Tycoon's Growing Obsession

4: She is Cute

In the early morning, Lydia was still groggy when she woke, her mind floating in that hazy space between sleep and consciousness. She rubbed her face against the blanket with her eyes closed, seeking more warmth, more comfort.

"Mmm... smells so good," she murmured drowsily. Then her eyes snapped open. "Wait, that's not right."

This scent—crisp cedar mixed with something dark and expensive, masculine and intoxicating—this wasn't the smell of her blankets. This wasn't her room.

"Awake?"

Lydia's head whipped toward the sound. Alexander was sitting in a dark gray velvet armchair near the window, his posture languid and relaxed, like a panther at rest.

The top button of his white shirt was undone, revealing a small patch of pale skin at his throat. His long fingers rested casually on the armrest, and the soft morning light fell across his sharply defined jawline. Even the shadows cast by his eyelids when he lowered his gaze exuded an air of effortless nobility.

For a moment, Lydia could only stare. Then the memories from last night came flooding back—stumbling into his room, drinking wine, feeling warm and fuzzy and safe...

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

"Did I... did I do anything outrageous while I was drunk?" The words tumbled out in a mortified rush.

Alexander rose from the chair with fluid grace and walked to the bedside, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. His voice was gentle, almost tender. "How are you feeling? Any headache? Nausea? I'm sorry—I shouldn't have let you drink."

But Lydia was completely preoccupied with what might have happened last night. She didn't even notice how close they were now, how the mattress dipped under his weight, how his amber-grey eyes were fixed on her face with an intensity that would have made her breath catch if she'd been paying attention.

"I wanted to drink it myself! You can't blame yourself," she said quickly. "But please tell me—I didn't do anything... anything inappropriate after I got drunk, did I?"

Please, please, please say no, she prayed silently, her hands clutching the blanket. Please tell me I didn't embarrass myself completely.

"You didn't do anything outrageous," Alexander said, and Lydia felt a wave of relief wash over her. Then he smiled—a slow, devastating smile that made her heart skip. "But you did do some very cute things."

The relief evaporated instantly. "What... what kind of cute things?"

Alexander's smile widened. He reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to, and gently scratched under her chin with his long fingers, exactly like one would pet a cat.

"You said you were a cute little kitten," he said, his tone warm with amusement, "and you asked me to do this."

Lydia's face instantly turned crimson. The heat spread from her cheeks to her ears to her neck. She could feel it burning.

No. No, no, no. I did NOT.

But the gentle amusement in his eyes told her she absolutely had.

People always want to escape when they're embarrassed, but Lydia couldn't seem to move under Alexander's smiling gaze. It was like being pinned by sunlight—warm, inescapable, exposing every mortified thought in her head.

Finally, she did the only thing she could think of. She silently pulled the blanket over her head and curled into a small ball, wrapping herself in a cocoon of humiliation.

Alexander looked at the small bundle on the bed and couldn't help but chuckle—a rich, warm sound that filled the room.

"It's okay," he said softly, reaching out to pat the blanket-covered lump. "You were very cute."

"Stop talking," came Lydia's muffled voice from under the covers. "This is so embarrassing."

She desperately wanted to escape. Why had she drunk that wine? Why had she drunk so much? (It had only been three glasses, but still!) Why had she been so careless?

"Alright, we won't talk about it anymore," Alexander said, though his smile didn't fade. "I've already forgotten the whole thing. Come on, get up and wash up. I'll have someone bring breakfast."

He gently patted the little bundle again. While teasing her was absolutely adorable, he knew it had to be done in moderation. He didn't want to actually upset her.

"Thank you," came Lydia's soft, grateful voice from under the covers.

"I'll step out and give you some privacy. Everything you need is in the bathroom—fresh towels, toiletries, everything. Take your time. I'll wait for you outside."

Twenty minutes later, Lydia emerged from the bedroom, and Alexander's breath caught in his throat.

He'd had his assistant procure several dresses in her size overnight—he'd estimated based on holding her last night, and apparently his estimate had been accurate. He'd left them hanging in the closet for her to choose from.

She'd selected a dark green dress in flowing silk that cinched at her waist with a delicate belt, accentuating her slender figure. The color made her porcelain skin seem to glow, and her long dark hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders.

She looked like a beauty who had stepped out of an antique oil painting—ethereal, timeless, breathtaking.

Alexander felt his chest tighten. She was truly beautiful. And every single detail was beautiful in a way that struck directly at his heart.

Although they had spent less than twenty-four hours together, she was constantly attracting him, pulling him deeper into an obsession he had no desire to fight.

If he hadn't already had her thoroughly investigated, he would have truly believed that Lydia was a little spy tailor-made for him by some rival—sent specifically to seduce him, to be his perfect weakness.

Lydia lifted her skirt slightly and did a small twirl, her face lighting up with a smile that could have powered the entire ship.

"How is it? Does it look good?"

"Beautiful," Alexander said, his voice slightly hoarse. "Exceptionally beautiful."

"Thank you, Mr. Xie!" Lydia beamed at him. "You've been helping me since last night, and this dress is the most beautiful dress I've ever worn. I don't know how to repay your kindness."

Her affection for this gentle, handsome man deepened with every moment. He'd given her shelter when she needed it, treated her with respect even when she was drunk and vulnerable, and now he'd provided her with clothes and breakfast without asking for anything in return.

He was like something out of a fairy tale.

"Are we friends now?" Alexander asked gently, taking a few steps toward her.

"Of course!" Lydia's smile widened. "I would be more than happy to be your friend."

"Then please don't call me Mr. Xie anymore," he said, closing the distance between them until they stood close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "It's too formal for friends. Can I call you Lydia? Or... may I call you Lily?"

The nickname rolled off his tongue like honey, intimate and warm.

"Okay," Lydia said, feeling suddenly shy. Her cheeks flushed pink. "Then I'll call you... Alex? Or do you prefer Alexander?"

"Alex," he said immediately, and the way he said it—the way his eyes darkened with pleasure—sent a little thrill through her. "I'd like that very much, Lily."

Lydia didn't notice the way his hands clenched briefly at his sides, the way he had to physically restrain himself from reaching out to touch her. She had no idea that her casual agreement to use nicknames had sent a surge of possessive satisfaction through him.

In his world, names had power. And now she was calling him by a name only his mother had used, while he'd given her a nickname that no one else would ever be allowed to call her.

Small claims. Small steps. Building a web she wouldn't even notice until it was too late.

"Come on, Lily," he said, offering his arm. "Let's have breakfast."

They sat at the elegant dining table, and Lydia was amazed by the spread before them—fresh fruit, pastries, eggs prepared three different ways, smoked salmon, yogurt with honey, fresh-squeezed juice, and coffee that smelled like heaven.

"This is too much!" she protested. "We can't possibly eat all this."

"Then we'll eat what we want and leave the rest," Alexander said easily, pouring her coffee. "How do you take it?"

"Just a little cream, please."

As they ate, Alexander guided the conversation with practiced ease, asking questions that made her feel interesting and heard, sharing just enough about himself to seem open without revealing anything truly dangerous.

Lydia found herself relaxing completely, laughing at his dry observations about cruise ship culture, sharing stories about her art studies.

"You studied fine arts?" Alexander asked, genuine interest in his voice. "What's your focus?"

"Painting, mostly. Oils and watercolors. It's just a hobby, really—I've always been a bit lazy about formal training. I only really enjoy it when I'm painting something that moves me."

"I'm sure your work is beautiful," Alexander said. "I wonder if I might have the honor of seeing some of your paintings someday. Or perhaps... you might paint something for me?"

The way he said it—like he was asking for something precious, something he'd treasure—made Lydia's heart flutter.

"Maybe," she said, smiling. "If you're very nice to me."

"I intend to be," he murmured, and something in his tone made her shiver.

They talked for over an hour. Lydia learned that he was half-French, that his father had been from an old European family, that he'd grown up in France and only recently started spending more time in Asia for business.

She also learned his full name: Alexander Ashford.

The name tickled something in the back of her mind—like she should recognize it—but she couldn't quite place it. She'd been so isolated in her father's house, so cut off from the world, that she didn't follow business news or society gossip.

She had no idea she was sitting across from one of the most powerful men in the world.

"Thank you for breakfast, Alex," Lydia said finally, reluctantly. "I should probably get back to my room. But... would you like to have dinner together? My treat, to thank you for everything."