My stomach growled. Loudly.

He drew back, releasing my leg. “You haven’t eaten dinner?”

I shook my head.

Seeming to wrestle with a huge decision—which involved peering at my legs, my lips, my hard nipples—he sighed and said, “Let’s go down to the bar for some food.”

Why not call for room service? “Are you wanting to feed me, or show me off in this dress?”

“Maybe both.”

CHAPTER 9

In the elevator, his towering frame and palpable energy took over the space. He trailed the backs of his fingers up my spine, making me shiver again. “So sensitive.”

Downstairs, as we headed to the outside bar, he kept a proprietary hand on my back. Taller than all the other men, he walked with his chin up and his shoulders squared—utterly arrogant. Which I kind of enjoyed, when it wasn’t directed at me.

The Seltane’s outdoor area was breathtaking, with giant palms, multiple small pools, and luxurious seating nestled in romantic alcoves. He squired me away from others, closer to the ocean. Though two sofas wrapped around the candlelit table, we sat on the same one.

Our server—Tiffani!—was a tall blonde with a striking face. I expected Sevastyan to drool over her, but he was very attentive to me. He selected a white wine, a specific vintage that must be expensive; Tiffani raised her brows. He ordered a vodka martini for himself, telling her, “We need something to eat, something quick. Have the chef surprise us.”

As we waited for drinks, I relaxed back on the sofa, determined to enjoy the lavish setting. My lids went heavy as a breeze wafted over us, dancing with the table’s candle flame. Palm fronds fanned above. The now full moon was tinged with yellow and painted the waves.

While I was gazing at the ocean, he’d been gazing at me.

“What?”

“I can’t figure you out. I can figure everyone out. I’ve met spies less secretive than you.” Spies? As a politician— or mafiya heavy—did he mean that literally? “Are you so secretive because you fear another besotted client? I’m sure you’ve had your share.”

I teasingly said, “Should I be worried about you?”

“You looked me up online—what do you think?”

“Your long trail of brokenhearted blondes tells me your heart is bulletproof. Just like mine.” I said this so confidently, but I could see my interest in him deepening—if he stayed warm like this.

Tiffani returned with our drinks.

After she’d gone, I sipped more crack ambrosia. Over the rim of my glass, I said, “You have excellent taste in wine for someone who never drinks it.”

“Nothing but the best.”

So I’d figured. I was beginning to suspect he’d preferred tall blondes because they represented cachet. He’d had no problems with my looks Monday night or tonight.

“Back to the subject at hand,” he said. “Could I tempt you to tell me about yourself if I paid—”

“No.”

He raised his brows. “I’m to ask you zero personal questions, but you can read whatever you like about me?”

“Should I believe everything I read?”

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “You know my net worth, yet you continue to treat me as if I’m an aggravation.”

“Monday night, I was delighted with you—but then you were cruel to me.”

He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, then tried again. “That night was . . . different.” He gazed out at the water as he said, “I expected you to do the escort spiel and resented it. I wanted nothing to color the experience.”

What did he mean by different? Surely he expected me to ask. So I didn’t. “I do know your net worth. You should pat yourself on the back for a good job. But it won’t affect my behavior.”

He faced me. “Oh, really?” His words were tinged with ice.

The man thought I was cozying up to him for his money. The irony! “Your wealth is an abstract—it’s leprechaun gold to me.”

Why would I dream about his money—instead of my own? There’d been a few million liquid, but Edward had probably blown through that much searching for me. He still had the mansion, but not Martinez Beach.

Each decade, the strength of the land’s trust eroded; in time, a lawyer like him could figure out a way to circumvent the trust. With resort encroachment on both sides, its value would be through the roof.

Others had had the same idea. Developers had hounded my mother constantly, one reason she’d become a shut-in.

“I could almost believe you,” Sevastyan finally said. When I shrugged, he asked, “How much of your online bio is true?”

“Not a lot.”

“You don’t like dancing, yoga, and shopping? What do you do for fun?”

“I can’t dance, I scoff at yoga, and I despise shopping. I’m a runner, and I don’t have spare time for fun.”

A muscle ticked in his wide jaw. Of course he would take that to mean: I’m always on my back. “I have little time myself. Most of my life is dedicated to business.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

I ran the pad of my forefinger around the rim of my glass. “You could’ve had fun Monday night. You missed out on the time of your life.”

“Did I? Tell me what we would’ve done.”

“The party would’ve begun right after you screwed my ever-loving brains out on the couch. Instead of getting rid of me when I patted your ass, you would’ve laughed. Maybe even tickled me. Wrestling would’ve ensued, and I might have let you win. Then we would’ve had another round of drinks and gone swimming.” I fake-examined my nails. “If you must know, seeing me dive naked would’ve been life-changing for you.”