The rain lashed against Vivian Kay's apartment windows, a frantic rhythm that matched the flutter in her chest. She curled deeper into her worn armchair, the soft glow of her tablet the only light in the room. On the screen, Theo Williams, the formidable billionaire from her favorite romance series, fixed the protagonist with that signature, stormy frown. Vivian's thumb traced the line of his jaw on the screen, a hopeless sigh escaping her lips.
God, he's so... severe. She loved the way his grey eyes, the color of a winter sky just before a blizzard, could seemed to look right through a person. She imagined the deep, commanding baritone of his voice, the way his veiny, elegant hands would feel—
A deafening crack of thunder shook the building, and the lights flickered once, twice, and died. The tablet screen went black, plunging the room into darkness. Vivian cursed under her breath, setting the device aside and fumbling for a candle. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, a strange prickling sensation ran down her spine. The air felt... dense, charged. It's just the storm, she told herself, but the feeling wouldn't subside.
A shape began to coalesce in the center of her small living room, a darkness deeper than the shadows around it. It swirled, gaining mass and definition, until a man stood where there had been empty space. Vivian's breath hitched, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. It wasn't possible.
He was tall, well over six feet, and his broad shoulders seemed to eat up the space in her humble apartment. His hair, dark with strands of distinguished silver, was slightly disheveled, falling to his eye level. And his eyes... they were the exact shade of piercing, beautiful grey she'd just been staring at. He was paler than she'd imagined, his skin like alabaster in the dim light, and his expression was one of profound, familiar irritation.Theo Williams was frowning.
"What is the meaning of this?" his voice was a low rumble, exactly as she'd dreamed it would be, laced with impatience and authority. It wasn't a question; it was a demand.Vivian couldn't speak. She could only stare, her mouth agape, her body frozen in a state of shock and overwhelming, terrifying desire.
He took a step forward, his polished shoes silent on her rug. His gaze swept over her, from her tousled hair down to her sock-clad feet, and his frown deepened. "Who are you? Where am I? This is not my penthouse."
"I... you're..." Vivian stammered, finally finding her voice, though it was a mere whisper. "Theo?"His grey eyes narrowed, focusing on her with an intensity that made her legs feel weak. He took another step, then another, closing the distance between them until he was looming over her chair. The scent of him—expensive sandalwood and crisp, cold air—filled her senses. This is real. He's real.
"How do you know my name?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. He leaned down, placing his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. She could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the subtle pulse in his neck. Her eyes dropped to his hands. They were just as she'd always described them: long fingers, pale skin stretched taut over prominent bones, a network of elegant, blue veins tracing paths from his knuckles all the way up his strong forearms, visible where his shirt sleeves were rolled up. She did this. She dreamed him, and he's here.
A strange, possessive light flickered in his stormy eyes, as if he were reading her mind. "You," he breathed, the word a statement of fact. "This... this feeling. It's you."Before she could process his meaning, one of those veiny hands came up to cup her jaw. His touch was not gentle; it was firm, commanding, his thumb stroking her cheekbone with an ownership that stole the air from her lungs. A bolt of pure, undiluted need shot straight to her core, making her clench around nothing.
