Chapter 5
Tashi
I kissed him.
Not a tentative, questioning, “maybe we shouldn’t” kiss. No. I leaned forward and claimed Leo Kolykos’s mouth like I had every right to it, like the rooftop and the stars and this entire glittering city were ours.
In the dim lights of the rooftop, I could see Leo’s strong jawline, piercing green eyes, and his lips now joined with mine in passion. High above us, the stars twinkled and the city skyline glittered, creating a breathtaking backdrop for our stolen moment.
He made a sound—surprise, maybe, or relief—and then his hand was in my hair, his fingers pressing into my scalp as he angled my head for better access. His other hand found my waist, pulling me onto his lap, while the portfolio pages rustled with the breeze.
“Tashi,” he breathed against my lips. “Damn, you feel so good. But—”
“Don’t.” I kissed him again, harder this time. “Don’t think, analyze, or tell me all the reasons this is complicated.”
“For so many reasons.” Conflict warred over Leo’s rugged features, his brow furrowed, and his lips pursed in a mixture of reluctance and longing, highlighting the longing in his green eyes.
“I don’t care,” I told him.
He gazed into my eyes, as if searching for a reason to deny us both this moment. The past twenty-four hours had been a masterclass in mortality and desire—the fire that had nearly killed me, Orion carrying me down those stairs, and the flowers and gifts waiting in my suite.
The triplets looked alike but acted very differently.
There was no way to choose. Who knew how Orion or Ares felt, but Leo was here, wanting me, with the powerful muscles of his thighs under me and his muscular arms wrapped around mine.
I was a sucker for a well-developed set of pecs and a sexy cologne.
Leo sighed. “Damn it. I don’t either,” he admitted.
“Good.”
His cologne wrapped around me, and his hands mapped my curves like he was memorizing geography. Our next kiss was deeper, his tongue sliding against mine with hunger. He tasted like dinner’s wine and male musk that made tingles spread through my belly.
The tang of his kiss on my lips and the saltiness of my sweat as it mingled with his collided in a delicious alchemy that drove me to press my body against his.
His hand slid up my skirt, and his fingers trailed sparks of desire up my thighs before he touched my sensitive flesh.
His fingers quested between my legs, causing me to whimper.
His grin was pure sin. “You’re so wet,” he murmured in my ear.
The fairy lights cast his face in shadow and gold, highlighting the salt-and-pepper at his temples and the laugh lines around his eyes. The intensity in his expression belied his playful reputation.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I complained.
“Patience.”
He swirled his fingers between my legs, making me squirm.
“You want more?” he whispered. His other hand tweaked my nipple through the sheer fabric of the dress, and I whimpered. His voice turned deeper as I felt him harden under me. “You want my fingers inside you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
His fingers hooked into my underwear. I lifted my hips to help him slide it off, feeling suddenly grateful for the rooftop’s privacy, the late hour, and the chaotic view of Vegas sprawled below us.
“I’ve been thinking about this since that first video interview,” he said.
“Then stop thinking and—oh, God.”
Leo’s fingers found a rhythm that made coherent thought impossible.
His eyes locked with mine, his expression a mixture of desire and something deeper, more possessive.
My breath hitched as he worked me with expert precision, building a delicious tension that had me clutching his shoulders.
The stars above blurred as my hips rocked against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction.
His mouth found my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there while his thumb circled in maddening patterns.
I gasped his name, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket, not caring if I left wrinkles or marks.
Something was building inside me, a crescendo approaching like the rumble of thunder, yet not quick enough.
Leo’s eyes, dark with desire, never left mine, gauging and adjusting his movements in response to every shudder and sigh that escaped me.
His free hand tugged down the top of my dress, exposing my breast to the night air.
My breath stuttered when his mouth descended, first gentle, then with a sharp scrape of teeth that sent lightning through my veins.
My heart hammered wildly against my ribs as he nibbled and sucked, each bite sending spikes of pleasure straight to where his fingers worked their magic.
I arched my back, a broken moan tearing from my throat as my hips bucked involuntarily against his hand.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough. His face was flushed with desire, the moonlight casting a glow on his sharp features. His eyes, intense and commanding, urged me to give in to the moment.
At that moment, I knew I would do anything for him, give myself completely to him without hesitation. And so, with one final gasp, I closed my eyes as fire shot through my body. The stars behind my eyes whited out the Vegas sky and I melted into a puddle in his arms.
We sat still for a while as I caught my breath, listening to Vegas hum below us. Eventually, I’d have to get dressed and we would go back inside. But for now, I let myself relax in the glow, wrapped in Leo’s arms with the desert night cooling our skin.
“We should talk about this,” Leo said eventually, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my hip.
The stillness around us was shattered by a phone ringing.
Leo groaned, reaching for his jacket and pulling out his phone. “Ares. I’ve got to answer this.”
“Of course,” I said in my dream haze.
“Yes?” he said. “Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen. Yeah, I’m in the middle of something. I said I’ll be there.” He ended the call, looking down at me, still in his arms. “Sorry,” he said. “Business.”
“Hey,” I said. “It’s okay. I understand.”
Leo walked me to my suite, holding my hand in the private elevator, pressing me against the wall for one more kiss before the doors opened. In the hallway, he paused at my door.
“Get some rest,” he said, brushing hair from my face with unexpected tenderness. “Tomorrow’s going to be interesting.”
“That’s one word for it.”
His grin was pure Leo—playful and warm and hiding depths most people never saw. “If I had champagne, I’d toast to tomorrow.”
After a final searing kiss, I watched him walk away toward his suite, then I slipped inside mine. I opened my laptop on the dining table and opened the marketing materials I’d been reviewing before the rooftop dinner.
I should sleep. My body was exhausted. I was satisfied in ways Daniel had never managed, and processing emotions I couldn’t quite name. However, my brain buzzed with adrenaline and ideas, along with the crystal-clear certainty that I had just crossed a line that could not be uncrossed.
So instead of sleeping, I opened my laptop and started typing.
The “My Heroes Promo” campaign took shape with fierce clarity.
I’d nearly died in that fire, and three men had saved me—quite literally, in Orion’s case, but also figuratively in how they’d treated me since.
They’d given me flowers, clothes, and a replacement laptop.
They’d protected, valued, and made me feel worthy of attention beyond my body.
And now the world must know about it.
I crafted the hook first, knowing it had to grab attention in the three-second scroll: Curvy girl rescued half-naked from burning hotel kitchen—but wait until you see WHO rescues her.
The photos came next. I had shots from the My Heroes Tour Leo had pitched—all three brothers at various Strip locations, looking devastatingly handsome and approachable.
I paired them with carefully worded captions that told the story without revealing too much: the fire, the rescue, the aftermath, and the unexpected heroes who owned the hotel.
But I went deeper than surface heroism. I included behind-the-scenes content about their business philosophy and their parents’ death that shaped their commitment to their employees and community.
I positioned them not as distant billionaires but as hands-on leaders who literally carried their people out of burning buildings.
The hashtags were strategic: #MyHeroes #OlympusRoyale #RealLifeHeroes #VegasStrong #BehindTheScenes #KnowYourBillionaires #NotAllHeroesWearCapes #TheyWearItalianSuits
I posted across every platform—TikTok, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, and even LinkedIn with a more professional angle. The algorithm gods either loved me or I’d tapped into something people desperately wanted, because engagement started immediately.
Ten likes. Fifty. Two hundred.
I refreshed compulsively, watching the numbers climb, while simultaneously creating follow-up content.
I created a video compilation featuring the brothers interacting with staff and guests, showcasing their genuine care and attention.
A photo carousel showing the hotel’s safety protocols and commitment to guest protection—implying that the fire was an anomaly, not negligence.
The post had received one thousand likes and five hundred shares. Comments flooded in faster than I could read them:
Okay, but they’re all gorgeous? How is that fair?
To be honest, I’m booking a room in the hopes that they will come to my rescue.
Corporate bros who actually care about their employees? Revolutionary.
My heart pounded. This stuff was marketing gold, something you couldn’t pay money for.
I created a follow-up post, addressing the fire directly, framing it as a learning experience that led to enhanced safety protocols and demonstrating the brothers’ immediate response.
I showed Orion coordinating with fire marshals, Ares upgrading security systems, and Leo reassuring guests.
They became heroes not just in the rescue but in the aftermath—leaders who took responsibility and made improvements.
Twenty thousand likes. A hundred thousand views on TikTok. Local news outlets picked up the story.
By two a.m., I was trending locally. By three a.m., I’d caught national attention. By four a.m., people were creating fan art—actual illustrations of the three brothers in heroic poses, sometimes with me, always with the Olympus Royale gleaming in the background.
Satisfied, I lay in my bed, intending to take a power nap. Instead, three things chimed at once.
The first was my bedside clock alarm.
The second was my computer blowing up with notifications.
The third was Leo’s text on my phone.
Leo: I just saw your posts. You’re a genius and mildly terrifying. Also, I want you. Also, the morning meeting starts in five minutes. Bring metrics.
“Oh, God,” I sputtered. I ran to my bathroom and twisted my hair into a messy bun, splashed water under my arms and my face, and pulled on the first dress my hand hit in my closet.
Thankfully, the tan dress was businesslike, as if I were a secretary on a TV lawyer show, clinging to my curves like a surfer to the inside of a curl of water.
I stuffed my feet into a pair of beige pumps, grabbed my computer and printouts of the metric engagement numbers, and rushed out of the room toward the executive elevator, only to realize I had left my key card in my room.
“Damn it.”
I rushed to the stairs and clambered down the concrete to the next floor, only to find the door wouldn’t open when I yanked on it. Then I spotted the key card panel that would only admit me if I had my key card.
Holy hell. I had locked myself out of my room, and I was supposed to be on the floor for what was probably the most important meeting of my life.
When I banged on the door, it was pure frustration.