There’s no room in the elevator to move, let alone escape the man who’s threatening to kiss me. Except, he doesn't. A little bell dings, announcing our arrival on the fortieth floor, and he pulls away instead.
“Welcome to Luna. It isn't open to the public until lunchtime, which gives us plenty of privacy.”
The guards exit first and disappear. He releases my hair, grabs the lapels of the leather jacket I’m drowning in, and frees a lock of hair caught beneath.
“This is one of my favorite places in the city. You’ll love it.”
“Will I?” I huff. “So, now you’re going to tell me what venues I should like too?”
Before I can step foot out of the elevator, he halts me with his whole body. “If you don’t like it, I’ll fuck you on top of the bar until you change your mind. I can be very persuasive.”
And then he effortlessly grabs me by the wrist and drags me into the open foyer of a decked rooftop. The one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view fringed by glass and thriving foliage takes my breath away. It's stunning. Nothing like my aged, rustic pub with a leaky toilet and the cloying stench of stale beer.
An elaborately carved wooden bar sits off to one side, fully stocked and immaculately presented. I follow behind him, stepping down a level onto a natural stone floor where groups of cushioned sofas and low tables are separated by screening planters. He chooses a discreetly hidden semicircular booth and gestures for me to sit first.
A male server appears immediately, notably keeping a measure of respectful distance. “Sir. It’s a pleasure to see you this morning. How can I be of assistance?”
“The lady will try everything on the hotel breakfast menu and bring a magnum of the best champagne.”
“Right away, sir.”
I lean over the table and catch the server's eye, offering a saccharine sweet smile. “Hey… just a mug of coffee for me, please. Forget about the food. I’ve lost my appetite.”
The guy nods at me, his stare lingering for longer than André appears to be comfortable with, because he clears his throat and jiggles his knee under the table. He cracks his knuckles, immediately snaring the server's gaze. “Bring thewholebreakfast menu and the champagne. We’re celebrating.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And let Janel know I’m here. I’d like a word with her before my meeting in the boardroom.”
“Of course.”
When he leaves, André roughly seizes the sleeve of the jacket I’m about to remove and hauls me tight against his hip. Our shoulders crash together. He pauses, his face before mine. Sunlight and shade dance across his features as a leafy plant sways in the distance.
“Don’t defy me, Sin. Not while we’re with company, and definitely not when we’re alone. If I order the entire fucking menu for my wife, you’ll sit there and graciously accept it.”
The hand he’s captured me with travels to his jacket pocket, where he plucks out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. I feel trapped—suffocated by his close proximity. Rather than let him know it, I straighten my spine and eyeball him right back.
Regardless of our standoff, he was right. This bar stretching into the bold blue sky, flooded with natural sunshine, is paradisiacal, even next to this infuriating man. The bone-warming climate is a world away from the wet and windy, teeth-chattering weather of the Irish west coast. I'm so out of my element. Yet strangely, sitting beside him makes the sunrays feel brighter and these exotic surroundings inviting.
I shake my head and sigh. “Whatever makes you feel like a man, Hotshot,” I quip.
Dragging his intense gaze away, he turns his head. Fire engulfs the end of his cigarette, and then he slowly raises both arms outward to rest one behind my head and the other on the booth.
With smoke twirling like a ribbon and the tip draping his lower lip, he speaks to me in a low, confident tone. “I don’t need to feel like a man when I’m a god.”
His eyes drill into my face. They remind me of the farthest stark fields at nightfall, where there’s no light to guide the way.
“Nothing happens in this city without my approval. Take a look…” He nods to the stunning panoramic view of high-rise towers, the farthest having a gargantuan construction sign draped over extensive scaffolding. The bold font used depicts power and strength, the company name—Souza. “Everything looks better from up here. Down there, the rats kill dogs for sport. You’d be wise not to make an enemy of me, Wifey. Runaway again, or disrespect me, and I’ll ruin the earth beneath your feet like an earthquake.”
I continue to stare at him, studying every single inch of his rugged face. “You’re threatening me?”
He shrugs one sinewy shoulder and takes a long drag of his cigarette. “I’m simply telling you how it is.”
I watch his nostrils expel more smoke while ebony lashes bat slowly so he can take in every inch of me. And he does. André sits there, trailing his gaze from my eyes to my mouth, and all the way down to the fingers I’ve placed on top of the table. His avid assessment spills over me like the first blush of dawn, pinking my skin to a shade of corruption.
“This morning we’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what, exactly? My bleak future?”
