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His muscles flexed when she placed her palm in the crook of his arm. His forearm felt hard and strong. Touching him through the thin barrier of his shirt felt way too personal. Being so close to him was disturbing. She tried not to show her discomfort, which was difficult, as she noticed from the corner of her eye that he was staring at her as they walked.
Despite her reservations, she did find the renovation interesting. He explained the work of an architect specializing in the restoration of historical Chilean buildings. Soon, she was enraptured, enjoying not only the subject, but also the musicality of his accent. He was an exemplary tour guide, putting her at ease and making her feel silly for doubting his intentions.
After they’d visited the upstairs rooms, Lann took her downstairs to the pool deck where a table was set for two. He pulled out a chair and stood waiting.
She adjusted the strap of her handbag on her shoulder, trying to think of a polite way to reject his insistence, and settled for a direct approach. “As I said, I can’t stay.”
“Do you have another engagement?”
She wasn’t going to lie for her convenience or his benefit. “No.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Then please join me. I’d be delighted not to dine alone.”
A man like Lann never had to dine alone. The list of volunteers would be long. It felt like a mistake, but she let the handbag slip from her shoulder and stepped toward the chair. After all, he had access to information he could use against her. As long as he held that sword over her head, she’d have to dance to his tune.
Like a true gentleman, Lann seated her and draped a napkin over her lap before taking his place. Almost immediately, the man with the black suit appeared, carrying a tray with two plates.
“This is Alfonso, my right-hand man,” Lann said. “I know you’ve met, but I’m not sure you’ve been properly introduced.”
Alfonso inclined his head and served them.
When he left, Lann poured the wine. “Seared tuna and Roquefort-pear salad. I hope the menu is to your taste.”
Instead of answering, she took a gulp of wine. While she was squirming in her chair, wracking her brain for something to say, Lann seemed at ease with the silence. He waited for her to start eating before he picked up his knife and fork.
“What is your thesis about, Katherine?”
She swallowed the bite of fish she’d taken and dabbed her mouth with the napkin. “Daemon lovers.”
“Interesting.” He studied her with an intense expression, seeming to take in every detail of her face. “Please do elaborate. I’d love to hear more.”
She shifted. “Most people find it boring.”
“Try me,” he said with a patient smile.
She cleared her throat. “All right. My argument is that the daemon lover is the male form of the muse. I’m using literature to demonstrate how he has showed up in legends as vampire, beast, prince, or angel, and what his role was in the development of female sexuality, creativity, and spirituality as expressed in modern literature.”
“Now I understand why the books in my library would be useful to you.” He regarded her as if contemplating a puzzle. “Mrs. Sullivan mentors romantic art students. How come you’re with her group?”
“She’s a friend of Charles. He asked her to take me under her wing.”
“How long since you arrived in Santiago?”
She dragged her fork through the lettuce on her plate. “It’s only been a month.”
“For how long are you staying?”
“The program is for one year.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Good. Then we have time.”
She stilled in the middle of bringing a forkful of salad to her lips. “Excuse me?”
“I would very much like to get to know you better.”
What? Her heart skipped a beat. Why would he want to get to know her? Why did any man want to get to know a woman? Trepidation tightened her stomach even as a spark of curiosity kindled a lick of a flame of excitement. But no. There was no way they were getting to know each other beyond tonight. Lann Dréan was far too dangerous. He was too enigmatic, too handsome, and too worldly for a sentimental and overly romantic girl like herself. Intuition told her so, and most of all the part of her that always got her into trouble where men were concerned—her heart.
Her tone was polite but decisive. “Tonight will be all the getting to know each other we’ll be doing.”
He put down his cutlery. “Then I’d be wise to make the most of it. Since this may be the only opportunity I’ll ever have, tell me about yourself.”
The way he stared at her made her feel as if no one else existed. It was hard not to feel flattered, and at the same time, intimidated.
“I’d rather talk about you,” she said. “Your life seems much more interesting.”
