Chapter 26

Olivia

In the elevator, I caught him staring at my reflection in the mirrored walls.

"See something you like?" I asked, throwing his earlier words back at him.

His eyes met mine in the mirror. "Several things."

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat spreading through my body. The elevator continued its descent, the silence between us electric.

"You need to understand something," Alexander said, his voice low. "In public, you're my girlfriend. Not my employee, not my contractual wife-to-be. My girlfriend."

"I get it," I replied, adjusting the necklace he'd fastened around my neck.

"I don't think you do." He stepped closer, his chest nearly touching my back. "This isn't just about appearances. The entire arrangement collapses if this plan fails because you can't maintain the facade."

I turned to face him, finding myself trapped between his body and the elevator wall. "I can act like your girlfriend, Alexander. I'm not an idiot."

"Alex," he corrected. "When we're together, you call me Alex. Girlfriends use nicknames."

"Fine, Alex." The shortened name felt strangely intimate on my tongue. "And what will you call me? Liv?"

Something darkened in his eyes. "Among other things."

The elevator doors slid open before I could respond. Alexander placed his hand on the small of my back, guiding me across the lobby. His touch was light but possessive, sending tingling up my spine.

"Even in front of your driver?" I whispered as we approached the building's exit.

"Especially in front of my driver," he murmured against my ear. "Everyone in my life must believe this is real. No exceptions."

"Okay," I agreed, leaning slightly into his touch despite myself.

"Next month we'll meet my family," he said as we stepped outside into the cool evening air. "Grandfather wants to see the woman who's captured my heart."

My stomach flipped. "That's okay."

"Is it?" His hand slid from my back to my waist, pulling me closer. "They're not easily fooled, Olivia."

"I said it's fine," I insisted, trying to ignore how good his hand felt on my waist. "I can handle your family."

His car waited at the curb, sleek and black like everything else in his life. Alex opened the door for me, his hand never leaving my body as I slid into the backseat.

Once inside, he sat closer than necessary, his thigh pressing against mine. The car pulled away from the curb smoothly.

"Where are we going?" I asked, acutely aware of his proximity.

"Maestro's," he replied, his hand finding my knee. "Best steak in the city."

I glanced down at his large hand against the red fabric of my dress. His fingers traced small circles on my knee, each movement sending shivers up my thigh. The heat of his palm burned through the thin material.

"Nervous?" Alexander asked, his voice low and intimate.

I shook my head, meeting his gaze. "Should I be?"

"Not at all. Just follow my lead tonight."

His hand slid an inch higher on my thigh, fingers dancing along the edge of the slit in my dress. My breath hitched.

"That dress was made for you," he murmured, eyes dropping to where the fabric dipped between my breasts. "Red suits you."

"I think you just like how much skin it shows," I replied, surprising myself with my boldness.

Alexander laughed. "Guilty as charged." His fingers continued their lazy exploration of my exposed thigh. "But can you blame me? Look at you."

The intensity in his eyes made my stomach flip. I felt desired, wanted in a way Ryan had never made me feel.

"You clean up pretty well yourself," I said, running my finger along the edge of his perfectly tailored jacket.

"Only pretty well?" He raised an eyebrow, feigning offense.

I leaned closer, inhaling his cologne. "Fishing for compliments, Alex?"

His name felt strange on my tongue, intimate and forbidden. His eyes darkened at the sound of it.

"From you? Always." His thumb traced higher, finding the sensitive skin where my thigh met my hip. "I like hearing what you think."

"I think," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper, "that you're used to getting whatever you want."

"Not everything," he countered, his eyes never leaving mine. "Not yet."

The implication hung between us, charged and heavy with promise. His hand remained on my thigh, possessive and warm.

The car slowed, pulling up to the restaurant entrance. Alexander reluctantly withdrew his hand, but his eyes promised more.

"Ready?" he asked.

I nodded, suddenly feeling like I was stepping onto a stage. The charade was beginning.

The restaurant was elegant and dimly lit, with crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over white tablecloths. A maitre d' greeted Alexander by name and led us to a secluded corner table.

Alexander's hand found the small of my back as we walked, guiding me through the crowded dining room. His touch was confident, proprietary, as if he'd been touching me like this for years instead of minutes.

He pulled out my chair, his fingers brushing my shoulders as I sat. The casual intimacy of the gesture wasn't lost on me.

"Wine?" he asked once seated across from me.

"Please."

He ordered without consulting the menu, speaking briefly with the sommelier in what sounded like fluent French. I watched his lips form the foreign words, mesmerized by the confidence with which he navigated this world of luxury.

"You speak French," I observed when the sommelier left.

Alexander's lips quirked. "Among other things."

"Let me guess: You also speak Italian, can fly a helicopter, and have climbed Everest."

He laughed. "Italian, yes. Helicopter, yes. Everest, no, but Kilimanjaro twice."

"Of course you have," I said, rolling my eyes. "Is there anything you can't do?"

His gaze intensified. "I'm still figuring that out."

The wine arrived, a deep red that Alexander approved with a nod. He watched as I took my first sip, his eyes following the movement of my throat as I swallowed.

"Verdict?" he asked.

"Delicious," I admitted. "But I'm no connoisseur. My idea of fancy wine is anything that doesn't come with a screw top."

Alexander smiled, reaching across the table to take my hand. His thumb stroked my palm in small circles. "Refreshingly honest. Most women I date pretend to know about wine even when they don't."

"I'm not most women," I replied, meeting his gaze steadily.

"No," he agreed, his voice dropping. "You're certainly not."