My heart threatened to leap out through my chest as I spun around to peer out into the orchestra section where the audience sits. The lights were too low to pick anyone out from the thick veil of shadow that hung over most of the theater’s interior. But after a few seconds, the distant reflection of two light eyes revealed itself. Two dots of fiery intensity, moving through the darkness as the figure began to make his way towards us.

I didn’t need to see him clearly to figure out who it was; I knew perfectly well who had shown up at my work place. His name throbbed inside my head like a dull ache, a reminder of my embarrassment, my arousal, my regret from last night, a jumbled medley of every emotion imaginable. Good and bad. Terrifying and exciting.

Tristan. Fucking. Wolfe.

By now, Marcus had also turned around to look. He too seemed startled, his breath trapped somewhere inside his chest. Apparently Tristan had the same effect on him.

It seemed the guy was universally terrifying.

“What are you doing here?” I called out as he made his way down the center aisle towards us. But he didn’t answer. When he got to the front row, he leapt deftly up onto the stage, the five-foot height no match for his athletic stature.

Tristan stared at the set, his neck craned to the side, head tilted like that of a curious dog. “Just looking,” he said. After a few seconds he pulled his eyes to me and looked me up and down like I was breakfast, his gaze settling for a little too long on my cleavage.

The silent, all too direct gesture sent a sharp jolt to my sex, and I cursed my body for feeling the attraction so acutely. Damn you, hormones. Damn this man for his mind games. For making me want him so badly.

I should kick him out of here right now.

Marcus didn’t say anything, which was unlike him. Normally he would have introduced himself, inquired about Tristan’s job, his life, the whole nine yards. But something was muzzling him. I nearly forgot that he was even there until I heard him let out a hard exhale.

“Marcus,” I said, “This is…” I was about to say Tristan’s name, then I remembered that he’d never actually introduced himself last night. I wasn’t supposed to know who he was. All of a sudden I felt empowered. Maybe I could find a way to make him feel just a little bit inadequate.

I turned back to face him. “I’m sorry, I don’t actually know your name.”

“Yes you do, Ariana, just as I know yours,” he said, stepping forward and extending a hand to Marcus. “Tristan Wolfe.”

So much for my brief power trip.

I wasn’t sure if it was just my imagination, or if Marcus actually hesitated to take the other man’s hand for a moment before reaching out. Something about Tristan really seemed to put him off. Maybe it was a sixth sense, or maybe he was just being protective of me.

Or…could he have been jealous?

No, surely not. Marcus had never given me any reason to think he was interested in me. The guy had had plenty of chances to put the moves on me, had he wanted to. This had to be something else.

“Marcus Granville,” he finally said.

“Nice to meet you,” Tristan replied.

Marcus winced as the other man squeezed his hand, apparently a little too hard. When Tristan pulled away I could see his thumb print whitening my housemate’s flesh, evidence of an aggressively tight grip.

Okay, now I was just plain baffled. Was this some kind of weird-ass alpha-male behavior? Did Tristan think Marcus and I were an item? Was this his way of asserting dominance?

Well, that settled it—sexy or not, Mr. Wolfe had now officially taken up residence on my shit list. No one was allowed to hurt my roommate.

Not on my watch.

“I asked you before, Mr. Wolfe,” I said, my tone abrupt and irritable, “what exactly are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just thought I’d come take a look at my newest acquisition,” he told me.

“Your…acquisition? Are you saying you’ve bought something in the theater? Because you do realize it’s being demolished in a couple of weeks…”

“No,” he said, interrupting me. “I mean the theater itself. The Venezia Theater is mine, as of seven this morning. I plan to restore it to its former glory.”

My heart jumped again, a violent blast of excitement hitting me like a swift blow. “What?” I all but screamed the word. I had no idea how to feel. Happy? Terrified? Confused?

Yes. Confused was the answer I was looking for. Tristan had made me nothing but confused since the moment we’d met.

Well, confused and horny.

“I need to go,” Marcus blurted out, which only served to make things even more awkward. He sounded off-center, as befuddled by all this as I was. “I need to get to work.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll see you at home,” I told him, my eyes still locked on Tristan’s like we were embroiled in some staring contest that would end with one of us on the floor.

“You’re going to be okay?” Marcus asked.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” I said, a slightly irritated growl in my voice. I wasn’t sure who I was irritated at, though.

Probably myself.

“See you at home, then.” Marcus took off in a hurry, like he was running scared. Whatever weird alpha male tactic Tristan had pulled, apparently it had worked.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked when Marcus was out of earshot, narrowing my eyes at my unwanted-yet-totally-wanted visitor. It was hard to hold him in my sights like this, to challenge him as though I was the strong one. But I was pissed. He had no right to yank at my emotions like this. No right to follow me around from place to place, like he was an all-seeing god, keeping track of his subjects. “I don’t even know how you know my name, let alone where I work. And I don’t particularly appreciate you showing up here like this.”

The problem was, part of me was lying. Part of me was enjoying this whole fucked up situation. If there was one thing I knew in this world, it was how to survive fucked up situations. It was familiar. It was my comfort zone.

I’d never known normal.

So Tristan fit right in. I liked how it made me feel to confront a man like him. The embodiment of power and prestige, a man who had everything. Money, looks, a reputation. Not to mention that he was more gorgeous than any human had a right to be.

But what he didn’t seem to realize was that I was a woman with nothing to lose. Which meant that I might actually have been the more dangerous of the two of us.

“I heard that this theater was to be torn down. I didn’t want that to happen, so I bought it,” Tristan said, pulling his eyes away and making his way through the set as if he owned it, too. “This is all your handiwork, I take it?” he asked, turning back to face me. “I’d heard that you paint the sets as well as designing them.”

“How do you know that? How do you know anything about me?” He was trying to flatter me, to charm me. But I wasn’t going to let up. Wasn’t going to make this easy for him. I wanted him to admit that he’d stalked me last night. I wanted him to admit that what he was doing wasn't normal, or even okay.

Even if I was enjoying it.

“I asked around about you after our brief meeting last evening,” he said casually. “I found out a few things. Your name, your place of employment.”

“You want my bra size, too?” I snapped. “You do realize that even if you’re a rich-as-fuck fancy-pants billionaire, you’re not entitled to infiltrate my life, right? I saw you outside of my building last night, Tristan. I know you were there.”

A strange sort of smile curled his lips. “I’m aware of that,” he said. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you feel violated, Ariana, which, by the way, is precisely why I haven’t touched you since I entered this building.”

With those words, a hot bullet of rage hit me in the gut. I could feel my face go red as I opened my mouth. “Oh, goodness me!” I said, sarcasm coloring the words. “Thanks ever so much for not helping yourself to my body. You’re such a gentleman, aren’t you?”

He was so damn cocky. So confident. So entitled. I wanted nothing more than to bring him down a notch or two.

But I also knew that I was just as guilty as he was.

I wanted him. Hell, if I’d known where he lived I might have prowled around outside his place last night, too. I probably would have ripped his clothes off right now if he’d given me so much as a dash of hope that I could get away with it.

My sarcasm must have set him off, though, because he took one enormous stride towards me and stopped, his body so near mine that I had to look up to see his eyes. We’d been this close once before. But this time he wasn’t grabbing me. Wasn’t pulling me in.

This time, it was some other force that was doing that. Something stronger than either of us.

His eyes explored my face before moving down again, making me all too aware of how loose my overalls were in the hip area. Suddenly I was glad to have worn the shabby garment and my low-cut, slightly too-tight tank top. There was something sexy about the feeling that my skin was all but exposed under the loose denim, that he could have slipped his fingers down the sides and felt so much bare flesh around the waistband of my small g-string.

I shouldn't have been pleased about any of this, of course. I should have been pissed off that this man was looking at me like I was ice cream threatening to melt if he didn't lick me.

Damn him again, for making me need his touch.

“I want to offer you a job, Ariana,” he said, his tone all business suddenly.

Wait--What the fuck? A few seconds ago he’d been talking about touching me. Now he was talking about hiring me?

“What job would that be?” I asked.

“Head set designer for the newly renovated Venezia. Once it’s ready to go, of course.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Well, I’m sure you know I couldn’t possibly accept that position," I told him through my clenched jaw. “You don’t know my work. Besides, there are contracts to sort out, salaries to discuss. Not to mention that I hardly know you. I’d have to decide if I even like you before I commit to working for you. So far the only thing I know is that you propositioned me in a bar a few minutes after meeting me. That’s hardly a great endorsement for a future boss.“

“In that case, you'll just have to get to know me, won't you? I suspect you’d find that there’s more to me than meets the eye.”

"I suppose I would,” I said, wondering just what lay beyond his elegant suit and those piercing, daunting eyes of his. There had to be some substance beyond the smooth, unreadable surface of Tristan Wolfe.

"Fine. Let's start getting to know one another, then. I'd like to take a look at the dressing rooms, see what sort of shape they're in. Would you care to guide me?"

I hesitated. Maybe it was for a second, maybe an hour. I had no sense anymore of the passage of time. All I knew was that I both dreaded and craved more time alone with Tristan. “Fine," I repeated.

My luke-warm latte still in hand, I led him towards the backstage area, down a narrow hall into the first dressing room. The whole time I was aware that he was behind me, silent. Too close for comfort, yet not close enough.

I wasn't naive. I knew full well that there had to be a reason he wanted to get me off the stage and into a more secluded place. One with a door that locked. I knew what he wanted, because it was the same thing that made my core ache with a brutal, relentless throb.

Maybe I should have refused him. Should have told him to fuck off.

But I didn't. The truth was, I wanted to be alone with him more than anything in this world. Denying it would have been foolish. It would have been the same as denying myself air or water. Much as the thought terrified me, the truth was that I'd begun to crave him desperately.

As I moved towards the dressing table, Tristan flicked on a switch, which illuminated a series of round bulbs surrounding the mirror. I stared at his reflection only to see that his eyes had taken on an even more ethereal glow than usual, as though their glacial blue irises had been lit from within.

He stepped towards me as I watched him, easing up behind me.

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Ariana,” he said in a satin voice. “Do you know that?”

I shook my head, unable to respond out loud for fear that my own voice wouldn’t come to me.

“Well, you are. A sexy one, at that.” In a quick, unexpectedly playful gesture, he reached over my right shoulder and undid the strap on my overalls, which made the right side of the front apron droop down, exposing the curve of my breast under the thin, tight cotton tank top. In another swift move, he slipped his fingers over the peak of my breast, hardening my nipple under his touch.

I pulled away and spun around to shoot him my fiercest glare.

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"Because I wanted to," he replied, staring at my chest. Slowly he drew his tongue over his upper lip, a move that destroyed me and sent a shockwave of arousal straight to my core.

Part of me wanted to refasten the strap in punishment. But another part was enjoying the sensation of those magical eyes of his caressing my right breast. I could all but feel him inside me now. He was so close. It would have been so easy to offer myself up for his pleasure.

But if he got any closer, I told myself, he'd drive me over the brink.

And not in the good way.

I pulled back, leaning against the dressing table, my hands wrapping tight around its edge. "Well, you shouldn't do things like that," I said. "It's too familiar."

"According to whom?" he asked, pulling his icy eyes to mine again. "To society? Or to you?"

I swallowed hard. I knew the answer. Society would have frowned on it, but as for me, I only wanted more, however politically incorrect and forward he was being. I wanted him to finish the job. I wanted to be naked with this man, to feel his lips drawing in a nipple, his tongue stroking my bud until my body convulsed in ecstasy. I wanted to feel his swollen length deep inside me.

I'd wanted it since the first second I'd seen him, and with each moment that passed I became more certain that I'd die without it.

But I pushed the thoughts and fantasies aside and told myself to stop. Stop wanting. Stop needing.

You don't need anyone.

"It doesn't matter," I told him. "Doesn't matter what my reasons are. If I ask you not to touch me, you shouldn't do it. Period."

"Fine, then," he said, edging towards me. "I won't touch you until you ask me to." He was so close again. I could taste him on the air, that sensual musk of his driving me insane. So, we had a rule now. No touching. Only torment. "If you like, I won't even tell you what I'd do if you took off those overalls of yours and offered me your sweet pussy to lick.”

“Good,” I breathed, though I didn’t mean it in the least.

"I won't tell you that I'd taste you. I won't tell you that I'd curl my fingers inside you. That I'd make you come with my tongue, sucking gently on your most sensitive place. And I certainly won't tell you how hard my cock was all night for you, Ariana. I won't tell you that I touched myself last night, fantasizing about those lovely lips of yours sucking me off, and made myself come so hard that it shattered me."

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"What are you doing to me?" I gasped. I wanted to pull away, but I didn't. I couldn't. His draw was too powerful, his magnetism crippling. I ached for him, body and mind. I wanted him to do everything he'd just told me about, and then more. "Who are you, Tristan?"

He leaned in so close to my ear that I felt his lips brush my lobe. "I'm your worst nightmare and your best dream, wrapped up into one man."

He pulled back and stared at me for a long moment, then turned away. “I have to head to my office,” he said, his tone suddenly nonchalant again. “Meet me for lunch tomorrow. Noon. Seventy-Five Fifth Avenue.”

“That sounded a little too much like a command for my tastes,” I said. “What if I don’t want to meet you?”

“Then you shouldn’t, of course. But the thing is, you do want to meet me, and we both know it. You feel what’s happened between us as acutely as I do. Although it’s pretty cute that you pretend you don’t.” He looked over his shoulder for a second. “Tomorrow, Ariana.” With that, he stepped out the door and disappeared out of my life once again.

Damn that man for being right all the time.