Page 51

Before she could respond, we reached Miles, and the moment for honesty passed.

But I'd seen enough in her eyes to know my words had hit their mark.

Had articulated a truth she wasn't ready to acknowledge but couldn't fully deny.

As we walked toward the restaurant, I maintained my usual composed exterior—the successful businessman, the concerned father, the perfect host.

But beneath that façade, something wilder stirred—a hunger that had nothing to do with lunch and everything to do with the woman walking beside me, deliberately keeping my son between us like a human shield.

A shield that wouldn't protect her for long.

Because I meant what I'd said in that text.

I didn't play by conventional rules, never had.

And I wanted Savannah Blake with an intensity that should have alarmed me, should have triggered all the careful control mechanisms I'd built over a lifetime of disciplined success.

Instead, it exhilarated me. Made me feel alive in a way I hadn't in years.

Made me confident that before this was over, she would be mine.

On my terms. In my territory.

Playing by my rules.

And God help us both when that happened.

Chapter 8

Savannah

Lunch was torture.

Three courses of exquisite food I barely tasted, served in Arielle's private dining room where the hushed atmosphere and attentive staff only heightened my awareness of the men flanking me at the table. Miles on my right, talking incessantly about the Westlake project, his hand occasionally brushing mine in a way that felt both presumptuous and hollow. Lucas across from me, mostly silent, those navy eyes missing nothing as he observed our interaction.

I'd positioned myself deliberately, angling my chair slightly toward Miles, using him as a buffer against his father's magnetic pull. A flimsy shield that did nothing to block the current running between Lucas and me, invisible but palpable, like a live wire humming beneath the polished mahogany.

"The penthouse units are the crown jewels," Miles was saying, spreading renderings across the table. "Ultra-luxury, panoramic views, private elevator access. We need marketing that positions them as not just homes but status symbols."

I nodded automatically, offering appropriate feedback, playing my part with mechanical precision while my mind screamed at the irony of discussing penthouses when all I couldthink about was Lucas's last whispered promise.It will be in my home, where I control every aspect of the experience.

"Savannah?" Miles's voice cut through my thoughts. "You're miles away."

"Sorry," I said, forcing a smile. "Just considering approaches."

"Well, we need decisions soon. The development opens for presales next month."

Lucas set down his wine glass, drawing both our attention. "Perhaps Ms. Blake needs time to evaluate the full scope of the project before committing to a direction."

"We don't have time," Miles countered, frustration sharpening his tone. "We've already delayed the marketing rollout twice."

"Quality over expedience," Lucas said mildly. "I'm sure Savannah understands that some things are worth waiting for."

Our eyes met across the table, the double meaning hanging between us. The slight curl of his lip sent heat coursing through me, followed immediately by frustration at my body's traitorous response.

"Actually," I said, deliberately addressing Miles, "I think I have enough to develop initial concepts. I'll have something for you to review by Friday."

Miles grinned, triumph flashing in his eyes. "Perfect. I told Dad you were the best."