Chapter Four
Tessa
I BARELY SLEPT.
And I have no one to blame but myself, of course.
The room smelled of him long after he vacated it.
Even after I told myself that such a thing was impossible, the phantom sensation of his mouth as it burned on mine haunted me.
Every time I closed my eyes I saw his smile as he walked out—triumphant, assured, as if he knew I’d already lost vital ground.
But it’s morning now and, as hard as it was, I’ve wrestled my mask back into place. I take extra care with my appearance, choosing to seek confidence in my sleekly styled hair, my pressed linen dress perfect for Lisbon’s temperate spring and my favourite burnt-orange lipstick wielded like a weapon.
If Theo Biney wants to see cracks, he’ll have to look elsewhere.
He’s already at the table when I arrive at the terrace where breakfast is set, his dark suit perfectly tailored, coffee cup in his large hand.
His dark brown eyes flick up, linger just long enough to remind me of everything we didn’t finish last night. Every filthy promise held tight within that muscle-honed perfection of a male body.
‘Sleep well?’ he drawls when the butler approaches to pull out a chair.
I spare the older man a grateful glance and murmur thanks. Then, ‘Like a baby,’ I lie smoothly, sliding into my chair. ‘The world could’ve ended and I wouldn’t have heard a thing.’
So what if I’m laying it on too thick?
A glimmer of something dangerous flares in his gaze, but he only signals to the butler for my coffee. Then proceeds to offer me various platters, as if feeding me is his job.
We eat in relative silence, though the air between us hums with unsaid things. Fingers brush when he passes the jam. His gaze lingers too long when I lift my cup.
My every instinct screams that this is a calculated ploy. That I should ignore him. And yet so far my judgement hasn’t been sound when it comes to this man.
So I’m not at all surprised when I pause in raising my cup to take a sip after finishing the most exquisite eggs Benedict I’ve ever consumed. ‘Care to enlighten me as to why you have that gleam in your eye?’
One corner of his mouth quirks. And then casually, almost offhand, he says in a low voice, ‘You’ve caught me in a moment of rare regret. I’m thinking if I’d kept my mouth shut last night, perhaps things would’ve stayed pleasurable for longer.’
Heat lashes through me, hot and infuriating. ‘And perhaps if you’d kept to our rules, we wouldn’t be in this mess at all.’
He leans back and I watch a slow smile building, warning of danger and devastation.
‘I don’t remember agreeing to your rules.
I simply let you lay them out, suspecting you wouldn’t stick to them.
’ His eyes pin mine, hard. ‘And you didn’t, did you, princess?
Or did I imagine your tongue in my mouth last night? ’
The words land like a slap and a caress all at once. My cup trembles, my pulse sprinting. I force my voice to remain steady. ‘Small print matters, Theo. A lapse in judgement doesn’t invalidate the contract.’
He shrugs, maddeningly relaxed. ‘You can dress it up however you want. But contracts can be rewritten. Amended. And sometimes…shredded and burned.’
I clench my jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘Not this one. You’ll do well to remember that. Now shall we get on with the day?’
The rest of the day unfolds like a tense game of chess.
Together we meet two more donors, presenting a united front.
Theo dazzles them with talk of architectural legacy, I counter with cultural impact.
His designs, my vision—sparks and friction that somehow make the pitch more compelling.
Our synergy is undeniable, even when our smiles mask daggers.
And I’m loath to admit how much I’d have loved to be on the same side as him if things weren’t as they were.
You’re not on the same side and it’s important you don’t forget that. Like you almost did last night.
Between meetings, the tension lingers.
Fingers brushing again over shared sketches. A stare held too long in the backseat of the car. Wry asides exchanged that leave me flushed against my will.
By late afternoon, we’ve secured provisional commitments from both donors. Ashon texts a string of celebratory exclamation points, but the victory feels hollow when the memory of Theo’s mouth still lingers like the hottest temptation.
I retreat to my suite that evening, telling myself I’ve held the line.
On the outside, I’ve been polished, untouchable.
But inside, I’m still unravelling.
And somehow, I know tonight will bring another test.
The knock comes just as I’ve convinced myself the evening will be mine alone. I close my eyes, steadying, before opening the door.
Theo stands there, casual in dark trousers and a crisp shirt with the first two buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up. His eyes sweep over me in a way that makes my pulse hitch despite the soft cosiness of my cashmere sweater.
‘You haven’t had anything to eat since lunchtime. Come to dinner,’ he says with that implacable imperiousness I’m beginning to think is weaved into his DNA.
‘I’m not hungry.’ My tone is cool, clipped, designed to end the conversation. ‘I’ll order something from room service if that changes.’
His mouth curves. ‘Didn’t think you were the hide-in-your-room type.’
The words hit, precise as ever, but tonight I’m too tired to play. ‘Maybe you don’t know me half as well as you think,’ I reply in a taut but weary tone. The edge to my voice makes him pause and something flickers in his expression. Something almost contrite.
He drops the sardonic twist to his mouth. ‘Come out anyway. I want to show you something.’
Suspicion prickles. ‘Show me what?’
He exhales, dragging a hand over his five o’clock shadow. ‘Let’s down swords for the next three hours, hmm? I have a full day tomorrow. I won’t have time to do this then and we leave the day after. It’s now or never.’ Then his mouth twitches, unable to resist. ‘And you do like to be dramatic.’
I should slam the door. Instead, curiosity stirs traitorously in my chest. My gaze drops to my jeans and sweater. ‘I’ll change.’
‘You’re perfectly…’ his gaze—his voice—drops, deep and weighted ‘…fine the way you are.’
The way his eyes linger on me, the rough warmth in his tone. I can’t slot it under any other banner than savage hunger. The kind that wrecks before it resurrects.
For one suspended breath, the air between us hums like it did last night, thick with the memory of touch and taste and filthy lust.
I tear my gaze away first. ‘Fine. Three hours.’
I slot my feet into stylish wedges and grab my purse, slipping the long strap crossways over my body.
Downstairs, we slip into the car and as the night presses close around us, I don’t ask where we’re going.
I won’t admit it willingly, but I’m drained after the long day of guarding my emotions around Theo Biney and I don’t want to spar, not now.
Not when his words about my appearance still have my pulse sprinting, betraying me.
Fool, I berate myself. Fool for being affected by a Casanova’s honeyed words. But apparently I’m not immune to Theo’s charm.
The car pulls to a stop outside a structure that rises like a hymn of glass and steel against the Lisbon skyline.
Angled planes catch the moonlight, shimmering like water in motion, each piece of the facade calibrated to shift with the sun.
It’s bold and unapologetic. A building that looks like it was carved out of the future.
‘What’s this?’
‘I’ll give you three guesses,’ he drawls, his eyes absorbing my reaction as I step out, craning my neck to take it all in.
‘You designed this?’ It’s couched as a question, but I know the answer even before he responds.
‘The first major commission I ever won.’ His voice is calm, but his gaze stays fixed on me, not the building. ‘Every award I have traces back here.’
I can’t hide the awe in my face, the tug of reluctant admiration.
The structure rises from the ground like a living thing.
Glass and steel in jagged harmony. The facade rippling with angled planes that catch every flicker of light from the city.
At night it looks like water caught mid-flow, a frozen cascade of silver and shadow.
Wide terraces unfold like wings, punctuated by native stone, grounding the futuristic geometry in Lisbon’s old earth.
‘It was my gamble,’ Theo says beside me, voice lower now, stripped of bravado.
‘I was twenty-five. Too young, they said. Too reckless. No one believed a Ghanaian kid could convince Lisbon’s council to hand him their crown jewel.
’ He pauses, gaze fixed on the gleaming lines of the building.
‘I fought for every angle, every line. When it opened, it wasn’t just a museum.
It was my declaration that I belonged. That no one could erase me. ’
My throat tightens unexpectedly. The city sprawls golden behind the masterpiece, the scent of the Tagus carried on the wind. And all I can manage to utter is the truth.
‘It’s…stunning.’
‘You seem surprised.’
‘And you sound surprised that I’m surprised. Why?’
For a moment he seems nonplussed. His brow furrows when I don’t launch into a list of details or accolades. ‘You really didn’t look me up? Not once?’
‘Did you ever look me up?’ I toss back. I’m not sure why my heart thumps frantically in my chest as I wait for his answer.
‘Ashon’s bare-faced grilling about what he thinks he saw between us last year at his premiere told me more than enough.’
Every cell in my body wants to demand what the cousins spoke about, but I curb the temptation. ‘Not quite what I asked, is it?’ I drag my gaze from the masterpiece to him. ‘You’re not the only one capable of deleting and moving on, you know.’
Theo’s mouth flattens, that little jab of mine landing harder than I expected. But the flicker of vulnerability lasts only a breath. Then he’s himself again.
Controlled, smooth, untouchable.
We walk the perimeter of the building.