Chapter 11
Sophie
Kian towered above me, my head only coming up to his shoulder, as he guided me out of the bar with his hand around my waist.
The air in his car was electric and my heart was pumping hard and fast.
It took all of five minutes to drive to a cozy restaurant tucked among a copse of pine trees. Its ambiance felt like stepping back in time. The large marble tiles, Greek statue accents, and furniture that had clearly been built to last made the space feel intimate and beachy at the same time.
The air smelled faintly of the sea, smoke, and citrus—comforting rather than stale—and the muted hum of conversation gave the place a lived-in warmth. It wasn’t stylish in a modern sense, but it felt like somewhere meant to be lingered in.
He pulled out a chair for me and I took a seat as I hooked my purse over the back.
“So,” Kian started as he sat across from me. “You have my time and attention, Sophie. What are you going to do with it?”
I leaned back, tilting my head with a grin.
“Well, first I’m buying you dinner—to thank you for saving me not once, but twice. After that,” I added lightly, “you’re going to indulge my curiosity and tell me why you walk around with security and carry a weapon.”
He chuckled, low and amused. “Only if you’re willing to share why you’re roaming Europe solo.”
I let out an exaggerated sigh, slumping back in my chair. “I’m getting the sense you’re a tough negotiator.”
“Very,” he admitted.
“And apparently very dangerous, per your own admission.”
He didn’t answer.
My eyes flicked over him, cataloging the faint lines on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes.
“How old are you?” I questioned.
“Fifty.”
His body defied the number entirely. Broad shoulders carried well-defined muscle, the kind that spoke of discipline rather than youth.
He dressed as though he’d just stepped off a runway, shaving a decade off his years without trying.
His wardrobe was immaculate all the way down to the gleam of expensive cufflinks, but it wasn’t the luxury that set him apart.
It was the bodyguard constantly at his side, the measured confidence in his presence.
I quickly shoved aside the thought that it should mean something to me that he was attractive. Clearly, I was lonelier than I’d realized if I was mentally undressing a man almost twice my age.
“Well, I’ll give you one thing,” I continued when the silence stretched. “You’re an equal opportunity employer, considering you hired a female driver. I appreciate that in a man.”
“Thank you,” he retorted dryly. “I think.”
“Are there many women drivers here?” I asked curiously.
“I’m sure, although I haven’t taken a headcount.”
I nodded. “Fair enough. I’m glad to see that you appreciate women and their skills. I bet you she’s a much safer driver than any man.”
“I’ll make sure to convey to her your vote of confidence,” he retorted, amused. “I’m so looking forward to the day Dina takes you out on a highway.”
Before I could ask what he meant by that, Kian nodded to the waiter.
An older man with a kind smile approached, but he didn’t offer me a menu or even glance my way. Instead, his attention was entirely on Kian.
“Nice to see you again, boss.”
“Boss?” My brows arched.
“Bring us today’s special. The usual drink for me, and for the lady…” Kian instructed the waiter, then looked at me. “What are you drinking?”
After what happened earlier and considering I was with a perfect stranger, I should opt out of continuing my alcohol intake, but it would seem I was being reckless today. “Mojito, but don’t make it super strong. I like them sweet.”
“Me too,” Kian said, amusement lacing his tone. “Although, we might be talking about two different things here.”
My cheeks heated at the insinuation, and I internally cursed my fair complexion.
“You know, I can read a menu and decide dinner for myself,” I remarked instead.
He smirked. “I have no doubt, but the menu is in Albanian.”
I pouted. “And you wouldn’t translate for me?”
He laughed, and despite myself, I smiled.
“Somehow I get the feeling you’d be bored halfway through translation of the soup section,” he said “Though, if you want—”
He lifted a hand, his eyes connecting with the waiter.
I caught it without thinking, my fingers closing around his wrist to gently but firmly pull it down. The contact sent an unexpected shiver racing along my spine and my pulse kicked up.
Seriously, what the hell was that?
I was a thirty-year-old woman, not a swoony teenager with a crush scribbled in the margins of a notebook. I’d kissed him, for crying out loud. There was nothing new or shocking about that. And yet my heart was pounding like it had forgotten every ounce of common sense I’d spent years cultivating.
Traitorous thing.
“I’m good with whatever you ordered,” I finally said, yanking my hand back as if burned by his flesh.
I turned to look out the large open windows. The air smelled like salt and grilled seafood and lanternlight flickered across the white tablecloth, lulling me into a special kind of comfort.
“It’s a nice spot,” I mused.
I glanced back and caught him watching me instead of the view, his attention so steady it made my skin prickle.
I cleared my throat.
“Why do you walk around with a gun?” I asked, nodding vaguely toward his jacket. “And why exactly do you need a weapon when you’ve got a bodyguard glued to you like a shadow?”
Amir—whose name I’d learned earlier—had very clearly wanted to sit in the back seat with us. He’d hovered, stiff and suspicious, like I might suddenly take his boss out with my… what, feminine wiles? Mild sarcasm?
The whole thing would’ve been ridiculous if he hadn’t been taking his job so seriously. I almost admired the commitment. Almost.
Kian leaned in, propping his elbows on the table and resting his head on a fist. “You ask a lot of questions, Sophie.”
“You mentioned that before.”
The waiter returned with my mojito and a glass of something dark and amber for Kian.
“Thank you,” I said, lifting mine to my lips. The moment it touched my tongue, I couldn’t help but smile. “Perfect,” I declared. “Albania has officially reclaimed its status as paradise.”
The waiter dipped his head in acknowledgment, murmuring something in the local language before slipping away.
I turned back to Kian, curiosity nudging aside my contentment.
“What did he say?” I asked.
He leaned closer, his distinctly masculine scent surrounding me just enough to be distracting. A slow, knowing smirk curved his mouth before he spoke.
“He said I’m too scary…” He paused deliberately, eyes flicking to mine. “And too old for you.”
The way he delivered it—half amused, half impressed—made it impossible to tell whether he was mocking the waiter, himself, or waiting to see how I’d react.
I rolled my eyes, unable to control my blushing.
“Age is just a number, and I’m still debating about the scary part, considering you’ve saved me twice now.”
“Yet, somehow I get the sense you don’t often need saving.”
I winced, realizing that was not exactly true. Maybe once, before Jonathan. I blamed Jacqueline for it, but also myself. I really should have known better.
Kian studied me, his dark eyes glowing like coals, and I tucked my thoughts behind a mask.
“You never told me your age, Sophie.”
His gaze swept over me, sending another ripple of shivers down my spine. It felt intentional, as though he knew exactly the effect it would have and wasn’t bothering to hide it.
“Thirty,” I said softly, holding his stare as the rest of the world blurred into insignificance.
Something shifted in his expression then—an intensity that was magnetic and exhilarating all at once.
And dangerous. Definitely dangerous. “Much older than that arm candy you had on your arm on your private beach.”
“Are you jealous, Sophie?”
I scoffed. “You wish.”
He tilted his head, studying me, until he said at last, “I’m almost twice your age.”
“Almost,” I echoed lightly. “But almost doesn’t count, does it? At least that’s how the song goes.”
“It does?” I nodded. “Never heard of that song,” he deadpanned.
“My niece, Sienna… well, technically she’s my step-second-cousin, if that were a thing. Anyhow, she played it on repeat for one week straight,” I remarked wryly. “Don’t ask me who sings it, because I don’t have the faintest idea.”
“It’s probably not to my taste anyhow. I’m more of a blues and jazz man.”
My eyebrows shot in surprise. “I’ve been in Albania for two weeks and I have yet to hear blues or jazz. Although, I’ve heard plenty of Dua Lipa.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I’m afraid you’ll be hearing a lot of her while in this country. What kind of music do you listen to?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much everything. My favorite is Austin Giorgio.”
“Any particular song?”
“Any of his songs. I listen to his voice and melt,” I admitted.
“You’re not worried it will make the man in your life jealous?”
“Pffft.” I waved my hand dismissively, barely containing a scoff. Instead, I asked, “So, why jazz and blues?”
He shrugged. “Partly from my childhood in Brazil. It’s big there. Then I spent time in the States, where I grew to love it even more.”
Surprise flickered through me. “You’re not Albanian?”
“Part Albanian, part Brazilian.”
I tilted my head. “That’s quite the combination. And I noticed that you don’t have an accent when speaking English. How is that?”
“I guess I’m linguistically gifted.”
It didn’t escape me how carefully he revealed—or didn’t—things about himself.
He lifted his drink to his lips and my gaze followed the movement from his mouth, then down to his Adam’s apple.
What the hell’s wrong with me? I quickly looked away to glance at my drink.
I lifted it and finished it in one smooth motion, as if the alcohol might steady something inside me that was suddenly far too aware of him. I knew better than to think alcohol could steady anything or anyone.
“Do you want another drink?” he asked, his gaze flicking to my empty glass. “I don’t know you yet, so I don’t know your tolerance.”
Yet.
The word lingered, warm and suggestive, and heat crept higher into my cheeks.
I couldn’t quite tell what I was feeling—excited, reckless, or just plain stupid. Maybe it was all of it tangled together. Or maybe it was something entirely different.
Lonely.
That word echoed again and I cursed it. Over the last few months, it had found a way of making every choice feel sharper than it should.