Page 142 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

At the end was a flight of stairs next to a wall of glass that looked onto the indoor pool. Windows on the far side of the water offered a view to the snowy outdoors. A lounge on the end was surrounded by lush tropical plants, and sunlamps were installed on the ceiling. Moody blue lighting reflected off the veined marble on the walls, making the whole place look magical.

An elevator pinged. She hadn’t even seen it, but Atlas had touched the call button and the doors slid open next to the stairs.

“What’s to talk about?” She stepped inside the elevator and immediately regretted it. It was too small. She could smell the winter air still clinging to his hair and skin. “Can’t you make a statement that the photos were taken out of context and make it go away?”

“Those sorts of statements look really stupid if the other party makes their own statement that contradicts it. Have you talked to anyone?”

“No. Like who? Why would I?”

“For money? What?” His brow went up as she swung an affronted look on him. “You were unjustly fired five years ago. You might have seen this as an opportunity to receive compensation for that.”

“I don’t want compensation. I want to keep a low profile so I can keep my job. Mylife.” The doors opened, allowing her to stomp off the elevator in a dramatic exit, but she paused to get her bearings.

He came up behind her, not touching her, but making her prickle with awareness as he halted just as abruptly.

They took in the rooms that flowed one into another beneath exposed wooden beams. The decor was mostly white and earthy browns. Glittering chandeliers were turned off above a massive sectional, but Tiffany-style table lamps glowed in mosaics of violet and scarlet and amber. Cozy reading chairs were tucked into nooks beside the massive stone fireplace that separated the main living room from the dining room. The marble dining table had sixteen empty chairs and a floral inlay that was an absolute work of art. In front of her were huge windows and double doors that led onto an upper terrace and what was likely a beautiful view of the lake and the hilly dales surrounded by sharp peaks looming above.

The kitchen was an open space with an island and eating bar. Places like this usually had a professional kitchen on one of the lower floors where the bulk of food preparation happened. Breakfast would be served here and the chef would prepare meals here if asked, but it was mostly a place for guests to make cocoa and find snacks after midnight.

She moved to the refrigerator to take inventory. “Have you eaten?”

“No. I should have asked the staff to leave something. Do you want a drink?” He moved to where the bar was in shadow and clicked on the track lighting above it.

“White wine, thanks.” She pulled out milk, flour and eggs. Crepes were her standby when she didn’t know what else to cook. “What would I even say?” she asked. “If I talked to reporters?”

“Exactly.” There was a faint pop as he removed a cork from a bottle of wine. “That my sister held a wild party five years ago? There’s front-page news.” His voice was deeply sarcastic. “That I kissed you? I did.” He shrugged it off as nothing, not looking at her as he poured her glass. “That my father fired you without cause? It’s all true and does very little harm to any of us.”

“Except me. They’re already making out like I broke your engagement. My employer doesn’t want to be associated with that. I’ve worked really hard for that job, Atlas. Can youpleasemake a statement that your lack of a fiancée has nothing to do with me?”

“I would if it were true, but it’s not.” His mouth formed a humorless twist as he brought both drinks to the island.

“What do you mean?” She paused in reaching for the glass, heart swerving in her chest. “I didn’t do anything! I didn’t even know she existed.”

“You’re still the reason Iris went home without me.”

* * *

“How?” Stella cried. The pink in her cheeks had started to fade, but rushed back in. That chin of hers was looking for a fight, but the tension around her eyes and mouth deepened with distress. “Is that really what you’re going to say?”

“No. Probably not. I’m still deciding. Do you want me to cook?” He was even hungrier than he’d been when Iris had suggested an early dinner four hours ago.

“As if.” She turned to set the crepe pan on a burner and pulled more ingredients from the refrigerator.

“I can cook.” He was a grown man who had learned to take care of himself long before his father’s staff had begun doing it. “My grandfather owned a taverna. I started working there as soon as I was tall enough to carry an empty plate to the sink.”

“I’ll let you clean up, then.”

He leaned on the wall where he was out of the way, still skeptical she wouldn’t want revenge for losing her job five years ago.

He was distracted by noticing her hair was longer than he’d suspected. It hung in an intricate golden braid that resembled a herringbone pattern. As she moved, it swished across her back, drawing him into a fantasy of catching it and wrapping it around his fist while he ran his free hand all over the cashmere that hugged her full breasts.

Damn it, what was it about her? Each time he saw her, he reacted as though he’d never seen a female figure before. Yes, hers was exceptional, but he’d seen many exceptional beauties in his lifetime. They’d been throwing themselves at him from the moment his first whisker had appeared. He was careful about how and with whom he had sex, but he had enough of it that he wasn’t in a state of parched need for it.

That’s how Stella made him feel, though. As though he would die if he didn’t touch her. Like he needed tohaveher. The urge to stand behind her and bury his lips in the side of her neck pulled like a magnet.

“Why is it my fault that your engagement is off?” she asked stiffly.

Because he couldn’t keep himself from looking for knicker lines beneath her trousers.

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