Page 2 of Tempting My Billionaire Master

The doors groaned open. “Go on,” the man said.

Here went nothing. I walked through the doors into the lion’s den, hearing them close behind me with a note of finality. There was no turning back now. I was Ethan Hamilton’s, for better or for worse.

Trepidation mixed with excitement bubbled inside me as I took in my surroundings. The foyer was cavernous and echoing, dwarfing me entirely. I felt like a mouse compared to the towering walls and expansive floor. I wondered if that was the intention of the architect, to inflate the ego of the host and make people like me feel insignificant.

The interior was brutal and minimalistic, stark concrete and steel, but dotted with expensive abstract sculptures and modern art pieces in vibrant colors. They stood out as bright focal points amidst the cruelly gray palette. It was a strange juxtaposition, and eerie in its own way.

I walked down the center of the room, acutely aware of the closed doors behind me, and the unseen eyes surely watching my every move.

My eyes were drawn to a large, modernist painting hanging on the wall. It was a riot of colors, with shapes and lines intersecting and looping around each other in a frenzied dance. Men like Ethan calculated every step and I was sure that this piece and all the others were placed here with a specific purpose, to create an impression or send a message.

I reluctantly walked through the opulence, feeling more out of place than ever. As I entered the corridor, the haunting notes of piano music flowed toward me from behind a door at the end of the hall.

Summoning my courage, I made my way down the corridor, the music growing louder with each step. By the time I reached the end, my heart was racing to match the rapid, dramatic notes of the piano.

My curiosity piqued, I pushed open the door and stepped into an enormous library.

The opulence surrounding me felt surreal, as though I had stumbled into a fairytale. Priceless leather-bound books lined floor-to-ceiling shelves, intricate Persian rugs covered the polished oak floor, and a crystal chandelier dripped from the vaulted ceiling like frozen rain. In the center of the room sat a black grand piano, and at its helm, a man who could only be Ethan Hamilton.

He played with effortless grace, with a passion and intensity that made the music almost tangible. The melody swirled around me, its beauty pulling me further into the room until I stood just a few feet from him. For a moment, I simply listened, captivated by the sound and the sight of this enigmatic, powerful man.

Ethan’s fingers flew over the piano keys, creating a harmony that wrapped around me like a warm embrace. He looked effortlessly handsome, with sharp cheekbones, dark hair just beginning to turn silver at the temples, and eyes the color of emerald green. His chiseled jawline was accentuated by a day or two of stubble, giving him a rugged yet refined appearance.

I felt a lump form in my throat, and my cheeks began to flush as the melody reached its crescendo. Ethan exuded an aura of confidence and power, and all I could think about was how captivating he was. He was so much older than me, yet somehow it made him even more attractive.

But the main thing that drew me to him was the passion that exuded from the way he played the instrument. Here was a man who had a reputation for being cold, distant, and ruthless, whose home looked like the lair of a soulless tyrant, yet his fingers caressed the piano keys with a tenderness that I never would have expected. It was as though the piano was an extension of his being, something that he poured his soul into, and I couldn’t help but be drawn in by the power of his emotion.

It made me feel inadequate. Here was a man who seemed to have everything, from his wealth and power to his looks and charm. Surely he had his pick of the most beautiful and famous women in the world. I was out of my league but in this magical moment I could indulge in a bit of daydreaming.

As the final notes of the melody faded away, I found myself frozen in place, lost in the wake of the beautiful music that had just washed over me.

Suddenly, my heart leaped as Ethan spoke, his deep and commanding voice sending shivers down my spine.

“Do you like music, Chloe?” he asked, his fingers still poised over the piano keys. He just sat there, not even bothering to turn his head, as if he had known I was there the entire time.

I cleared my throat, trying to suppress the warm flush that had spread across my face. “Mr. Hamilton,” I stammered. “It is nice to me—”

“Please, Chloe, call me Ethan,” he said, cutting me off before I could say more. He turned to face me, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes glinted like jewels, and I found myself drowning in their depths.

Ethan rose from his piano bench and stepped toward me, closing the distance between us, his eyes never leaving mine. I felt like a deer caught in headlights, unable to move or speak. My heart pounded in my chest as he approached. “Chloe, I want you to feel comfortable here and enjoy your time with me. We will be spending a lot of time together, after all.”

I felt my body tremble at his words as he walked towards me, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his tailored suit emphasized his broad shoulders and muscular build. As he came near, I caught a whiff of his enticing scent—a mix of wood, spice, and something uniquely masculine. Up close, he was even more intimidating, towering over me and radiating a powerful energy.

“Chloe, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he said, offering his hand.

I extended my hand hesitantly, feeling a sudden jolt of electricity shoot through my body as our skin touched. Ethan’s grip was strong, yet surprisingly gentle, as if he was afraid of breaking me, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of safety wash over me as he held my hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ethan,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Instead of releasing my hand, he gave it a light squeeze and confidently led me toward the window overlooking the sprawling grounds. This was a man accustomed to getting his way, and leading others along with him.

The entire scene felt surreal, and I struggled to wrap my head around the fact that I was standing next to one of the most powerful men in the country, who also happened to be incredibly handsome.

I had an interview to conduct, but it was difficult to concentrate when all I could think about were Ethan’s smoldering eyes, the scent of his cologne, and the feel of his hand in mine. I felt as if I had stepped into a fairytale.

Ethan led me to a table set up in front of a huge window that overlooked the beautiful grounds of his estate. On the table sat a bottle of wine and two expensive-looking glasses.

“We can talk here,” Ethan said, releasing my hand at last. I felt relieved when our fingers parted, but also disappointed at the loss of contact. What was happening to me?

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