Chapter 5 Let the Chemistry Begin

Selene

There he is.

Strutting toward me like he just stepped onto a runway and it is his and the airport was built just for his entrance. I recognize the similarity between him and Jonathan —even without Jonathans secretary’s half assed discription. He’s hot. Like, “excuse-me-while-I-forget-what-I-was-doing” hot. Tall, broad-shouldered, confidence dripping off him like it’s his cologne. And the way his eyes are locked on me? Damn. I feel it like a warm hand on the small of my back.

He stops in front of me, flashing a killer smile and offering his hand.

“Selene, I’m Adrian.”

His voice is deep, smooth, with just enough mischief to keep things interesting.

“Nice to meet you,” I reply, slipping my hand into his. Firm grip. Big hands -what’s that saying about big hands and feet . We are officially off to a good, no scrap that, a Great start.

Thank God I can finally drop this stupid placard. Holding a man’s name like a valet sign was not the kind of first impression I wanted to give. I’m not a damn Uber or Lyft driver.

“So, Adrian,” I say, keeping it professional—for now that is . “Do you have any luggage to collect?”

“Just one bag,” he answers, but he’s not looking at the baggage claim signs. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing worth claiming in this chaotic airport.

“It should be coming through on carousel 10,” I say as I turn to walk. I don’t need to look back to know he’s checking me out—his gaze is practically burning holes in the back of my pants. I don’t blame him. I wore these on purpose this morning , knowing that they accentuate my ass and like every other hot blooded woman, I enjoy getting attention when I walk into places . Though if I had known I was meeting the fine specimen of man I'd have dressed even more sexily.

At carousel 10, luck is on our side. His bag shows up faster than a Tinder hookup. He grabs it with ease, his muscles flexing just enough to make me pause. Not too showy. Just the right amount of ‘damn.’

“You ready?” I ask as he rolls the suitcase towards me like a good boy.

He nods and follows me, still watching me like I’m the best thing he’s seen since Wi-Fi on airplanes became a thing.

As we reach the garage, his eyes widen when he sees the car—Jonathan’s blacked-out, fully loaded beast of a ride. His face lights up like a kid in a candy store.

I pop the trunk and step back, lighting a cigarette while he loads his luggage. I inhale deeply, watching him bend slightly. Mmm. That ass. My tongue clicks against the roof of my mouth as I imagine my strap on....

When he turns to face me, I’m still staring. I don’t even try to hide it, why would I ?

I take a long drag, blow the smoke out slowly, and murmur, “You have a cute ass.”

He smirks—busted, but totally unbothered. I drop the cigarette and grind it out with my heel, then saunter to the driver’s side and slide in without breaking eye contact. He gets in beside me.

As we’re both buckling in, I glance over and ask, “Would you like to grab a drink or dinner or both before I slow down to 30mph and throw you out at Jonathan’s?”

I watch as he laughs .His eyes trail down my body like he’s mentally unwrapping me.

“I’d like to do… a lot,” he says, his gaze landing right on my chest.

Subtle, this one is definitely not.

I chuckle, reach over, and with a single finger under his chin, tilt his face back up to meet mine. “Hey, stud. My eyes are up here.”

I draw a lazy circle around my face with my finger and grin.

He laughs, a real one. Deep and sexy. “Noted, but I can't help but take in the beautiful scenery .”

“So,” I ask again, “what would you like to do?”

He stretches, settling into the seat. “Let’s grab a drink. Maybe something to eat. I’m not ready to face my brothers house just yet.”

“Good choice,” I say, turning the key and pulling out of the garage. “Let’s head to Kona Grill in Cherry Creek. It’s close to Jonathan’s and has a great vibe, and they serve my favorite poison.

As I drive, I make small talk—light, flirty, curious. “So, Mr. Mysterious, what brings you to Denver this time?”

“Work. I’m in and out of different cities all the time,” he says, watching the road and me with equal measure.

He tells me about his companies—plural. Apparently, the man is rolling in it, but you’d never guess it. No pretentious vibes. No flashy Rolex or name-dropping. Just easy, confident, real. Honestly? It’s disarming. Wealth and humility rarely share a bed.

We bond over our mutual hatred for airports and people who walk too slow in crowded spaces. He’s funny, sharp witted, and a little cocky but in a way that makes you want to test him. And trust me, I want to test or taste him.

By the time we pull into Cherry Creek, I’m both charmed and curious. And more then a little… distracted. Every time I glance at him, I catch myself wondering what he’s packing, I couldn't help but notice the substantial bulge in his pants I mean—those hands, that smirk, the way he owns the space around him? Yeah, I’m not imagining a shy lover. At all.

We park, and as I grab my purse and cigarettes, Adrian walks around to open the door for me. I’m a little surprised and find him that much more attractive instantly . I step out and wink at him and say “ chivalry , in this day and age ?? That’s rare .” We then walk into Kona Grill, and I lead us to the hostess stand.

“Outdoor seating, please,” I say.

Adrian holds the door for me—points for that—and follows me to some couches, like a man who knows what he wants. We sit across from each other, and I stretch out, completely comfortable, already slipping into my signature smirk.

I flag down a waiter and order my usual: Jameson and Red Bull. Liquid courage? Nah. I don’t need courage. Just caffeine and attitude.

Adrian orders his drink, and I light another cigarette, settling into my chair, watching him, taking my time. He’s doing the same.

He’s got those eyes—the kind that undress you and then ask your opinion on politics, like he could talk you into anything and still charm your mother. Dangerous.

He leans back, one arm slung over the chair, and asks, “So what’s Jonathan told you about me?”

“Hmm. Enough to know you’re trouble,” I say, swirling the ice in my glass. “But not enough to make me avoid you.”

He raises his glass. “To being bad influences.”

I clink mine against his. “To not behaving.”

The chemistry? Oh, it’s there. Thick in the air. And if this is just the beginning, then this weekend? It’s about to get a whole lot more interesting.