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“Knee high, black patent leather with rhinestone heels,” she said quickly. “Jimmy Choo.”
“How much do you want them?”
“Plenty, but not enough to spend twelve hundred dollars.”
“I can understand that,” he said, nodding his head. “Now tell me why you want to sleep in my bed, then the reason you prefer not to.”
“I, uh, I didn’t say that, not exactly. You’re twisting my words.”
“Do you want to spend the night with me. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” she replied, letting out a heavy sigh.
“But…?” he pressed.
She paused.
He already knew she wanted him too much.
She feared curling up in his bed and going to sleep with his arms around her might be emotional suicide.
“There is no but,” she murmured.
He nodded, knowing she didn’t dare admit any of it.
“You haven’t touched your pasta and you need to eat.”
Watching her pick up her fork and take a mouthful of the spaghetti smothered in the rich, spicy tomato sauce, he suppressed a grin. She was used to winning debates and intimidating others, especially men. She’d met her match.
But with every passing hour, she became more alluring.
He liked her.
He didn’t want to hurt her.
Needs must.
When it was all over she’d walk away a bit bruised and battered, but if luck was on their side she’d still be alive.
Chapter 8
Steph had sworn she wouldn’t fall victim to his legendary charm—unless she was sure the feelings were mutual. When she’d first uncovered the operation he was heading, she’d been mortified, but now she was convinced there had to be an explanation. By no means was he a saint, but he wasn’t a cruel, inhuman savage either.
As she swallowed the last of the rich, velvety wine, his mesmerizing eyes caught hers from across the table. Wondering if she should come clean and reveal her secret, she let out a heavy sigh.
“It’s been a long day,” he murmured, his voice tinged with kindness as he tilted his head to the side. “Do you want to head off for an early night, or would you like to stick around for dessert?”
“I am tired,” she admitted, “but I wouldn’t say no to something creamy.”
He smiled, then rose from his chair.
Slightly giddy from two glasses of wine, and her nerves soothed by the delicious dinner, she gratefully accepted his hand, then leaned against him as they left the dining room. As he guided her down a wide, unfamiliar hallway, she spied double doors ahead. Much to her chagrin, the thought of entering his bedroom—his private domain—thrilled her.
“Welcome to my suite,” he exclaimed, pushing them open.
The first thing she noticed was a wall of glass opening to a wide deck.
“Wow. That’s incredible,” she murmured, gazing at the forest beyond. “The trees look almost silver.”
