Tally glanced out of the window. The car had stopped outside a large country house covered in ivy. The place appeared deserted. Her hands trembled, and annoyed with herself, she clenched them into fists.

“Where’s here?”

Cash climbed out and walked around the back of the car before opening her door. He reached inside, unclipped her belt, and then held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

She hesitated, and he sighed. “You’re perfectly safe, sweetness. I have a reputation to protect.” He laughed then, but the sound was hollow, mirthless. “Although you’re doing your best to change that.”

She swung her legs out of the car. Her foot slipped on the gravel, and Cash grabbed her elbow to steady her. He propelled her towards a solid oak door. Keys jangled, and he cursed when the first one didn’t fit the lock.

She frowned. “Isn’t this your place?”

He shook his head. On the second attempt, the door opened, and with his hand in the small of her back, he nudged her through.

“In there.” He pointed straight ahead. Tally followed his directions and found herself in an enormous farmhouse-style kitchen with a large centre island that had stainless steel pots and pans hanging overhead.

She hovered just inside the doorway as Cash crossed the room and opened the large American-style fridge. He pulled out a bottle of wine and waved it in her direction.

“Drink?” he said as if they were simply on a date.

“No. I don’t want a drink. Look. I’m sorry about the article. Really, I am. I should have told you I was a journalist when you asked.”

Without saying a word, he poured two glasses of wine, despite her refusal, and pushed one towards her. He took a sip and pointed his chin at her glass. “Have a drink. It might help you relax and remove your shoulders from their new home around your ears.”

She made a concerted effort to lower her hunched shoulders. “I told you I’m working. I don’t drink on duty.”

The beginnings of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, but it quickly disappeared. He leaned back against the kitchen worktop, crossed his ankles and, without taking his eyes off her, sipped his own drink. Not once did he make any move to speak. After a few seconds of painful silence, she dropped her gaze to the floor. His flat, emotionless eyes made her blood run cold. She chewed at the inside of her cheek, a habit she always turned to when feeling uncertain or out of control.

His trainers squeaked on the tile. She lifted her chin. Cash had his back to her. He threw the remains of his wine in the sink and settled the palm of his hands on the worktop. Tally stood frozen, unsure what to say or do.

After a minute or so, he turned around. “Why did you lie when I asked you if you were a journalist?”

He spoke softly, almost kindly, and she blinked several times. Angry Cash was easier to deal with. Hurt and resigned Cash made her guilt rear its head once more.

Waves of remorse washed over her. Whatever kudos she’d gained from that article did not give her the right to cause someone else pain and anguish. There had to be more to this than the superficiality of his mother teaching him to dance and the fact that his father didn’t like making apologies. The journalist in her was yelling dig, but the fifteen-year-old who’d developed a crush on that eighteen-year-old boy ten years back had an overwhelming desire to protect him.

“I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you, but you so rarely give anything personal away that when you told me how you learnt to dance so well, it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”

He sighed heavily. “So my mother taught me to dance. Big deal. Hold the fucking front page. You lied to me. I despise being lied to even more than I despise your beloved profession.”

Tally shook her head. This man was full of contradictions. “I’m sorry, but what choice did I have? If I’d told you I was a journalist, you’d have clammed up, wouldn’t you?”

His lips pressed together in a slight grimace. “Probably.”

“Well, there you are, then. Like you said, no big deal.”

Cash stared at his feet. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. And then he muttered, “Screw it” under his breath.

He strode across the kitchen and captured her face between his hands. His mouth crushed down on hers. This was no slow approach. Cash devoured her. He nipped at her bottom lip, and on reflex, she opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to dart inside. The kiss happened so quickly she struggled to process it. When her brain caught up, a thrill of ecstasy rushed through her. This wasn’t a dream, nor was it some fifteen-year-old girl full of hormones, pressing her lips against the centrefold of a teen magazine, hoping it would spring to life and kiss her back.

With desire surging through her body, her knees buckled, and she sank a couple of inches before a strong arm wrapped around her waist, supporting her. Just as she was about to run out of air, Cash tore his mouth away, and his lips feathered across her cheek, her ear, her neck as she gasped for breath.

“What’s happening to me?” he muttered, his teeth nipping at her earlobe.

Her stomach convulsed with need. “Cash, I––”

He cut her off as his mouth consumed hers once again. She entwined her fingers in his hair because if she didn’t anchor them, they could end up anywhere. Cash didn’t merely kiss. He possessed. His hands burrowed beneath her shirt, and with a flick of his fingers, he unhooked her bra. But when his palm moulded to her breast, a wave of panic hit her. This was moving too fast. Way too fast.

Tearing her mouth from his, she gulped in as much air as she could handle. Her lungs burned, and she turned her head to the side as he made another move to kiss her. His thumbs brushed her nipples, his lips fastening onto her neck, and as a rush of wetness pooled between her legs, Tally knew she had approximately five seconds to call a halt to this. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to resist him.

“Please stop,” she whispered.

He paused. His lips were still touching her neck, although they’d stopped moving, and his breath was hot against her skin. He raised his head and cupped her face, his thumbs skimming across her burning cheeks. “I don’t want to stop.”

God, she didn’t want him to either. And he had to know it. Her heaving chest, short breaths, and damp skin would tell him that she was turned on, more turned on than she’d been in her whole life. Fighting the devil on her shoulder and the desire in her heart was exhausting.

When her lips parted, Cash lowered his head to capture her mouth once more, but if she let him touch her again, she was done for. Another notch on a bedpost that already had a serious case of hives.

“No!” She pushed the flat of her hand against his hard chest. He immediately stepped back. His eyes narrowed, and the soft, full lips that had been fixed to hers moments before were now pressed into a thin white slash.

He strode out of the kitchen, leaving her alone. Mortified, she refastened her bra and tucked in her shirt. When she’d recovered enough to follow him into the hallway, he was standing by a wide-open front door.

“Isaac will take you back to work.”

“What––”

“Just go, Natalia. And be thankful I’m not going to put in a formal complaint about how you got that story.”

Her throat tightened, and choking back a sob, she ran outside.