Page 13 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire
The sharp shatter of glass.
They broke apart just as Clarissa, eyes wild and limbs loose with alcohol, stumbled into the booth and knocked over Theo’s wine glass. A crimson arc of Syrah splashed across the front of Rose’s sweater.
Rose let out a startled sound, standing abruptly. She snatched a cloth napkin off the table and dabbed furiously at the spreading stain.
“I—I need to rinse this out before it sets,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. “Do you have a restroom?”
Theo pointed silently toward the set of private doors just behind the lounge.
She grabbed her handbag, clutching the wine-soaked sweater away from her body, and slipped through the door without another word.
The second it clicked shut, Theo turned.
His fury was instantaneous.
Clarissa was hiccupping something about Rod pushing her. Rod, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, looked confused—mostly because he was clearly two seconds from unconsciousness.
“Rhys,” Theo said, his voice sharp as a blade.
The bouncer appeared instantly.
“Get them out. Now. Flag a taxi. Make sure they don’t come back.”
Clarissa started to object in a drunken slur. “It wasn’t?—”
But Rhys had already moved, his massive form blocking her protest. “This way,” he said, his tone like concrete poured over steel.
Rod mumbled something as Rhys herded them both toward the stairwell. Clarissa’s squeals cut off when the door closed behind them.
A server hurried over to mop the spill, murmuring apologies. Theo barely noticed.
He walked to the railing and gripped it hard, knuckles white.
Below, the dancers moved like ocean waves. Oblivious. Shimmering. Meaningless.
He stared blindly into the crowd, his pulse still pounding from the kiss, from the feel of her mouth yielding and daring all at once.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear the fog in his head. His fingers weren’t steady. His body wasn’t steady.
He’d kissed dozens of women—maybe more—over his lifetime, but never like that. Never with the world dissolving around him.
Never with the earth shifting beneath his feet.
Damn it, he didn’t even know her last name.
Rose—God help him—had just rocked his entire world off its axis with her smile, her laugh, and her kiss.
“One kiss will never be enough,” he murmured, stunned and shaken.
Four
Rose stood over the porcelain sink, her hands working furiously to scrub the deep red stain from her grandfather’s sweater. Her fingers were numb from the cold water—she barely noticed. All she could feel—truly feel—was the echo of his mouth against hers.
Her lips still tingled. Her body ached. Every nerve screamed one warning:Theo Kallistratos was dangerous.
She wrung the sweater out with a sharp twist, sending droplets of Syrah-tainted water splashing against the basin. Her breath hitched—too loud in the hush of the private restroom—and she braced herself on the edge of the counter, her head bowed, her heart hammering.
Get a grip, Rose. It was just a kiss!
