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“You seem like one, I’ll give you that,” Rose replied, and now she sounded teasing. “But honor is something that has to be shown, in my mind, and proved.”

“Then I will prove it to you,” Christos replied, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. “Come to Italy and I will.”

“Nice way to bring it back to that,” she remarked with a wry laugh.

Impatience bit at him, overtaking his need to be measured. “Rose,” he insisted, “you must see this is the best way. The only way.”

Rose toyed with a piece of chicken on the end of her fork, her head lowered. “Not the only way,” she said quietly. “I did some research on the legalities of it all, and you can’t force me to do anything.” She looked up, a challenge firing her hazel eyes, turning them gold. “You have no legal rights to this baby. None at all.”

Christos’s stomach dropped, and he felt a blaze of anger lick through him like white lightning, making everything in him vibrate with tension. He knew she was right, of course, but he didn’t like her pointing it out, and especially not in that tone. “I am well aware of the legalities around sperm donation,” he told her evenly. “But I had hoped you would understand the moral right my family has to know and love this child. And considering how you lost your own parents, I would have thought you would have welcomed an extended family for him or her, all waiting to offer their welcome, their love.” It was, he knew, a compelling argument, a blatant appeal to her emotions that he refused to be above. Whatever it took…

She bit her lip, the blaze of challenge leaving her eyes so they looked as soft as moss. Then they filled with tears she resolutely blinked away. “I know,” she whispered, “but you must see how—how weird this is. For me to leave everything and everyone I know to live with strangers…”

“Strangers for now,” Christos agreed. “But I hope not for long.” He tilted his head and managed a small, whimsical smile as his gaze swept slowly and lingeringly over her, from her wide, luxuriantly lashed eyes to that delectable mouth, her soft lips slightly parted as she stared at him, her breasts rising and falling with every uneven, shallow breath. “We are not strangers anymore, are we?” he asked softly.

He hadn’t meant to imbue those words with such a languorous tone, a sensual undercurrent, and yet he heard it in his voice, felt it in his body. He knew from the way her pupils flared as she expelled a soft breath that Rose had heard it and felt it too.

The mood in the dimly lit room, which had once been twanging with tension and even anger, now coiled with an entirely different kind of emotion, just as overpowering, as they simply stared at one another, the only sound the soft draw and pull of their breaths. Christos hadn’t meant to take the conversation in this direction—far from it—and yet…he found he couldn’t regret that he had.

“Well…” Rose finally managed shakily, breaking his gaze with seeming effort, “I still don’t know you very well.”

“That,” Christos murmured, allowing yet more innuendo to lace his words even though he knew he shouldn’t, “of course, can be remedied.”

She drew her breath in a soft little gasp, practically a pant, that made the blood roar in Christos’s ears. Seducing her, he knew, was madness. It would complicate matters, turn what was already an ethical quagmire into a swamp of questionable morality. It wasn’t the kind of man he was, and yet…

His whole body pulsed with the need to touch her. To be touched by her. Because if he was honest, this wasn’t just about the physical, although it certainly was very much that as well.

“Rose…” he said softly, and he reached across the table to lay his hand on top of hers.

Her skin was soft and cool, the bones of her hand seeming so slender and fragile. He turned her hand over, ran his thumb along her soft palm, and her breath came out in something like a shudder.

“What…what are you doing…” she whispered unsteadily, shaking her head so her hair went flying.

“Getting to know you.” His voice was low, languorous; he almost felt as if he were drugged, merely touching her an overwhelming intoxicant. He ran his thumb back up her palm to her wrist, where her pulse was jumping erratically. He pressed down lightly, and her eyes fluttered closed as her breathing turned even more shallow. He was barely touching her, and yet his whole body was singing, his libido roaring with need. He knew this was a terrible idea—he knew he shouldn’t want to do it—and yet…it felt like the most exciting and enthralling thing he’d ever done.

Chapter Eight

Rose knew she should yank her hand away. She absolutely should. It was ridiculous as well as incredibly unsettling how quickly Christos had turned the mood from tense practicalities to…to what?

He was still stroking her palm. It was such a slight touch, and yet it made her feel weak at the knees, melting at her center. She was like putty in his hands, a puddle at his feet, but oh, how she wanted him to keep touching her. To see where it went…

Somehow, with a strength she didn’t know she possessed, Rose lifted her gaze to his…and then wished she hadn’t. The heat she saw in his eyes blazed through her like a brand, setting everything to sizzle, frying her brain so she couldn’t think at all.

What was happening?

In some distant, sane part of her brain, Rose knew that complicating this whole situation with attraction and flirtation or something even more was both dangerous and stupid, especially because she could not trust herself to act sensibly about it. Him. And so, even though it took what felt like a herculean amount of effort, she pulled her hand away from his…and immediately felt the loss.

Christos let her go, resting his own hand on the table, keeping his gaze steady on her in a way that made Rose feel like she couldn’t look away, and yet she had to, because the heat in his eyes was enough to make her lose her mind completely.

“I…” she began, her voice no more than a scratchy whisper. “I don’t really understand what’s going on here.” Christos didn’t reply, and she let out a small, uncertain laugh. “Sorry, I’m… I’m not very experienced when it comes to…” She found she couldn’t finish that sentence, or at least she didn’t want to and admit just how innocent she was. “Anyway. I think I might… It’s been a long day…” On shaky legs she rose from the table, while Christos simply gazed at her, his heavy-lidded look feeling like a challenge. A dare. She felt the need to get away, to think through everything sensibly, away from the intensity of Christos’s gaze and presence.

“Perhaps you should get some sleep,” he suggested, his tone giving nothing away. Rose didn’t know whether to feel rebuked or relieved that he was practically dismissing her after what had just happened, except she didn’t even know what had happened, if anything.

“Perhaps I should,” she agreed unsteadily.

“We will fly to Milan tomorrow.” He spoke calmly, his tone implacable, as if the matter had already been settled.

“What?” Rose stared at him in shock. “But…but I haven’t agreed yet!”