Chapter 3 Tessa
TESSA
The wine had gone straight to my head. Three glasses of Bordeaux from Lucian's private collection, paired with artisanal cheeses and charcuterie that looked like it cost more than my weekly grocery budget, left me feeling loose-limbed and reckless.
The storm continued its assault on Chicago outside, wind howling against the towering skyscraper, but inside his penthouse, warmth surrounded us along with the golden glow of his fireplace.
"Your turn," Lucian said, dealing another hand of rummy across his kitchen table.
His shirt remained unbuttoned from hours ago, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the tattoos that covered his chest and arms.
The firelight danced across his skin, highlighting the definition of muscle beneath bronze flesh he had honed in the gym and tanning salon.
I'd always found him attractive—what woman wouldn't?
The entire office buzzed with whispered conversations about our devastatingly handsome CEO. His silver hair, those pale gray eyes that could freeze or smolder depending on his mood, the way he commanded a room with nothing more than his presence.
Sarah from Accounting once spent an entire lunch break critiquing his best features, while Jenny from HR claimed she'd dreamed about running her fingers through that perfectly styled hair.
But I'd never imagined being alone with him, never pictured him relaxed and smiling across from me while snow trapped us together in an intimate cocoon.
The wine had loosened my inhibitions, bringing to the surface thoughts I'd kept locked away for years.
Every time he reached for his cards, the movement caused his shirt to gap wider, offering glimpses of the tattoo that wound across his ribs.
The artwork was exquisite, all flowing lines and intricate detail that must have taken countless hours to complete. I found myself wondering what other surprises his expensive suits concealed.
"You're staring," he observed, arranging his cards with steady hands that bore no wedding ring—another observation I kept noticing.
Heat flooded my cheeks, but the wine made honesty easier than deflection. "Sorry. The wine's making me a little bold." I fought back a hiccup, but the dumb grin spread across my cheeks without permission.
"Bold how?" His question sent warmth spiraling through my chest.
I took another sip from my glass, liquid courage burning down my throat. The Bordeaux was magnificent, complex and full-bodied with hints of blackberry and tobacco that lingered on my tongue. "Bold enough to say you're incredibly attractive and I've spent the past few hours trying not to notice."
His eyebrows rose, but he didn't look uncomfortable or awkward. Instead, a slow smile spread across his face, transforming his stern features into something altogether more dangerous. "Are you always so forward, or is it just me?"
Mortification washed over me. Here I was, his assistant, making inappropriate comments while we were trapped together.
My mother would be horrified if she knew I was throwing myself at my boss while stranded in his penthouse. "I'm sorry, that was completely unprofessional. The wine made me—"
"Don't apologize." He set down his cards, studying me with those piercing eyes that seemed to see straight through my professional facade. "I'm flattered. And intrigued."
"Intrigued by…?"
"By this side of you I've never seen." He leaned back in his chair, the movement causing his shirt to fall open wider, revealing more of his chiseled torso. "How many years you've worked for me, and I'm discovering I don't know you at all."
His words made my head swim and my body warm to a balmy temperature. "What would you like to know?"
"Everything." His gaze dropped to my lips before returning to my eyes. "But first, tell me. Do you feel like taking a risk tonight?"
My pulse hammered against my throat, so hard I was certain he could see it beating beneath my skin. "What did you have in mind?"
"A different game. Twenty-one. Winner takes all." His voice had dropped to that rough whisper again, the one that made my toes curl inside my heels.
"Takes all of what?"
His smile turned predatory, all sharp edges and dangerous promise. "Whoever loses has to remove a piece of clothing." And his eyes drank in every minute inflection on my face as I fought to maintain composure.
The suggestion was scandalous. I laughed nervously as I thought about how I could make an excuse and flee to the guest room he offered earlier.
Instead, I found myself nodding, drawn by the heat in his gaze and the reckless abandon the wine had unleashed. "You're on."
He shuffled the cards like a dealer in Vegas while I tried to steady my breathing. This was insane, completely unprofessional.
But as he dealt the first hand with those long, elegant fingers, I couldn't bring myself to care about propriety or consequences.
"House rules," he said as he started to deal. "Jewelry counts as clothing. Shoes count separately."
I nodded, studying my cards while hyperaware of his every movement. The first hand went quickly—I busted at twenty-three while he sat smugly on twenty.
"Your necklace," he said, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
The wine had made me clumsy, or maybe it was the intensity of his stare as I fumbled with the clasp and set it on the table.
The silk of my dress whispered against my thighs as I adjusted the way I was sitting.
"Again?" he murmured, dealing the next hand, and I nodded, not willing to back down.
I lost again. And again. My luck at cards apparently rivaled my luck with men—absolutely terrible.
My heels came off next, then my earrings, my watch, my hair tie.
Each lost hand brought a new wave of heat to my cheeks, but also a growing sense of power. Lucian's eyes had grown darker with each discarded item, his breathing slightly heavier as more of my skin was revealed.
When my dress joined the growing pile on the floor, leaving me in my white silk camisole and black stockings, he paused in his dealing.
"Having second thoughts?" I asked, surprised by the husky quality of my own voice.
My core was the relative temperature of the sun but as wet as the rainforest, and this man was slowing down.
I swear I wasn't throwing rounds on purpose. I wanted to see him strip down as much as anything.
"Never." But his hands weren't quite steady as he dealt the cards. "You?"
"Deal the cards, Cross."
The use of his surname seemed to amuse him. He won that hand too, and I felt my pulse spike as I realized what came next.
My camisole. The white silk was expensive, a splurge I'd justified because it made me feel confident and professional. Now it felt like armor I was reluctant to shed.
But I'd never been a coward.
The straps slipped free of my shoulders one by one, silk peeling off me to reveal the black lace bra I'd chosen that morning without any thought that someone might see it.
Lucian's intake of breath was audible as the material rose over my head and fluttered to join its companions on the floor.
"Your turn to lose," I said, though my voice shook slightly now. I had no idea what had gotten into me, but I blamed it on the alcohol, and even with that in my head, I still didn't restrain myself.
He was just as invested as I was and not backing down. And he hadn't lost once.
"We'll see."
But my luck remained abysmal. The stockings went next, rolled down my legs while Lucian watched every movement.
His eyes never turned away, the only sign that my striptease was affecting him—other than the slight bulge of his slacks, which was encouraging. It wasn't all in my head.
Now I sat across from him in nothing but my black lace bra and matching panties, goosebumps rising on my exposed skin despite the warmth from the fireplace.
Lucian remained fully clothed except for that tantalizingly open shirt, his luck at cards apparently as formidable as his business acumen.
"We can stop here," he said, though his eyes burned as they roamed over my exposed skin. "Call it a draw."
The suggestion sparked something rebellious in me. I'd spent four years being the good girl, the professional assistant who never stepped out of line.
But tonight felt different.
Tonight felt like a chance to be someone else entirely.
"I'm not a quitter," I said, lifting my chin in defiance. "Deal the cards." The lusty tone in my voice had him sitting straighter, eyes narrowing on me.
"I mean it, Tessa," he growled. "We don't have to."
But I wasn't giving up. The alcohol had fueled my lustful craving and I wanted to be sated.
I reached across the table and took the cards from his hands and dealt them myself, and this time, fortune finally smiled on me.
When I laid down a perfect twenty-one to his twenty-four, Lucian's answering grin was pure sin.
"Well played," he said, standing slowly from his chair.
My mouth went dry as his hands moved to his belt. The Italian leather slipped free with a soft whisper that seemed to echo inside my skull. The rasp of his zipper followed and when his slacks hit the floor, I couldn't suppress a soft moan.
The man was magnificent, all corded muscle and bronzed skin. But it was the evidence of his arousal, straining against black boxer briefs, that made heat pool low in my belly.
"See something you approve of?" he asked, and his voice was rough with desire.
"That would definitely cause a stir at the office," I managed, my gaze fixed on the impressive bulge, and I smirked at him, biting my lip.
"Good thing we're not at the office, then."
My core was pulsing, aching so badly I knew I was soaked through my panties. Lucian walked around the table while I rose to meet him, drawn by a magnetism I couldn't resist and set free by the wine so I wasn't restrained, either.
When his hands framed my face, I melted into his touch, my skin burning where he made contact.
Lucian’s hands framed my jaw as though he owned every inch of me, his gray eyes burning down into mine.