Though she grumbled that he was an entitled chauvinist, she gave him her hand. It was all he could do not to yank her by it, slam her against his aching body and drink her dissension dry.
As they stepped out into the night, the warm, humid ocean breeze was so strong it swept her curls across his face. He groaned, getting another whiff of her scent, which had almost had him pouncing on her back in her house. His hardness had long crossed from painful to agonizing.
Giving in, he reached out to catch those locks. He’d send his plans of taking it slow to hell, would capture her by that lush cascade of silk, push her against the nearest building and devour her.
But she aborted his feverish intentions, pulling her locks away, one from between his lips. And their hands touched. Jerking hers away as if he’d electrocuted her, she mumbled that her hair came alive in the wind, produced a clip from her purse and secured her rioting hair in an improvised updo.
Triumphantly declaring the problem contained, she starting walking. It took him a moment to get his stiff legs to fall into step with her. His breath had clogged in his chest so hard again he had to force himself to breathe.
That tightness increased all through their two-hour walk down the bustling streets. As did his enjoyment.
They argued, agreed, bickered and shared companionable silences. He even got her to laugh many times, once so hard she shed tears.
Getting her to lower her guard enough with him, then to respond to his wit and teasing so unreservedly, was the most rewarding thing he’d ever done.
Then to his dismay, she said that her feet were starting to hurt, being so unused to heels. He should have considered this, at least realized her discomfort when she’d slowed down. Not only had he been inconsiderate but now their walk had to end.
He offered to carry her so they could go on, and she laughed it off, thinking he was joking, which he wasn’t. He called Paolo to deliver his car, and she took her sandals off while they waited, so he did scoop her up. No matter how much she spluttered for him to put her down, he insisted he wasn’t letting her stand barefoot in the street.
Once driving, every cell of his body on fire, he kept wondering how he’d prolong the drive and his time with her.
He didn’t want this night to end.
Then he felt her looking at him. At the next light he turned to her, found her gaze fixed on him with what looked like distressed embarrassment.
The tightness he was getting used to feeling around her returned in full force. “What’s wrong?”
Her lips twisted. “Just that you went to great lengths to show me a good time and I was only a rude jackass in return.”
“You only said what you thought without filters.”
“Which is the definition of rudeness. I played back our whole outing and I realized you’ve been nothing but gracious while I’ve been obnoxious. At first I was so on purpose, but then I decided to stop, and I was still downright offensive.”
“You were no such thing. You even paid me the biggest compliment anyone ever has. To everyone I am my success and power and money. You’re the only one who ever thought I am the one who gives worth to my achievements and assets.” Those wide eyes he never wanted to stop staring into grew larger. He gritted his teeth as he had to turn back to the road and drive again. “And even if you’ve been rude, I would have deserved it, since you consider I’ve coerced you into this outing.”
“You didn’t. I know I could have said no. But I did want to come. And I did enjoy everything, because I was with you. You’re the best company I’ve ever had.”
His gaze swung to her, caught her expression as she’d said these unbelievable statements.
Had he ever thought her anything less than the most perfect thing he’d ever seen? Was that how she truly felt? Could he be that lucky?
And whatever remained of his premeditation snapped. “I don’t want to drive you home, Liliana. Come with me to mine.”
The moment the words were out, he wanted to kick himself.
This was the last thing he should have said. He’d barely gotten her to trust him enough to enjoy being with him and to admit it. And he had to go and crash through her limits like an overeager teenager.
Now she wouldn’t only refuse, she’d swat him back to persona non grata status. Women usually played demure at this point, so men wouldn’t think them easy. But her refusal would be the most legitimate response ever.
Amidst the fury of self-disgust, he almost missed her answer. Braking too abruptly at the light, jerking her in her seat, he turned to her, disbelieving.
“What did you say?” he rasped.
Looking up at him without the slightest trace of guile, she repeated what he hadn’t believed he’d heard her say.