Chapter 97

Serena's POV

I was deep in concentration, reviewing StarRiver Group's latest financial reports when my phone buzzed. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across my office as I absently reached for it, my mind still caught up in analyzing profit margins.

"I thought Ms. Sinclair had forgotten about me entirely."

Lucas's voice, tinged with gentle reproach, snapped me back to reality. My heart skipped a beat as I suddenly remembered our dinner plans. Looking at my watch, I winced - it was already past seven.

"Where are you?" I asked, hurriedly gathering my things.

"Look down."

Rushing to the window, I saw him standing by his car, his tall figure unmistakable even from the twentieth floor. He lifted his hand in a casual wave, and despite my guilt, I couldn't help noticing how striking he looked in the evening light, his suit jacket draped casually over one arm.

"I'm so sorry," I said, already heading for the elevator. "I got caught up in a meeting. You should have called earlier."

"The fact that you remembered at all is enough." His voice carried a hint of amusement that made my cheeks warm.

Ten minutes later, I hurried out of the building. Lucas was leaning against his car, looking unfairly composed for someone who had been waiting for over an hour.

"I really am sorry," I repeated, coming to a stop in front of him.

He studied me for a moment, his grey eyes reflecting the city lights. "I suppose you'll have to make it up to me."

The drive to my apartment was filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by occasional glances that carried more weight than words. Once home, I insisted on cooking dinner as part of my apology, despite Lucas's protests.

In my kitchen, I was chopping vegetables when I felt him step behind me. His presence was announced by the scent of sandalwood, and before I could react, his arms slipped around my waist.

"Is this part of your apology?" he murmured close to my ear, making my heart race.

"Don't move," I managed to say, trying to focus on the knife in my hand rather than the warmth of his chest against my back. "And no talking either."

"As you wish." I could hear the smile in his voice, but he remained still, his presence both distracting and oddly comforting.

A sudden sizzle from the pan made me jump, and I reflexively reached out, brushing against the hot edge. I hissed in pain, and instantly, Lucas's embrace turned protective.

"Where did it burn you?" His voice was sharp with concern as he gently took my hand, examining my fingers with careful attention. The sting faded under his touch, replaced by a different kind of warmth that spread through my chest.

Looking up at his worried expression, I found myself caught in his gaze. The kitchen lights seemed to dim, the world narrowing to just us, the steady beat of his heart against my back, and the gentle way he held my hand.

"It's nothing," I whispered, but made no move to pull away.

He held my hand under the running water, his larger frame making me acutely aware of how small I felt next to him. The burn barely stung anymore, but I didn't move. Something about his protective stance made me want to stay still.

"Why are you always so careless?" he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

"I'm not!" I protested, though the words lacked conviction.

"Only around you." My voice is getting softer and softer as I speak.

His tone held a hint of satisfaction that made my heart flutter. "I'm honored to be the one you let your guard down with."

I felt my cheeks warm at his words. He was right - I never showed this vulnerable side to anyone else. Even in board meetings where millions were at stake, I maintained perfect composure. Yet here I was, getting flustered over a minor burn in my own kitchen.

"The noodles are going to overcook," I said, trying to regain some control of the situation.

"Don't move." His voice was gentle but firm.

"They won't taste good if-"

"I'll handle it. You sit down and be good." He guided me to one of the bar stools, his hand lingering on my shoulder before he turned to the stove.

I watched as he moved efficiently around my kitchen, his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. The sight of him cooking stirred something warm in my chest.

The simple pasta dinner turned out perfectly, of course. We ate at my dining table, the city lights twinkling through the windows. The food tasted better than it should have - ordinary spaghetti somehow transformed into something special by his presence.

As we finished eating, my thoughts began drifting to the design sketches waiting on my laptop. The autumn collection deadline was approaching, and I needed to review the latest modifications. But how could I tell him I needed to work? After he'd waited for me, cooked for me, taken care of me...

"You're thinking about work." It wasn't a question.

I looked up, startled. "How did you-"

"You get this little crease between your eyebrows." His finger brushed my forehead softly. "Go on. I know you have deadlines."

The understanding in his eyes made my chest tight. I opened my mouth to protest, but he was already standing, gathering the dishes.

"I'll clean up while you get started." He pressed a kiss to my temple as he passed. "Just promise you'll get some rest tonight."