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have the stone-cold and ruthless reputation he had in his
business. He may seem like he was not affected right now, on the outside at
least, but inside he was strung tight, anxious, nervous, and anticipated seeing
Freya.
    He’d
seen her at the liquor store and she’d looked like she’d wanted to run. He
could understand that need, because they hadn’t seen each other in so long. He
watched her finally get out of the car, walk over to the elevators that would
take her to his private penthouse, and knew he had to keep his collected attitude
in place.
    He
turned and glanced at the table he’d had set, the meal in the center, between
the plates, and the fact he felt like a fucking teenager going on his first
date. This wasn’t even a date, wasn’t anything like that, and never could be.
It wasn’t even that she was so much younger than he was. It was because of the
history they had, and the fact he’d been married to Meghan, Freya’s former
stepmother. Having anything that wasn’t platonic with Freya felt incredibly
inappropriate.
    He’d
had a professional catering company come in and make the meal and create the
place settings. The truth was Elijah couldn’t cook a meal that was edible if it
would have saved his life.
    It
was about ten minutes later before Freya was knocking on his front door, and he
knew it didn’t take that long to come up from the garage. He could see her
standing on the other side of his door, or even in the elevator for several
minutes, contemplating why she was here, what she was doing, and how things
were playing out. Hell, Elijah had thought those things since the moment he saw
her again after the last four years, and especially over the last week.
    She
didn’t have to tell him she felt something, that spark of awareness that didn’t
have anything to do with the fact they knew each other. He’d felt it when he
first saw her last week, saw it on her face, the way she looked so nervous, so
unaware of the electricity that passed between them.
    He
couldn’t explain it, couldn’t rationalize it. It just was. But just because
Elijah found Freya gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous in fact, that didn’t mean he’d
planned this dinner to try to get her in bed. He wouldn’t do that to her,
wouldn’t try to make her another notch in his bedpost.
    She
was special, really damn special, to him.
    He’d
gone too many years living a life that was successful, although it felt
meaningless. He’d told himself never again would he allow himself to get
wrapped up in a pretty face, to fall for a woman that wouldn’t see him as
anything but a paycheck. Meghan had been like that, and that had been so many
years ago, well before he’d made it as big as he had.
                He just wished he hadn’t been so
blind to the person Meghan had really been. He’d been stupid, blinded by
superficial things, and he’d missed out on years of his life living with a
woman that hadn’t wanted more than what was in his bank account.
    No,
Freya was different. He’d seen her back in the day as a young woman who didn’t
know what she wanted in life, didn’t know where she was going. She was trapped
in a life she didn’t want because that’s all there was for her, her only
option. But then she’d moved out, moved on, and four years later she’d made
something of herself … found herself. Elijah could see that in her face, in the
way she held herself.
    He
took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly.
    Making
his way toward the front door he opened it. Freya was wearing this loose
fitting white blouse. It had these tiny blue buttons going halfway down the
front, and it was hard not to notice the way her breasts pressed again the
material. She’d thickened out in these last four years, but it was in a good
way. She wasn’t too thin, not like the women he’d surrounded himself with since
his divorce.
    She
was perfect all the way around.
    “Hi,”
she said softly.
    “Hi.
Come in.” He held the door open and