is empty. As though I’ve lost something I hadn’t realized I needed.

I glance back up at Jonathan and attempt to work up some interest. He is everything I could want in a man. He’ll wine and dine me, say all the right things. We’d have interesting discussions about politics, current affairs and the arts. He’d take me to the best places and we would rub elbows with all the best people.

But he would never touch me. He’d never really know who I am. We’d be two strangers who lived side by side. I’d be perfectly safe, wrapped in my own little fuzzy cocoon where nothing could hurt me.

Exactly how I like it. Exactly what I want.

But the interest won’t come.

He slides an open palm down my bare arm and up again. I want to pull away from his grasp. His touch has my skin crawling. It feels…wrong.

One kiss and no other man would do.

I was right to work so hard to stay away.

Jonathan’s hand brushes my shoulder. “Perhaps it’s time you come out to play with the big boys.”

Christos has ruined me. Forever.

I stand frozen. My fingers locked in a death grip around my champagne flute, the rubble of my carefully constructed armor at my feet.

All this chaos for a man who hadn’t even looked back.

“How about a late lunch next Friday?” Jonathan smiles down at me, swarmy and sure. “If I’m lucky, maybe it will last into dinner.”

“She’s busy.” A hard, commanding voice sounds behind me, and it’s like being shoved back into life.

Thank god he finally came. The thought, followed quickly by an almost painful relief, has my spine snapping straight.

Jonathan peers over my head, his thin lips curving into a frown before his aristocratic features clear. “Christos, always a pleasure. I didn’t know you were on the guest list.”

“Last minute change of plans.” His deep voice vibrates through me, calming something deep within.

I catch my breath and turn, only to have it knock right back out of me again.

Gorgeous and imposing in a black tuxedo everyone in the room but Christos ceases to exist.

His large hand curves over my biceps and it sends a shock wave through my system. My body responds to this man as if it has finally found a home.

His green eyes glitter, and I shiver. Whether from fear or anticipation I can’t be sure.

“I’m afraid Juliet is unavailable.” His attention stays riveted on me, but his words are delivered with a bite that dares anyone to cross him.

I start to tremble. I yank my arm from his grasp and resist the urge to fuss. With a forced smile, I turn to Jonathan, who watches us with avid speculation.

I part my lips to speak, only to have Jonathan say, “Well, Juliet, if you’re not available on Friday, I’m sure we can come up with a time to talk next week.” His gaze searches my face. “Certainly, you can squeeze me in.”

The man hadn’t become CEO of a Fortune 5 Hundred company by being timid and fighting for territory is a familiar game.

Christos slides into the empty space beside me, and his palm strokes over my bare back, as though he has every right to touch me. As though I belong to him. Goose bumps pop along my skin as his thumb rubs a slow circle at the base of my spine.

I lock my legs to keep my knees from buckling as every cell practically screams to be taken by him.

His fingers caress over my waist and curl over my hip in an entirely intimate gesture. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. She’s not available for you.”

Surprise flitters across Jonathan’s expression as his brows rise up his forehead. “I see.”

At long last my pride kicks into high gear, and I welcome it like a long-lost lover. I square my shoulders and dig one heel into Christos’s foot, but his grasp doesn’t loosen.

If anything, his fingers burrow harder into my hip.

With a tilt of my chin, I reach into my small evening clutch and pull out a business card, handing it over to Jonathan. “I’m available Friday for lunch.”

Triumph lights his brown eyes and he can’t resist greeting Christos with a mocking curve of his mouth. My card slides into his breast pocket, and my stomach sinks to my toes. “I look forward to it, Juliet.”

I grit my teeth, instantly regretting my actions. Where is the satisfaction? I search but can’t find any.

Christos’s fingers stroke over my hip, and then his lips drop to my ear. “There’s no way in hell you’re going anywhere with him.”

Dizzying pleasure speeds through my blood as his hot palm brands my flesh. Claiming me in a way as old as time.

My skin flushes.

The possession in his voice, the confidence in his words, I crave it. All my words of indignation die on my lips.

I want him so bad. Too damn bad.

The truth hits me, striking me like a sharp slap across the face.

It’s a matter of time. One way or another I’ll succumb to his wishes, his desires.

Christos is going to win.

And when he leaves—and he will leave—I’ll be shattered.

I need to get away.

I wrench from his grasp. With a smile plastered on my lips, I nod to the two men. “Excuse me.”

Throat tight, I turn on my high heels and walk away.

This time, I’m the one who doesn’t look back.

I weave through the crowded room, acknowledging acquaintances, my gaze roaming for a place to find some privacy.

Off to the right, I spot a darkened corridor, a strand of thick red rope blocking passage. As quickly as my four-inch evening shoes will carry me, I make my way to safety.

After all the time I’ve spent waiting for him, now I can’t escape fast enough. His presence unnerves me. Every emotion I’ve experienced over the past week wells to the surface and vies for attention.

I reach the rope and undo the large silver clasp, slipping through before refastening the meager restraint. My fingers stall on the cold metal. All my carefully assembled defenses, so effective in keeping me safe, are as meager and useless as this rope in the face of Christos’s determination.

I begin walking down the deserted corridor, my heels clicking on the smooth marble floor.

Even with the expansive ceilings, the walls feel tight.

What am I doing here? I need to go home. Climb into sweats, wash away my makeup, put my blonde hair in a ponytail and curl up on the couch.

But what waits for me there?

An empty, lonely townhome that reminds me of a time when what I’d had in my life had been more than enough. Anger wells inside me. Before I met him, I’d been fine. Happy. Exactly where I wanted to be.

I want that back, damn it.

Somewhere amidst the rubble, my prior comfort and contentment hid, but for the life of me, it continues to elude me.

“Juliet.” Christos’s voice echoes down the corridor along with his pounding footsteps.

This is all his fault.

Yes. Anger. I embrace it. The fury blocks out the need better than any other piece of arsenal I carry. I whirl to face him.

“How dare you.” My voice shakes as I jab a finger in his direction.

In a flash he is on me—gaze blazing—jaw set in a hard line. Long fingers encircle my wrist in an iron grip, and he hauls me forward.

I stumble, losing my balance. He catches me around the waist and pulls me close.

His mouth claims mine before I can say another word.

Oh yes.

The icy anger melts into warm, hot liquid.

His lips move over mine. Our tongues meet. Breaths mingle. Our bodies press together like missing puzzle pieces.

A low moan spills from my throat and he captures the sound with his lips. His fingers dig into the curve of my spine. My breasts flatten against his chest.

I struggle against him and he holds me fast.

Even I, in all my vehement denial, can’t pretend I’m trying to break free. Not while my hand grips the back of his neck and my palm curls into the lapel of his tux.

He walks me backward, swinging me around until my bare back presses along a cold marble surface.

His head angles, deepening the kiss.

I rise to tiptoes. Wanting closer. Needing closer. My god, it isn’t enough. Frustrated, I moan, straining to somehow seep into him. This kiss, it has to be enough.

Eventually I have to pull away.

But for now, I surrender. I like to believe it’s my choice to do so, but I can’t be sure.

A low growl vibrates in his chest. Then his hand is at my thigh, pulling the fabric up and up.

I flex, raising my leg so it slips through the side slit.

His fingers brush bare skin.

I jerk as sensation radiates from his palm. Wanton and crazed with long-denied lust, I hook my leg at his hip. I want his cock to fill me right here. I can’t wait any longer. I rise to meet his erection, whimpering as he nudges the cleft between my thighs.

I need to be filled. Claimed. Taken.

He tears his mouth away.

The cool air hits my swollen, wet lips.

Please don’t stop. But I don’t dare say the words out loud.

He dips his head to my neck, licking and sucking where my pulse beats a frantic rhythm. He whispers, “Mine. Juliet. You’re mine, goddamn you. Don’t you see how you belong to me?”

Yes! The word screams in my head. My fingers bite into the black fabric as I fight the tide of lust and fear raging inside me.

The words he wants to hear hovers on my lips, desperate to get out. But I can’t say them.

Too stubborn to admit the truth.

Too willful to admit that he has all the power.

Instead, I press my lips to the line of his jaw and squeeze my eyes shut to keep the tears from slipping out.

“He can’t have you,” he says in a hard, uneven rasp. “Tell me you won’t go.”

Reality returns like a rush of a tidal wave.

All I crave is the oblivion of his touch.

I want to rage at him for ripping it away so cruelly.

If I give this to him, if I acquiesce, I’ll be giving him everything.

And we both know it.

I shake my head as I fight to control the foreign desire to give him whatever he wants. Fight to control my body’s response that wants to devour him like a glutton’s last meal.

“It’s business.” My heart breaks as soon as the words leave my lips.

He stills, his muscles tensing and bunching.

I loosen my grip.

He raises his head.

My hands fall away.

He steps back.

The loss is crushing.

Throat tight, I swallow past the lump trapping all of my air. I want to say the words. The need to say them beats a pounding rhythm in my chest, desperate to break free. If I let them go, maybe they would free me too?

But my lips press firmly closed. And I hate myself for it.

I’d known it would be over all too quickly.

As hard as I kissed him, as hard as I tried to memorize his touch and the way he felt under my hands, as hard as I tried to imprint the weight of him against me, it hadn’t been enough. With him, it will never be enough.

He meets my gaze, his green eyes turbulent. “Why?”

I shift my attention, staring at the blurring work of art on the wall over his left shoulder.

He grips my chin and yanks my attention back. “At least look at me while you lie through your teeth.”

I steel my expression and meet his stare. “Leave me alone, Christos.”

His fingers tighten along my jaw. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?” My chest squeezes.

“How else can I prove to you that I’ll keep coming back?” He lowers his head and licks at the seam of my lips. “How else can I prove it’s not a game?”

My ribs constrict. Why can’t I believe him? People think I’m a risk taker, but I’m not. Where it really counts in life, I’m a coward. The cold, hard truth is I’ve been guarded for so long I no longer know how to be any other way.

I almost cry as my stubborn pride refuses to give him what he needs to hear.

And I feel it—his need for me, his desire—the problem is I don’t know how to trust it. To trust him.

He sighs. His expression sets in resignation. “Will you ever give an inch?”

“I-I don’t know how.” The truth of my words vibrates through the empty corridor.

“I know.” He strokes my cheek. “You’re not a game, Juliet.”

I frown. So badly I want to ask the question—how can he want me? It doesn’t make any sense to me.

There are a million women out there better than me. Soft, willing, happy women who will give him everything—so why does he want me? When I’ll never be whole enough? I can’t ask though.

I’m too afraid it will reveal how weak I am.

He tilts my chin, leans down and brushes his lips against mine. It’s sweet and tender. A kiss of promise, of truth.

It makes me want to sink into it and never come up for air.

Our mouths hover until I’m leaning into him, desperate for more.

“Tell me how to make you believe?” His words whisper across my sensitive skin, seeping into my bones until I ache.

I don’t know how to tell him I’m too afraid to believe.

I pull away and a bitter cold replaces all the heat he’d generated. I look behind him again and will myself not to walk away.

My chest is so tight, so constricted I feel as if I might snap. I shake my head. “You can’t.”