Touch me gently, break me slow

💞💞The evening air was crisp, tinted with the orange glow of the setting sun as the black Mercedes eased through light traffic.

In the back seat, Alexander Thorne sat in composed silence, his gaze fixed on the faint reflection of city lights flickering across the tinted window. His wristwatch caught the dim light - 6:38 p.m.

"Small traffic ahead, sir," Noah, his assistant, said from the front seat.

Alexander didn't respond at first. His thumb brushed the edge of the watch face - an old habit, more to measure his patience than time.

The car slowed briefly near a crossing, the low hum of the engine blending with the muted rhythm of the city. Outside, the towering glass of the Vallero Hotel shimmered like a jewel, every window reflecting wealth and whispered secrets.

When they finally pulled up at the entrance, the valet was already waiting.

Alexander stepped out, adjusting the cuff of his charcoal suit. The faintest chill of evening brushed against his skin as he handed Noah his phone. "Stay nearby," he said quietly.

"Yes, Mr. Thorne."

Inside, the lobby glowed with soft gold and glass - elegant without being gaudy. The maître d' spotted him instantly, his posture straightening.

"Mr. Thorne," he greeted with practiced grace. "Your table is ready."

Alexander nodded once. "Good."

He followed the man to a secluded corner of the restaurant - a table half-hidden by a curtain of ferns and light. It was the sort of spot reserved for the discreetly powerful.

He sat down, crossing one leg over the other, the low hum of conversation filling the air.

A glance at his watch. 6:52 p.m.

"She should be early if she's smart," he muttered under his breath.

Minutes passed. He scrolled through a few messages, ignored most of them, and set his phone facedown on the table. The silence stretched.

7:12 p.m.

No sign of her.

His jaw tightened, a flicker of impatience in his otherwise calm expression. "Jasmine Whitmore," he murmured quietly. "Your father's idea of a partnership clearly doesn't include punctuality."

A waiter appeared at his elbow. "Would you like to order a drink while you wait, sir?"

Alexander shook his head. "Not yet."

The waiter nodded and withdrew.

He leaned back, gaze fixed on the restaurant's entrance, where laughter and perfume mingled with the steady rhythm of the night.

Another glance at his watch. 7:19 p.m.

"She's already late," he said flatly. Then, with a faint, ironic curve of his mouth - "Perfect."

He rested his elbow against the armrest, fingertips against his chin. "Let's see what kind of trouble you are, Miss Whitmore."

The dim light caught the sharp planes of his face, cool and unreadable.

And then, just as the clock turned 7:21, the soft click of heels echoed across the marble floor.

Alexander's eyes lifted.

He remained seated, posture impeccable, gaze lifting just enough to appraise her presence.

"You're late," he stated, his tone precise, low, and deliberate, each word carrying authority.

Eva tilted her head, a faint, calculating smile curving her lips. "I prefer to arrive when I please," she replied smoothly, her voice confident and unapologetic.

Alexander's eyes scanned her briefly, expression unreadable. A pregnant silence settled over the table, broken only by the murmur of other diners.

"Let me make this perfectly clear," he said finally, his voice sharper now, frosted with cold formality, "I am not here because I wish to be entertained," he continued coldly, tone clipped. "Nor am I interested in pleasure."

Eva arched a brow, leaning back lightly. "Likewise," she countered, the faintest trace of amusement in her tone. "You are not even to my taste."

He inclined his head slightly, masking the faint flicker of surprise behind his usual composure. "Pardon?" he said, measured, controlled.

Eva's gaze lingered, calculating, as it slid over him from shoulder to hair. "Honestly," she said slowly, a sly, mischievous note in her voice, "your hair... black and gold. Not exactly to my palette."

Alexander was shocked.

Eva ignored him and picked up the menu, letting her fingers glide over the leather-bound surface. Her pulse hammered against her ribs, but her posture remained controlled, practiced - every gesture measured, just as Jasmine had advised. She could not afford to reveal any weakness.

She raised her head, catching Alexander's gaze. "You're not eating?" she asked lightly, masking the tremor in her voice.

Alexander's eyes lingered on her for a moment, unreadable, before he picked up his own menu without a word. His hand was steady, precise, movements deliberate. The waiter approached soon after, taking their orders with the quiet efficiency befitting a restaurant of this caliber.

Alexander leaned slightly forward, elbows resting lightly on the table, eyes narrowing in a manner that suggested careful observation rather than engagement.

"So," he said, voice low, deliberate, "how long have you lived in London?"

Eva tilted her head. "Since birth," she replied smoothly, tone light, confident.

"Really," he murmured, tilting his head, his gaze sharpening. "Where exactly?"

Eva's eyes flicked up, a shadow of calculation crossing her features. "Chelsea," she said casually, taking a sip of water as if the question were trivial.

Alexander's brow lifted just slightly, voice calm but measured. "Chelsea? I had a house there once. Where in Chelsea?"

Her mind raced, but she kept her tone steady, unwavering. "Near the park. You know, the big one..."

"Hyde Park?" he asked, voice even, but with a subtle edge that suggested scrutiny.

"Yes. Exactly," she said, forcing the faintest smile.

Alexander's lips curved, not kindly, but with the barest trace of amusement - more a test than warmth. "Hyde Park isn't in Chelsea," he stated flatly, letting the words linger between them.

Eva let out a short, sharp laugh, tilting her head, brushing it off. "My bad, my bad," she said lightly, fingers tapping the table.

Alexander's dark eyes fixed on her, unwavering. "I thought I heard... you were born in Switzerland," he said slowly, each word deliberate, like ice sliding across her spine.