STELLA/CHRISTIAN
STELLA
“So? What do you think?” Christian watched with boyish anticipation as I lifted a forkful of gnocchi to my mouth.
I pretended to mull it over before I proclaimed, “Best I’ve ever had.”
His grin made the butterflies in my stomach reel. “Told you,” he said, oozing playful self-satisfaction.
We were eating dinner at a tiny Italian restaurant tucked in the heart of Columbia Heights. It was the one Christian mentioned in his letters, and it was just as charming as I’d envisioned.
Instead of individual tables, one rustic wooden table stretched down the middle, just large enough to seat a dozen people. A candlelit chandelier bathed the room in a flickering amber glow, and a display of copper pots and pans hung on the exposed brick wall.
It felt like we were eating in someone’s home, especially since Christian had booked out the restaurant so it was just us and the server.
“Don’t be too smug.” I pointed my fork at him. “The date is only half done. I’ve yet to grade you on your hand-holding, cuddling, and sweet nothing skills.”
“Of course. Apologies,” he drawled. “Didn’t mean to jump the gun.”
“Apology accepted.” I tucked into the rest of my meal primly and barely suppressed a smile at his laughing expression.
It’d been a month since we got back together, and we’d spent that time exploring the contours of our new relationship.
No fake dating, no stalker scare forcing us together, no hiding behind flashy gestures and expensive gifts.
Just us, flaws and all, going on normal dates and living normal lives.
Well, as normal as life could get with Christian, anyway.
In a perverse way, my kidnapping had reset our relationship for the better. Nothing provided clarity like almost dying.
I’d mostly put the ordeal behind me, though sometimes I was still plagued with nightmares of surprise notes and a ramshackle cabin in the woods. But I would work my way through it. It just took time.
I’d also moved back into Christian’s house two weeks ago. I didn’t want to impose on Alex and Ava anymore, especially with their wedding coming up in a few weeks. I could’ve moved back to my old apartment now that I didn’t have a stalker threat hanging over my head, but honestly, I didn’t want to live anywhere else.
His apartment was home.
“By the way, did you hear what happened with Sentinel’s CEO?” I asked. “It’s wild.”
I was sure he had, but I had to bring it up.
Sentinel’s demise had dominated the past month’s headlines. Apparently, they’d been working on a new piece of code that somehow self-destructed and destroyed their infrastructure so thoroughly it was impossible to rebuild. Classified information about their clients had also leaked and caused a massive uproar, given how high profile some of those clients were and how sensitive some of that data was.
If that wasn’t enough, the authorities had arrested Sentinel’s CEO Mike Kurtz that morning for embezzlement and tax fraud. The whole thing was a mess.
“Yes. I’m not surprised it’s played out the way it has,” Christian said mildly. “Companies should stick to their lane. Sentinel is a security corporation. They had no business venturing into cyber development when that’s not their area of expertise.”
“While you, Mr. Security CEO, are also a cyber expert,” I teased.
His smile spread through me like sun-warmed honey. “Exactly.”
“I don’t suppose you know anything about the code they were working on,” I added casually.
An uninterested shrug. “Not a thing.”
I let it go. He was vengeful and I’d accepted that about him.
Plus, Sentinel’s destruction came from the inside out. No one could blame Christian for a mistake on their part.
The conversation moved on to Stella Alonso the brand, which officially launched last week. It wasn’t an original name, but eponymous labels were de rigueur. I’d double-checked with Delamonte first, but they were okay with the launch as long as it didn’t interfere with my ambassador duties. We had different target audiences, anyway. Theirs was ultra-high-end while mine tipped toward the mid-range of the luxury spectrum.
By the time dinner ended, I was flush with wine and giddiness.
It was the perfect date night. Simple, casual, real.
“Not yet,” Christian said when I moved to leave. He leaned back in his chair, the picture of sensual masculinity and lazy contentment. “Come here, Stella.”
An electric current slid through the air and settled between my thighs.
“Why?”
Christian’s only response was an arch of his dark brows.
Right.
I rose and walked around the table, unsure whether I owed my steadiness to the wine or the wetness slicking my thighs.
The mere anticipation of what might happen turned me on as much as an actual touch.
When I reached Christian, he stood, pushed his plate aside, and lifted me onto the table in one smooth movement.
My pulse spiked, but rationality clung to the edges of blooming arousal.
“Christian,” I hissed. “We’ll get in trouble!”
The curtains were drawn, and drapes covered the front door, shielding us from passersby. Our server was MIA, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t show up at any minute.
“No one is here, Butterfly,” Christian drawled. “I paid the server to leave until I give him the green light. Cooks are gone. It’s just us.”
He pushed my dress up around my waist and hooked his fingers into the elastic band of my underwear.
The air condensed into something thin and infinitely flammable.
“What are you doing?”
“Eating dessert.” Christian eased my hips up so he could pull my underwear down before he returned to his seat.
“You don’t like dessert.” My voice had gone to smoke, as insubstantial as the remnants of my resistance.
Christian’s slow, answering smile throbbed in my blood.
“I changed my mind.”
* * *