The Billionaire's Dangerous Redemption (by Claire Winters) novel Chapter 202

202 A Calculated Embrace

And that terrified me more than any of Alistair’s threats ever could.

Part of me wished the driver would take a wrong turn, extending our journey through the sleeping city. Another part-the practical, self-protective part-knew this closeness was

dangerous.

I ignored his teasing tone. “I mean it. You look exhausted.”

“You work too much,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

I froze, caught between pushing him away and yielding to his request. His body was

warm against mine, his cologne enveloping me in a subtle, masculine scent. The steady

beat of his heart pulsed against my ear.

Sebastian Sinclair had calculated every moment of that embrace-and I had fallen for it

completely.

He didn’t respond immediately. Then, slowly, he stirred against me, his eyes opening with

deliberate languor. They met mine with perfect clarity-no trace of sleep’s fog within

them.

“It’s hard not to notice when you’re constantly in the news,” I deflected. “Opening new

tech divisions, attending charity galas, negotiating international deals. Do you ever

sleep?”

His hand rested lightly on my waist, neither grasping nor demanding, just present. The

weight of it should have made me uncomfortable. Instead, it felt strangely right.

“I’m just tired, Hazel,” he said quietly. “Nothing inappropriate about leaning on a friend

when you’re exhausted.”

“Just let me rest for a moment,” he murmured, his voice soft and vulnerable in a way I’d

never heard before. “Please.”

Silence settled between us as the car glided through the nighttime streets. Streetlights flashed intermittently, illuminating Sebastian’s profile in golden bursts. I stole glances at him while pretending to look at the passing scenery.

202 A Calculated Embrace

“Happy to be of service,” I replied dryly, though my voice lacked conviction.

“Finally alone,” he murmured, his voice low enough that the driver couldn’t hear.

His lips curved into a smile. “Are you shy around me, Hazel?”

I allowed myself to study his face without the fear of being caught. In sleep-or the appearance of it—the sharp edges of his features softened. Long eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. The perpetual hint of calculation that lurked in his eyes was hidden now, making him look younger, almost vulnerable.

“No need,” Sebastian sighed, leaning his head back against the seat. “I just need rest.’

This was a side of Sebastian Sinclair the world never saw-the powerful businessman,

momentarily unguarded. Something protective stirred within me.

Suddenly, Sebastian winced, bringing his hand to his temple.

“Fine,” I relented. “Just until we reach my apartment.”

I tried to convince myself this meant nothing. He was tired. I was being kind. That was all.

But the racing of my heart told a different story.

The driver’s eyes met mine briefly in the rearview mirror before quickly looking away. I

wondered what he thought about his boss’s behavior, but his face remained

professionally blank.

I turned toward the window. “It’s warm in here.”

I raised my hand in a small wave before disappearing inside. As the door closed behind

me, I leaned against it, my heart pounding.

He hadn’t been sleeping at all.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my irritation forgotten.

“Occasionally,” he admitted with a weak smile. “When absolutely necessary.”

Sebastian chuckled, the rich sound washing over me. “If you say so.”

I frowned. “That’s not healthy.”

202 A Calculated Embrace

The city lights played across his features as we moved through the streets. In the

semi-darkness, I allowed myself to acknowledge what I’d been denying for weeks-I was attracted to Sebastian Sinclair. Deeply, irresistibly attracted.

Fifteen more minutes of this dangerous comfort. Fifteen minutes that could shift

something fundamental between Sebastian and me.

“What isn’t?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow, looking amused.

He grimaced. “Just a bit dizzy. It’s nothing.”

“Moving back here. The front seat was perfectly fine.”

“You’re blushing,” he observed, his eyes tracking the color spreading across my cheeks.

“How much further?” I asked the driver softly, not wanting to disturb Sebastian.

Sebastian’s eyelids fluttered, though his breathing remained deep. Was he dreaming? Or

was he, like me, simply savoring this moment of connection?

With Sebastian, I could never be sure where the strategy ended and genuine feeling

began. That uncertainty should have scared me. After Alistair’s betrayal, I’d promised

myself I’d never again be vulnerable to a man’s manipulations.

In one smooth motion, Sebastian pulled me toward him. I found myself pressed against his chest, his arm wrapping around my shoulders.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Much better. Thank you.”

I exited the car quickly, not trusting myself to linger. As I walked toward my building

entrance, I could feel his gaze following me.

As the car continued through the night-draped city, Sebastian’s breathing grew deeper and more regular. Was he actually falling asleep? The thought that he felt comfortable enough to lower his guard with me created a warm flutter in my chest.

His eyes held mine, searching for something. Whatever he saw made his smile deepen. “Good night, Hazel.”

Yet here I was, allowing Sebastian Sinclair to break down my carefully constructed walls

with nothing more than a plea for rest.

Friends. Was that what we were? The word seemed insufficient for the tension that

crackled between us whenever we were together.

“Sebastian, this is inappropriate,” I whispered, but made no move to pull away.

Sebastian stirred slightly, nestling closer. His warm breath caressed my neck, and my pulse jumped in response. Was he really asleep? Or was this calculated intimacy?

Only when I reached my front door did I allow myself to look back. The car remained at the curb, Sebastian’s silhouette visible through the window.

The car slowed as we approached my neighborhood. Soon, this moment would end.

Sebastian would lift his head, the spell would break, and we’d return to our careful dance

of ambiguous intentions.

“Your concern is touching.”

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