Ethan walked into my private office with a casual smile, completely unaware that his wife’s pulse was hammering against her ribs, her skin still tingling from where Tom’s fingers had pressed into her jaw.
“Everything looks solid back here, then?” Ethan asked, looking between the two of us.
“Impervious,” Tom replied smoothly, his low baritone carrying a polished, professional cadence that betrayed zero tension.
He gestured toward the rear steel deadbolt with a graceful flick of his wrist.
“The physical infrastructure is top-tier.
I’ve recommended a couple of subtle software patches for the digital keypad, but otherwise, Rain has kept this place impeccably guarded.” “That’s a relief,” Ethan said, stepping up beside me and reaching out to slide his arm comfortably around my waist.
The contrast was agonizing—Ethan’s warm, affectionate squeeze compared to the sharp, possessive electricity Tom had left on my skin just seconds prior.
“Rain always ensures everything runs perfectly.” I forced a faint, polished smile onto my lips, leaning into Ethan’s side to keep my legs from trembling.
“I try to leave nothing to chance.” Tom’s dark eyes locked onto mine over Ethan’s shoulder, a slow, wicked smirk playing at the corners of his mouth—cool, unbothered, and overflowing with absolute dominance.
“A noble effort, Rain.
Though life has a funny way of introducing unscripted variables, no matter how carefully you plan.” “Ain’t that the truth!” Joe’s booming voice echoed down the short corridor as he and Eric stepped into the office doorway.
At thirty-seven, Joe flashed his bright, high-society grin, casually tossing an arm over Eric’s shoulder.
“Listen, enough talking about lock bolts and encryption keys.
Eric and I are starving.
We’re heading over to L’Ami Jean for late lunch, and you guys are coming.” “I’ve got a two o’clock client call,” Eric said, checking his gold watch with a smooth, thirty-eight-year-old playboy ease.
“But I can definitely squeeze in a glass of wine and an appetizer.
Tom, you free?” Tom adjusted his dark silk tie, his posture relaxed, immaculate, and utterly commanding.
“My schedule is flexible for the rest of the afternoon.
Rain, Ethan…
you should join us.
It’s rare we all get a mid-week break.” “I’d love to, but I have to run back to the Manhattan office to finalize the quarterly budget,” Ethan said with an apologetic sigh, looking down at me with genuine affection.
“Babe, why don’t you go with them?
You’ve been working non-stop all week.
Take a break.” My heart did a violent, terrifying leap.
“Ethan, I should really stay and review the CAD schematics—” “Nonsense!” Joe chimed in, stepping forward with a flirty, teasing wink.
“Rain, if you stay cooped up in this studio all day, Ethan’s going to have to answer to me for letting his gorgeous wife turn into a workaholic.
Come get lunch.
We’ll make sure Tom doesn’t talk about security protocols the whole time.” “I promise to be on my best behavior,” Tom murmured softly.
His voice was laced with a dark, subtle humor that made my chest tighten.
“A quiet lunch in good company sounds…
exceptionally rewarding.” Ethan kissed my temple, completely oblivious to the trap springing around me.
“Go, babe.
Enjoy yourself.
Text me when you get home, okay?” “Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely steady as Ethan gave my hand one last squeeze before slipping out of the studio to head toward his subway line.
Ten minutes later, I found myself sitting in a sleek leather booth at an upscale French bistro two blocks from my studio.
The brass fixtures and dimmed mahogany accents created an intimate, sultry atmosphere.
Joe and Eric sat on one side of the circular booth, laughing over a bottle of crisp Sancerre, while I was seated on the other side.
Directly beside me sat Tom.
The booth was cozy, forcing us into close proximity.
His broad shoulder brushed against mine with every subtle movement he made, his dark tailored jacket radiating an intense, intoxicating heat that made it nearly impossible for me to concentrate on the menu.
“So, Rain,” Joe said, leaning across the table with a playful smile, resting his chin on his hand.
“When are you going to let me commission you for my penthouse terrace?
Eric keeps bragging about the Lawrence estate, and I’m starting to get jealous.” “Joe’s terrace is a disaster, Rain,” Eric teased, pouring a splash of white wine into my glass.
“He tried to put fake grass on a ninth-floor balcony.” “It was high-end astroturf!” Joe laughed, raising his hands in self-defense.
“Rain, tell him astroturf can be chic!” I forced a soft, genuine laugh, taking a slow sip of the crisp wine to cool my dry throat.
“It depends on the lighting, Joe.
But I’m sure we could do something much more sophisticated with natural slate and timber.” “See?
She’s a genius,” Joe grinned, winking at me.
“Tom, back me up here.” “Rain’s taste is flawless,” Tom said smoothly, his deep, velvety baritone rumbling right beside my ear.
Under the heavy linen tablecloth, out of sight from Eric and Joe, Tom shifted his leg.
My breath hitched sharply as the firm, solid weight of his thigh pressed directly against mine beneath the table.
I froze, my hand tightening around the stem of my crystal wine glass.
I tried to subtly shift away, but the leather booth offered no room to escape.
Tom didn’t force the movement; he simply kept his leg firmly planted against mine, asserting an icy, unyielding dominance while maintaining a relaxed, polite conversation with the table.
“She understands how to balance beauty with control,” Tom continued effortlessly, swirling his glass of scotch as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
“A rare quality in a designer.” “You two sound like you’re talking about fine art instead of balconies,” Eric chuckled, taking a bite of his appetizer.
Under the table, Tom’s hand slid off his lap.
Slowly, deliberately, his large, warm palm rested against my knee over the fabric of my trousers.
The sheer audacity of it—sitting in a brightly lit restaurant with two of our close friends three feet away—sent a violent spike of adrenaline through my veins.
I turned my head to look at Tom, my eyes wide with a mixture of quiet fury and desperate panic.
Tom didn’t even look back at me immediately.
He took a measured sip of his scotch, listening calmly as Joe launched into a hilarious story about a city council meeting.
But beneath the table, his long fingers squeezed my knee with a firm, possessive pressure, his thumb tracing a slow, burning circle over my skin.
When he finally turned his head to meet my gaze, his expression was a masterclass in calm, refined composure.
His dark eyes held a wicked, dangerous spark, his lips curving into that signature, unbothered smirk.
“Are you alright, Rain?” Tom murmured softly, his voice dropping just enough to sound like polite concern to Eric and Joe.
“You look a little warm.
Is the wine too strong?” “I’m…
perfectly fine, Tom,” I breathed out, my pulse hammering so loudly in my ears I was certain the whole table could hear it.
“Good,” Tom whispered, his thumb pressing just a fraction deeper into my knee beneath the table before he smoothly slid his hand back to his own lap.
“Wouldn’t want you losing your composure before dessert.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Patel_Palace “If you’re enjoying the story, please add it to your Library/Collection!”