“Don’t,” he said, as if I could simply change it. “The soft ones are easier to break.”

I wondered who gave this man such a jaded view on life, who cast him out into the cold street. Whatever happened to him, he was still kind and generous, and I couldn’t help but find that incredibly attractive.

“The soft ones are the most loyal,” I countered.

“And naïve.”

“If you mean trusting, yes.”

“I meant naïve,” he deadpanned.

“It’s not a crime to look for the best in people.”

Albert grunted from the driver’s seat, apparently eavesdropping.

I raised a brow. “If the world’s so bad, then why did you help me, a stranger?”

My words strangled the air as we held each other’s stares. I had to look away—needed to give in to the physical pull to avert my gaze before a click or a pop sounded against my head—but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. Somehow, this had turned into a challenge. He didn’t like it.

Or maybe he just wasn’t used to it.

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t play games you can’t win.”

“I’m not a sore loser,” I said, unwilling to give in just yet.

“You’re altruism’s poster child, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.” So many things said otherwise, but the defense that slipped out sounded superficial to my own ears. “Sometimes I eat dairy when there’s no other option.”

As if he couldn’t help it, he laughed softly. “That’s a concerning issue, kotyonok. I don’t think I’ll be able to look at you the same way again.”

All I got from that was he might want to see me again.

I ignored the annoying blush on my cheeks, but he must have noticed it because his expression went grim.

“You’re too sweet for your own good.”

“You can have some. There’s plenty to go around.” The offer escaped me without a single thought to how it might come across.

All of the playfulness in the air drowned beneath the intensity of his eyes. His stare burned me with the hot lick of a flame. My heart tightened at the tension, resolve wavering. But then he ran a thumb over the scar on his bottom lip and looked away.

I released the breath I was holding, a smile pulling on my lips.

He didn’t even glance my way, but he must have felt my triumph because he said with dry humor, “Not so gracious a winner though.”

Amusement filled my stomach again, but suddenly, with the motion of the car, a bout of dizziness hit me.

He noticed, of course. “When was the last time you ate?”

I chewed my lip. “This morning.”

His eyes flared with disapproval, probably because it was the meal I only ate half of in his office. “Do you starve yourself often?”

I frowned. “No. I just forget sometimes.”

“What are you hungry for?”

Anything, really. But one thing came to mind.

“French fries.”

He smiled. “Such an American girl.”

Five minutes later, I had a hot container of french fries in my hand. I ate the salty pieces of heaven with relish. He watched me eat, giving me more attention than he gave to the opera we just watched, and it made my heart play with fire in my chest.

I offered him one, which annoyed him.

“Stop giving away the things I buy you.”

To hide a small smile, I bit the fry in half.

His eyes dropped to my mouth, and warmth poured through my body as I licked the salt from my lips. Ronan’s irises were a desolate black when he glanced away.

We spent the rest of the short ride in silence. His hand rested on his thigh, and I’d never been more aware of a man’s hands in my life. I bet they would touch a woman with assurance, with confidence . . . maybe even a little roughly. At the thought, the thigh showing through the slit in my dress vibrated with hypersensitivity. Goose bumps spread across my body where my leg brushed his, and Ronan’s narrowed gaze observed the contact, a tattooed finger tapping on his leg.

The soda can of a car popped and fizzed.

My body grew hot as I imagined him sliding his hand up that bare skin and beneath my dress. Just the idea of it hit me like a drug, a hot and restless energy expanding in my blood.

Although, I knew he wouldn’t touch me. Not naïve and innocent me. I knew if I wanted him to see me differently, seriously, I would have to take matters into my own hands. I would have to be forward, like Liza.

Knowing a note from her sat in his pocket offering most likely some kind of sexy proposition and the fact he might have left me at the car to go meet with her, I felt oddly . . . jealous. An uncomfortable knot twisted and turned inside of me, and that hint of green fire gave me a rush of bravery.

Well, a tepid rush of bravery.

As he walked me up to my room, nerves danced and wreaked havoc in my stomach. My hands were clammy, so I wiped them on my dress.

“You never told me what you do,” I said absently to distract myself, because that tepid bit of bravery grew colder with each step closer to my door.

He was saying something from one step behind, but I couldn’t hear a word. My heart pounded in my throat, blood rushed to the surface of my skin, and then, I did it.

I turned around and kissed him, mid-sentence.

It was slightly off-center. Unpracticed. Our teeth clinked.

I pulled back to see his eyes sparkling with dry amusement as he wiped the side of his mouth with a thumb. But I was too hot, too high on the small contact of our lips to be embarrassed about what an utter failure that was.

“Kotyonok.” He drew the word out in a low warning. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

Nope.

Not at all.

I shook my head.

He watched me. “Do you usually kiss your dates like that?”

So, it was a date?

I shook my head again and said breathlessly, “You’re the first.”

The amusement in his eyes faded to pleasure. Heat. Something soaked in intensity and satisfaction. He stepped forward, forced my back to the door, and rested his hands on the frame above my head. My pulse was a distant whoosh in my ears, overwhelmed by the tremor that rolled across my skin and the closeness of his body. I couldn’t find enough air to breathe.

His voice resonated warmth, a thoughtful rumble so close to my mouth I could taste it. “I have always loved coming in first.”

Then his lips touched mine, softly, only a whisper. Like I was too young, too innocent to handle anything else.

A rage of heat dropped to my core at the lightest brush of his mouth on mine. I needed more.

So much more.

I touched his face, ran a hand across his cheek and into his hair, and pulled his lips harder against mine. He didn’t like that, and he told me so by nipping my bottom lip. The graze of his teeth moved a desperate noise up my throat. I thought he might step away, conflict and my heavy breath between us, but he drew on my lips sweetly, first the top lip, and then the bottom.

Every inch of me vibrated beneath the surface, hummed and inflamed whenever my body touched his. I rolled my hips and arched closer against him, feeling incredible heat beyond his expensive black suit, and then I licked the inside of his mouth. Like a reflex, he sucked on my tongue. Heat, tiny pricks of heat, consumed me from the inside out.