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I could probably take her right then and there. From the way she pushed her hips up against me, I could tell her need was hot. It was all I could do not to hike up that little excuse for a skirt and bury my cock in her heat. To be lost in her. In everything that was Krystina.

But it wasn’t the right time. Not like this. I wanted her to feel the way that I did first, to have her endure some of the same hell I had experienced day in and day out since our first meeting. She drove me to the point of madness, and I wanted her to suffer right along with me.

Summoning all of the willpower I could attain, I tore my mouth away from hers.

“If the elevator stays immobile for too long, someone will call security, and I don’t want the hassle,” I said. Even to my own ears, my voice sounded hoarse. Raspy. Like I was a dying man struggling for his last breath.

Who was supposed to be punishing whom here?

I stepped away from her and moved over to the elevator panel. I pressed a few buttons, and the elevator resumed its ascent. Krystina, on the other hand, remained unusually silent, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with shock. She had a slight tremble about her, and I had to suppress a satisfied smile. She was most definitely turned on.

When the double doors opened, I led her through the spacious main foyer of the penthouse and into the dining area.

“You have a great place,” she finally said. I watched her as she took in the details of my residence. She was smiling, and her eyes were wide with fascination.

Personally, I had begun to get tired of the penthouse, although I didn’t tell her that. She was too much of a joy to watch, eagerly absorbing every detail like a sponge, and I didn’t want to ruin it. As she had in the park, she was able to see things I had stopped appreciating long ago.

“Have a seat,” I told her and pulled out a chair at the dining room table for her.

Once she settled in comfortably, I pulled another chair over to her. Then, bending to lift her right leg, I removed one of her shoes and placed her bare foot on the opposite chair.

“Alex—” she said in protest, but I cut her off.

“You need to elevate your feet, or else they’ll swell, and you’ll never get your shoes back on later.”

“My feet are fine!” she said, seeming embarrassed. I ignored the quick tongue that could never stay silent for long and lifted her other leg. “No, really. I insist.”

She leaned forward, attempting to stop me, but I swatted her hands away.

“Do you have to argue with everything I say? Just keep your feet up, Krystina,” I ordered, placing her foot on the chair. “I’ll be right back.”

I left her gaping after me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, and went into the kitchen.

I pressed my lips together in a tight line. I had thought a little evening stroll would soften her. But, evidently, I was wrong. I was quickly learning how much Krystina despised being told what to do.

Every time I thought of a new approach, she would pose questions. Or argue. Or just be Krystina. It didn’t matter what I did—she thwarted my every move. I knew she’d be a problem from day one. I knew she would be work. But her disobedience was a rather significant obstacle we’d have to overcome. And soon.

I grabbed the handle of the refrigerator and yanked it open, the force causing the bottles in the door to clank together dangerously.

Easy now...

I was too worked up. It was that sassy mouth of hers—so damn sexy—but it never shut up. I was never sure if I wanted to gag her or kiss her. Knowing that, I should have held back in the elevator. I only succeeded in frustrating myself by kissing her, and I was still hard as a fucking rock because of it. I had to think sensibly and maintain control, which I found myself grappling with whenever I was with her. She made it too damned difficult.

I pulled a platter of cheese and fruit from the fridge and set it carefully on the counter. There was no point in slamming things around the kitchen. I’d most likely end up scaring Krystina if she wasn’t already terrified after my revelation last night.

Innocente.

Matteo’s advice was still a warning in my head, a troublesome reminder she was innocent. How innocent remained to be seen, as she wasn’t an easy one to read. Finding out the answer to that question was imperative before things went any further.

After unwrapping the cellophane from the platter, I moved to the minibar to choose a bottle of white from the wine cooler. I perused the selections, trying to decide what would pair best with the cheeses.

Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay? Both will go nicely, but which would she prefer?

I glanced over at Krystina, intending to ask her if she had a particular wine preference. However, she had a look about her that made me pause, and I didn’t want to interrupt the picture she painted before me.

She was running one delicate hand over the wooden top of my dining room table. She wore a soft smile on her lips, appreciating the craftsmanship of the design. She looked beautiful sitting there, feet up on the chair, seeming completely at ease. And at that moment, I realized she had never before looked quite like that in my presence. She had never appeared so completely relaxed.

So unguarded.