Chapter 3. Mesmerizingly Dangerous

Sophia’s POV

“Your daughter’s run away?” Alexander utters as if it’s news to him. He takes the phone off his ear, taps the screen, and switches to loudspeaker.

“Sophia’s never acted out like this,” my dad’s frantic voice echoes. “She’s just… she’s a little sensitive…” 

My heart shatters.

“The news must have left her shocked,” Alexander says calmly, dark eyes locked onto mine. “I’ll have my security team look for her, and personally bring her home to you… With the merger underway, we wouldn’t want the media to get a wind of this.”

“You’re right, Son.”

Unwelcome, hot tears sting my eyes.

My life is worth a business deal, but I’m just a little sensitive?

I turn to the window, tuning out the rest of the call.

I’ve had enough—enough of being tossed around like everyone’s puppet.

As soon as the car becomes quiet, I turn to him, fist tightened. “Drop me off—”

The dome lights go off suddenly.

My eyes flick to it, then back to his still figure in the dark.

“Alexander, I want to get off.”

“I don’t live on the streets,” he replies and moves, lowering the center console between us. “Why would you want to get off here?”

It’s dark, but my eyes follow his movement as he takes some things out. 

“Just let me out of the car. I don’t want to—” 

“Sophia?” 

I blink.

A crisp metallic flick slices cleanly through the car, followed by the sharp hiss of flames rising from a glossy, silver Cartier lighter. The flames illuminate the sharp angles of his jaw as he torches the bottom of a dark… cigar?!

My lips part open, my eyes widening and moving from the flames to his face.

With a click, the lid snaps shut. And the fire disappears.

He puts the cigar between his lips and takes a slow, deliberate drag, the cherry glowing a fierce amber, before placing it into a crystal ashtray in front. Smoke floats out of his mouth without warning, traveling to my nostrils.

My lungs threaten a cough, but I stay frozen.

“You never called,” he says softly and meets my gaze, smoke still curling between us, rich and heavy with the scent of tobacco and cedar. “Why? Forgot about me?” 

I can’t find my voice. I watch him push the console back into the seat, lean close, and reach down. My eyes follow his hand.

And with another sharp click, he unbuckles my seat belt. It retracts.

Before I can recoil, his fingers wrap around my wrist. 

“What are you—”

With one swift, unyielding tug, he pulls me across the seat until my body meets his.

My body stiffens with a gasp. 

I lift my eyes to him, but he leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below my left ear before sliding to my lobe. And he whispers, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since New Year’s Eve…” 

A shiver races down my spine, forcing a sluggish blink out of me.

He releases my wrist, and his cool fingers slowly slide over the hem of my torn skirt, resting against my bare knee. 

I grip the seat, my eyes flickering to his chauffeur before dropping to his right hand on my thigh.

“Alexander…?” I choke, softly pushing his hand away—my attempt at resisting—only for his palm to return, the heavy weight sending a traitorous wave of warmth pooling in my stomach.

He smooths his palm over my knee, staring into my eyes with an unsettling calmness—a knowing that I will cave just like I did in that hall on New Year’s Eve. He keeps brushing my knee, waiting.

My body betrays my resistance, turning toward him.

Slowly, his hand slips under to hold my thigh. His thumb starts to caress, fingers rubbing along my skin.

My eyes drift shut with a breathy sigh. And just like that, my forehead drops against his shoulder as I indulge. Last year’s encounter is re-enacted. But this time, there are not a hundred guests around, waiting to catch him. Or us.

“Soph?”

“Mm,” I murmur, opening my eyes to find him watching me with a terrifying intensity.

“Not even a text?” He murmurs, his thumb still tracing a slow, wicked circle on my skin. “I thought we formed a connection.”

We did. I want to say, but my lips feel heavy. I left for London again in February, and for the last six months, I could only stare at his contact. How can I tell him his friend warned me to stay away? 

My heart flutters as I stare into his eyes, mesmerized and watching him put the cigar between his lips again. He turns away to exhale a stream of smoke before shifting his eyes back to mine.

“Did Dimitri tell you to stay away from me?” 

My sudden stiffness gives him his answer.

He stays quiet, softly caressing my thigh, moving his palm higher. Before control can bleed completely out of me, I take his hand and slide it off my skin. 

If I let this continue, I know I won’t be able to say no next time.

“And you listened to him?” he asks, closing his palm over my hands.

I keep my eyes on him, having no words to say, despite Dimitri being like an older brother I always listen to. 

“He’s going to be pretty upset when he hears the news.” He mutters and rolls down the window.

Grateful for the fresh air, I sigh. “What news?”

“You and I are getting married in October… The press release goes out next week.”

What?! 

From running away to this? Trapped with no way out. 

The silence continues as he keeps smoking.

Why did my parents hide his identity from me? Why me?

Before my head can process timelines and answers, the car comes to a smooth halt.

I run a shaky hand over my mouth, shifting away to look out my window. I stare at a sleek skyscraper and can barely see the top from inside the car.

Alexander slowly weaves his fingers through mine. “Let’s go up. I live in the penthouse.”

***

My reflection on the elevator panel makes my stomach drop—mud-stained clothes, torn skirt, feral hair. I look like something from the woods he shouldn’t have brought home, yet his grip on my hand never loosens as we fly up several floors.

Other than visiting a sick college mate with five others, I’ve never been to a man’s house. But Alexander isn’t just any man. He easily undoes me without trying hard.

The elevator chimes. And I take a deep breath.

Sixty-nine floors above the ground. Several miles away from all that’s familiar and safe. It takes us 10 seconds to reach a large door that he unlocks with a finger scan. It clicks open, we enter, and the door slams shut. 

I take a step into a massive, minimalist foyer.

“No shoes in the house.” Alexander squeezes my hand to stop me and drops to a knee, taking out a pair of black slippers from a console table.

My lips press together, my fists tightening around the strap of my purse as I stare at his dark brown hair. The warm light reflects on it. 

I slowly step out of my heels and slip my aching feet into silk, oversized slippers. He tucks my shoes in. When he straightens up, his commanding 6’3 frame completely towers over my 5’4 stature; I have to take a step back. He steps out of his shoes into another pair of black slides, holds my hand again, and leads me into the main living space.

He flips a switch, and the penthouse is flooded with lights. All glass and steel. Polished concrete. So much space and perfection.

“I’ll give you a house tour later.” He leaves no room for admiration, pulling me down a long, dimly lit hallway. “We need to get you out of those clothes first.”

I lift my eyes to him, wondering what’s going to happen to me tonight. We turn two corners, and he pushes open a heavy oak door and turns on the light. It’s a lavish bedroom. 

My chest tightens on instinct. 

He takes a step in. But I plant my feet solid, halting him at the threshold. He looks over his shoulder.

“What is it?” 

“Is this… is this your bedroom?”

He turns fully, closing the distance between us until I’m forced to look up into his alluring eyes. “Is that where you wanna go? My bedroom?”

Where I wanna go?

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, raising a hand, his knuckles gently grazing my cheekbone. “We’ll spend the night there together.”

What?

He pulls me into the room and, with a wicked smirk flashing on his face, he takes the strap of my purse from my shoulder. “I’ll hold on to this.”