Chapter 12

Olivia

His eyes locked on mine as I approached, then dropped to take in my dress. His jaw tightened.

"Olivia." My name sounded like sin on his lips. "You look... delicious."

Heat flooded my cheeks. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself."

"I thought about sending a car," he said, opening the passenger door. "But I wanted to see your face when you came outside."

"And what does my face tell you?" I asked, sliding into the leather seat.

He leaned in, his cologne making my head swim. "That you're wondering if this is a mistake."

The door closed before I could respond. I watched him walk around the front of the car, his confident stride making my pussy clench involuntarily.

He slid behind the wheel and turned to me. "It's not, by the way."

"What's not?"

"A mistake." His eyes dropped to my breasts. "That dress certainly isn't."

I crossed my legs, aware of how the fabric rode up my thighs. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere private." He started the car. "I thought about a restaurant, but I don't want to share you with a room full of people tonight."

The way he said "share you" sent a shiver down my spine.

"I have a reservation at my penthouse," he continued, pulling into traffic. "My chef is preparing dinner."

"Your personal chef?" I couldn't keep the surprise from my voice.

"Is that a problem?" His eyes flicked to me briefly.

"I was expecting a public place," I said, adjusting my dress as it rode up my thighs. "You know, somewhere with witnesses."

Alexander's lips curled into a smile. "Are you afraid of me, Olivia? Afraid I might do something inappropriate?"

"No, not like that," I said, though my hand instinctively patted my purse. "But just so you know, I've got pepper spray in here, and I won't hesitate to use it if you try anything."

"I won't do anything unless you agree to it. I'm many things, but not that kind of man."

"I only agreed to dinner," I reminded him, my voice firmer than I felt. "That's all."

"Alright." He nodded, eyes back on the road. "Dinner it is."

The car purred through the L.A. streets, all sleek power and expensive engineering. I tried to focus on the passing lights outside, but kept feeling his eyes on me. When I glanced over, Alexander's gaze darted back to the road, but not before I caught him staring at my cleavage.

Again.

And again.

By the fifth time, I couldn't take it anymore. "Do my tits have something written on them I'm not aware of?"

His lips twitched. "Excuse me?"

"You keep staring at my breasts." I adjusted the neckline of my dress, which only seemed to draw his attention back to them. "What is it with men and tits anyway? They're just fat deposits with nipples. Nothing special."

"Is that what you think?"

"Well, aren't they? I mean, half the population has them. They're literally everywhere. Billboards, movies, I*******m." I waved my hand dismissively. "Yet men act like they've discovered buried treasure every time they see a pair."

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Your breasts aren't just 'fat deposits with nipples,' Olivia."

"No? Then what are they?"

"We're here." He pulled into an underground garage beneath a towering high-rise, smoothly avoiding my question.

"That's not an answer," I muttered as he parked in a spot marked 'Reserved: Penthouse.'

The building was imposing, all glass and steel stretching toward the night sky.

Alexander guided me with his hand on the small of my back, the heat of his palm burning through the thin fabric of my dress.

We stepped into a private elevator, and he pressed the button for the top floor. The doors closed with a soft hiss, trapping us in the confined space together. His cologne filled my nostrils—something expensive and masculine, a blend of spices and wood that felt as intoxicating as it was overwhelming.

The elevator lurched upward, my stomach dropping as we ascended. I pressed myself against the opposite wall, but there was no escaping his presence or that damn cologne.

"You never answered my question," I said, breaking the silence.

Alexander stepped closer, towering over me. My back hit the elevator wall as he leaned down, his lips brushing my ear.

"Your breasts," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin, "are works of art. The way they swell above that dress, begging to be touched. The way your nipples harden when I look at you." His hand came up, not touching me but hovering inches from my chest. "Men are drawn to breasts because they represent everything soft and nurturing in this world, while simultaneously being the most intimate part of a woman's body."

I swallowed hard, my nipples tightening under his gaze as if on cue. "That's... poetic for someone talking about tits."

"I appreciate beauty in all its forms." His eyes locked with mine. "And yours are particularly beautiful."

The elevator chimed, breaking the spell. The doors slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing an opulent foyer. Marble floors gleamed under the soft light, each tile a testament to craftsmanship, while a magnificent crystal chandelier hung overhead, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow across the room.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Alexander said, gesturing for me to enter.

I stepped into his penthouse and froze. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a panoramic view of Los Angeles, the city lights twinkling like fallen stars. Modern furniture in muted grays and blacks provided a stark contrast to artwork that splashed color across the walls.

"Holy fuck," I breathed, moving toward the windows. "This is... insane."

The living room alone was bigger than my entire apartment. A massive sectional faced a fireplace that flickered with blue flames. Beyond that, I glimpsed a kitchen where a man in chef's whites was arranging something on plates.

"So," Alexander came up behind me, his reflection appearing in the glass beside mine. "What do you think?"

I forced a casual shrug. "It's okay."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Your face says otherwise. Your eyes got as big as saucers when those doors opened."

"Fine, it's spectacular," I admitted, turning away from the view. "I guess when you're CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company or whatever it is, you can afford the penthouse with the best view in Los Angeles."

"This? This is just where I stay during the week." He waved dismissively at the multi-million dollar penthouse like it was some roadside motel. "Not where we'd live."

"We?" I raised an eyebrow. "I haven't agreed to anything yet, remember? This is just dinner."