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“How would you feel about meeting a friend of mine?”
I pause and his gaze turns ravenous as I lick the sauce off my lip.
He blinks and the look is gone. “She’ll have a place for you to stay.”
I frown, trying to think of a way to phrase my response casually. “Do you not have a guest room?”
“You don’t want to live with me, little girl.”
Even though the term should be insulting, he delivers it with a timbre that curls my toes.
“I don’t?” I ask.
“My work forces me to associate with dangerous individuals. Many of whom know where I live.”
I bite my lip to hide my grin. “And you can’t protect me?”
He puts the food aside and slides across the seat to press his thigh to mine. His index finger lifts my chin until I’m breathing his air.
“Who will protect you from me?” he asks. “I might be the worst there is.”
I lift a hand to his chest, settling over the powerful beat of his heart.
“I don’t believe that,” I whisper.
“You’ve barely known me an hour.”
It hits me then how far the night has spiraled. This is insane. I’m baiting a stranger into giving up his guest room, flirting with a man who looks to be at least ten years older than me.
A very handsome man.
I can’t reconcile the pull I feel toward him. Is he someone I can trust, or is this just my body recognizing him as my protector.
“Believe this, Kyra,” he says, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I’m bad for you.”
Maybe I want bad. Good only hurt me.
I gasp when he dips his head and trails his nose across my jaw, breathing in my scent.
“Damn,” he murmurs.
He releases me, leaning away before I can process the moment.
“So, can I take you to meet her?”
“Yeah. I mean yes,” I correct, unable to escape my mother’s chiding voice in my head.
No isn’t really an option. I don’t have a dollar to my name, and my mother made sure none of my friends or family would help.
I guess if it’s going to be a stranger, it’s more sensible to live with a woman than a man I want to…kiss. I rein in my other thoughts, pretending his lips on mine is all I’m imagining.
“The club, please, Diego,” he instructs his driver.
A club? I glance down at my fluffy slippers and draw my feet back, shifting to hide my embarrassment.
“I’ve got you,” Leo says, typing out a quick message on his phone. “Don’t worry, dolcezza.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling up outside a tall gunmetal gray building. Versus stands out in striking silver lettering above a wide glass door.
