Chapter 12
Like the ethereal substance his last name evoked, Lucien Smok was breathtaking—literally. The moment Theia saw him across the temple reception hall, the air rushed from her lungs as though it had been sucked into a vacuum. Pale blue eyes like pieces of ice locked on hers from beneath long lashes, dark brows in an ivory face lifted in amusement above them as if he was well aware of the effect he was having on her.
She’d seen him before somewhere. In a dream or a dark premonition. Beneath the reception hall’s Baroque quadratura-painted ceiling—invoking the blessing of the gods of Olympus—he reminded her of a painting by Waterhouse, Narcissus winking just for a moment at the viewer before returning to his reflection.
But beautiful or not, this wasn’t some breathless lust at first sight. She really couldn’t breathe.
Theia clutched at her throat and tried to make a sound, but nothing came out. Her lungs were locked in a spasm, convulsively trying to take in air against some obstruction.
Her dark-haired Narcissus crossed the reception hall in two swift strides and embraced her from behind, arms wrapped around her waist and hands clasped tight beneath her breasts, a gesture of intimacy. Vertigo swam over her, making her feel as though she were floating within herself, a lighter-than-air balloon encased in a human frame, bobbing against its edges.
He hugged her forcefully, jolting her against him, almost off the ground—once, twice, thrice.
Another spasm of her diaphragm forced what remained of the air in her lungs through her windpipe and dislodged the champagne grape she’d swallowed wrong. Such a small thing to cause so much trouble.
Air rushed in so quickly that she choked on it, gasping and coughing until tears ran down her cheeks.
“All right now?” The soft voice at her ear brought her fully back to herself. His hold around her hadn’t loosened and was decidedly more intimate than it had been when he’d been performing the Heimlich on her.
Theia realized she’d relaxed into his embrace, her arms sliding around his, and she let go with a jolt and bolted from his grasp. Though the moment had seemed epic and prolonged, none of the other guests were paying any attention.
His smile was one-sided—a slight leftward lift that combined amusement, smugness and a hint of offense. “You’re welcome.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to... I mean, thanks. I appreciate the—”
“Don’t strain yourself, darling. It’s okay. I’m used to this reaction.”
Theia’s embarrassment dissipated, and she narrowed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself. “What reaction?”
“Women going weak in the knees and tongue-tied around me. I expect it’s being this close to money.” His voice had the lazy, sardonic drawl of James Spader’s bad boy Steff in Pretty in Pink. “Does that to some women, I understand.”
“Wow. I take it back. You’re a complete ass.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that, either.” He held out his hand. “Lucien Smok, heir to the Smok Biotech fortune and your hero today.”
Theia kept her hands tucked under her arms. “Gosh, how fortunate for me. And I’ve heard of you.”
“Of course you have. Hence the reaction.” His hand dropped casually to his side. “Are you going to reciprocate?”
Theia blinked at him. “What?”
“Your
