Chapter 4 #3
"I know you can." The corner of his mouth ticks up, almost a smile. "That doesn't mean you should have to."
Before I can respond, a booming voice interrupts us.
"There he is! The man of the hour!"
We turn to find a tall, broad-shouldered man approaching, champagne in hand, grin wide and slightly too cheerful to be genuine. He's handsome in a conventional way—blond hair perfectly styled, tan suspiciously even for December in New England, teeth unnaturally white.
Christian's posture stiffens. "Daniel."
"Been looking everywhere for you," Daniel says, clapping Christian on the shoulder with forced camaraderie. His gaze slides to me, brightening with undisguised interest. "And now I see why you've been so scarce."
"Daniel Reeves, CFO of Hawthorne Enterprises," Christian introduces flatly. "Sophie Winters, owner of Winter Wishes."
"The ornament display?" Daniel raises an eyebrow. "I've heard people raving about it all night." He extends his hand to me. "Pleasure to meet the woman who's captured our CEO's attention."
I take his hand, expecting a brief shake. Instead, he lifts it to his lips, brushing a kiss across my knuckles while maintaining eye contact. It's deliberately provocative—not for my benefit, I realize, but for Christian's.
"Your work is gorgeous," Daniel continues, still holding my hand. "But not nearly as breathtaking as its creator."
"Thank you," I murmur, trying to extract my hand without being rude. He doesn't release it.
Christian steps closer, his shoulder pressing against mine. "Daniel oversees our financial operations," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register I'm coming to recognize. "When he's not busy overstepping professional boundaries."
Daniel laughs, finally releasing my hand. "Just being friendly, Christian. Someone has to represent the company's social graces." He winks at me. "Our fearless leader isn't known for his warm personality."
"I'm known for results," Christian replies coldly. "Something our shareholders value more than 'social graces.'"
A flash of something—resentment? envy?—crosses Daniel's face before his smile returns. "Always so serious." He turns to me again. "How did he convince you to come tonight, Sophie? Christian hasn't brought a date to a company function in…well, ever."
"I'm displaying my work," I say, uncomfortable with the obvious tension crackling between the men.
"Of course, of course. Business." Daniel's smile turns knowing. "Though Christian isn't exactly known for mixing business with pleasure. Until now, apparently."
My cheeks burn. Christian's hand finds the small of my back again, a gesture both protective and claiming.
"Sophie's talent speaks for itself," Christian says. "Unlike some, she doesn't need to rely on…other attributes…to advance professionally."
The barb lands. Daniel's smile tightens. "Speaking of talent, Sophie, I'd love to see more of your work. Perhaps you could give me a private tour of your shop sometime? I have quite the…collection…I'd like to show you as well."
The innuendo is unmistakable. I feel Christian go completely still beside me, the kind of stillness that precedes violence in nature.
"I'm afraid my schedule is quite full," I reply, trying to defuse the situation. "Between holiday orders and new designs—"
"I'm sure we could find time," Daniel persists, leaning closer. "I'd make it worth your while. I've been told I have quite the eye for…beautiful things."
"Daniel." Christian's voice could freeze hell itself. "A word."
It's not a request. Daniel straightens, something like triumph flickering in his eyes, as if he's accomplished exactly what he set out to do—provoke Christian.
"Of course, boss." He turns back to me with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Save me a dance later, Sophie?"
Before I can respond, Christian cuts in. "She won't."
Two words, delivered with such finality that even I feel the temperature in the room drop. Daniel's smile falters for a moment before he recovers.
"We'll see," he says with false lightness, then turns and walks away.
Christian watches him go, jaw clenched so tight I fear for his teeth. The muscle in his cheek ticks with barely suppressed fury.
"I take it you two aren't friends," I say, trying for humor to break the tension.
"He's ambitious. Competent. And entirely too aware of both." Christian's eyes remain fixed on Daniel's retreating back. "He's also about five seconds from finding himself unemployed."
"Because he flirted with me?" I ask, surprised.
Christian's gaze snaps back to mine, intense enough to make my breath catch. "Because he deliberately disrespected both of us. He knew exactly what he was doing."
"Which was what, exactly?" I press, needing to understand.
"Testing boundaries." Christian's hand slides from my back to my waist, drawing me closer. "Seeing how far he could push before I reacted."
"And did you? React how he wanted?"
Something dangerous flashes in Christian's eyes. "Yes."
The single word contains volumes. I should be alarmed by the possessiveness it implies, by the way Christian seems to think he has some claim on me after just a few hours together. Instead, I feel that same inappropriate thrill traveling up my spine, settling warm and liquid in my chest.
"I don't belong to you," I say quietly, needing to say the words aloud—to remind both of us.
"Don't you?" he challenges, his voice dropping lower, intimate. "For tonight, at least?"
The question hangs between us, charged with possibilities I'm not ready to name.
Around us, the gala continues—glasses clinking, orchestra playing, hundreds of wealthy people laughing and networking and judging.
But in this moment, it's just us, locked in some unspoken negotiation of boundaries and desires.
"It's just one night," I remind myself as much as him.
"Is it?" he counters, his eyes never leaving mine.
I don't have an answer for that. Which terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
Christian's thumb traces small circles against my waist, the gesture possessive but somehow comforting. "I apologize for Daniel," he says, surprising me. "And for James. Not for protecting you—I won't apologize for that—but for putting you in a position where you needed protection."
"It's not your fault," I say automatically.
"It is." His expression softens fractionally. "I brought you here, knowing exactly what would happen when these men saw you with me. Knowing they would either want you for themselves or want to take you from me, simply because you're with me."
The raw honesty in his voice catches me off guard. "Why did you bring me, then? Really?"
For a moment, I think he might actually answer. Something vulnerable flickers in his expression, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
"Would you believe me if I said I couldn't stay away?" he asks quietly.
The admission—so unlike his usual confident declarations—makes my heart stumble in my chest. Before I can respond, the orchestra strikes up a new song, and Christian's expression shifts back to careful control.
"Dance with me," he says. Not a question, not quite a command. Something in between.
I should say no. Should create some distance. Should remind myself that I'm here for business, not to fall under the spell of a man whose idea of a relationship seems to involve ownership.
Instead, I place my hand in his and let him lead me onto the dance floor, already knowing I'm in deeper than I should be.
And the night has only just begun.