She was staring at him like he’d lost his mind, and maybe he had. Certainly where she was concerned, he’d never been able to think straight. He could barely think straight now with her sitting just across from him, filling the car with a delicate, sweet scent that reminded him of a rose garden drenched by rain.

Every time he’d met her, it had been at someone’s house or at a function of some kind, and there had always been lots of people around. They’d never been alone together and he’d certainly never gotten this close to her before.

It was intoxicating.

Her legs were so long in those skinny jeans, and she seemed so pale and fragile. A pretty little princess with her white skin, her golden hair, and those crystalline gray eyes. Yet he knew she wasn’t as fragile as she seemed. He’d seen her dance, every muscle working with iron discipline to deliver her particular brand of precise, passionate grace. It took a lot of strength to make it look like she floated across the stage, as if it was easy, effortless.

He was intrigued by that. Intrigued by what those legs would feel like wrapped around his waist. Whether she’d be as precise and graceful when he was deep inside her or whether all of that control would fall by the wayside and she’d lose herself utterly to pleasure.

Ah, but he was getting ahead of himself. Dinner was the first thing he wanted. It was the first step of his courtship, a chance to find out why exactly she didn’t like him, and he was going to take it. That was, if his assumptions about how badly she wanted to go to that ballet school were correct.

Anger chased over her pretty little face, and it fascinated him how quickly she tried to mask it, as if afraid of giving herself away. He kept his gaze pinned to hers, the restless, antsy sensation that always lived just beneath his skin, that he’d worked so hard to conceal, beginning to fade the way it did whenever he watched her dance.

“I don’t understand.” Her hands clutched tightly in the fabric of her red cloak. “Why do you want to have dinner with me? You barely know me.”

He supposed that was true. He didn’t really know her. He knew that as a tiny kid she’d been bright and inquisitive and not at all shy. And since he’d watched her dance, he’d known that as a dancer she was brave, passionate, graceful, and poised. She inhabited every role she took on completely.

But as a person? No, he didn’t know her. He’d never been allowed to. All he’d seen of her were glimpses across rooms and a few awkward conversations. Certainly she’d never stayed around long enough to talk to him, always eager to excuse herself the first moment she could.

Yeah, he knew she didn’t like him. But that would change, he’d make sure of it.

“Perhaps I want to get to know you better.” He studied her, watching the rise and fall of color in her pale cheeks. “Don’t you think we should? I know my father never paid much attention to what you did, but I’m a different sort of man.”

She looked away and he could see her jaw hardening.

He’d expected she wouldn’t like this, but that was too bad. His grandfather had told him that he’d deserved more than to be sent away like an unwanted pet. That his family owed him. That even though he would never be a good person, he could pretend to be one. He could learn how to hide his true nature so people wouldn’t be afraid of him.

And he had learned. It had taken years of physical and mental torture, but he’d definitely succeeded. People weren’t afraid of him anymore—no, they loved him. Shit, he’d even fooled his own father into thinking he’d changed, the old bastard never seeing the machinations that Rafe had worked in the background, all to take Cesare down in a spot of beautifully executed revenge. To prove to his father he wasn’t the broken boy Cesare had sent away and to claim what he was owed.

His father’s company and Ella. It wasn’t much in his opinion.

“You don’t need to threaten me.” Her voice was light and quiet, but he heard the faintest thread of anger in it. “You could have just asked.”

“Ah, but would you have agreed if I’d just asked?”

She didn’t respond, looking down instead at the swathe of red velvet lying across her knees, her fingers stroking the fabric like she was petting a cat. Not that she needed to answer him. There was no point. They both knew she wouldn’t have.

“Like I said, I don’t want to have dinner with you,” she murmured. “I just want the money to get to Paris. That’s all. It’s not even your money. It’s mine.”

“But it won’t be yours until you turn twenty-one,” he pointed out. Unnecessarily, in his opinion, since she knew as well as he did the rules surrounding the Hart fortune. “And until then, I have guardianship over your finances.”

She still wouldn’t look at him. “I’m going to need proof of that.”

“Of course. Your lawyers will be sending you the details tomorrow.”

Ella’s attention remained on the cloak in her lap, her delicate jawline tight.

She was angry with him, that was obvious. And sure, she had every right to be. He liked that, though. It was better than that stiff formality she always treated him to.

“Dinner,” she said finally. “That’s all?”

No, that wasn’t all. He wanted more, a lot more. He wanted her in his bed, all the passion he saw on the stage focused on him. He wanted her to like him the way she once had, when she’d lifted up her arms to him, completely unafraid. He wanted her falling for him the way everyone else did. The way he’d fallen for her when he’d seen her in Romeo and Juliet.

He wanted that peace he felt inside whenever she was around.

But all of that would come. Eventually. He had time to wait for it. He’d learned patience, after all.

“Yes, that’s all. . . . For now.”

She lifted her gaze from her knees, her expression an odd mix of reluctance and defiance, as if she hadn’t wanted to look at him and yet forced herself to. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

She definitely wasn’t polite and reserved now, and he found he liked the flickering sparks in her eyes. Christ, he’d rather have her anger than her distance any day of the week.

It made him want to play with her a little.

He raised a brow, making a show of looking offended. “Did I ask you to sleep with me?”

“No, but—”

“No. I didn’t. All I asked for was a dinner. To get to know you better.” He gave her a cool look. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

She glanced away yet again, her cheeks pink as if chastened. It was rather disappointing. He’d been looking forward to seeing more of her anger, not having her get all frightened bunny on him.

“Obviously you’re the kind of man who would blackmail me into having dinner,” she said. “Getting offended by the next logical assumption seems ridiculous.”

He had to look down at his hands clasped between his knees to hide his smile. Perhaps she wasn’t quite so frightened bunny after all. Yeah, he liked that. Very much. “Well, okay then. What would you say if I told you that I did want to sleep with you?”

“I’d say you were shit out of luck.”

A reluctant laugh broke from him. Definitely not frightened bunny. “That’s good.” He lifted his attention from his hands back to her face. “I’m glad you can be honest with me. Now we know where we both stand.”

She didn’t smile, her attention on her fingers stroking the red velvet in her lap. “You want some more honesty? Yes, you’re right. I don’t like you. I never have. And yes, I would have said no if you’d asked me to have dinner with you.”

Another hot, electric thrill went through him. He hadn’t expected such brutal truth, though he had to admit that he liked it. In fact, he liked the tension between them, period. It made him think that she would definitely go down fighting, which—he wasn’t ashamed to say—got him off. Not many women fought these days, or at least, if they did, it wasn’t for very long and was never very hard. They gave in too quickly, surrendered too soon.

In fact, it had been years since a woman had genuinely not wanted to have anything to do with him—if there had ever been a time. Women liked him, and he liked to be liked. But Ella . . . well. Perhaps she thought her honesty would put him off. Sadly, it didn’t. It only made him more interested.

He liked a challenge. And if that made him a cliché, then fuck it, he was a cliché.

“There you are then,” he said, grinning. “So is that a yes or not?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice, Ella.”

Her mouth, a soft cupid’s bow of delicate shell pink, hardened. “It’s not much of a choice.”

“I guess it depends on how badly you want to go to Paris then, doesn’t it?” He sat up, leaning back against the seat and stretching his arms out along the back of it, enjoying the way she kept tensing up every time he moved. Poor little bunny girl. So cautious. So wary. He wanted to eat her right up here and now. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect an answer immediately. Have a think about it. You can give me a call tonight. The lawyers will be sending my contact details.”

The limo was nearing her apartment and soon he was going to have to let her get out. He didn’t want to. He was enjoying this far too much. It was good to finally have a conversation with her that wasn’t stilted and polite, that didn’t involve her making a quick exit as soon as she could. And it was good to see that, despite some bunny tendencies, she had claws of her own. And it was excellent that she did, because he didn’t want this to be easy. Oh no. He wanted her to make him work for it.

Clive parked the limo, keeping the engine running, but Ella didn’t look at the cloak in her lap this time. She stared at Rafe, anger glittering in the depths of her eyes.

“Why me?” she asked abruptly. “Why are you interested in me?”

He raised a brow. “Why shouldn’t I be interested in you?”

“You don’t know me. I mean, how many times have you actually spoken to be me in the last five years? Five . . . six times?”

“So? I told you, that’s what this dinner is for.”

“Yes, but why? Your father wasn’t interested in getting to know me. Why are you?”

Rafe made a show of looking at his watch. He was very tempted to tell her exactly why he was so interested, remind her of when she’d been small and hadn’t been so afraid of him. Hadn’t been afraid at all, in fact. But he didn’t want to have that discussion now and besides, it was always best to leave them curious. To leave them wanting more. She could think about that while she debated whether or not she’d give him what he wanted. Not that she was going to debate too long. He knew how badly she wanted to go to Paris. He knew exactly.

“I wish I could stay and chat about this, I really do,” he said regretfully. “But I’m afraid I have a meeting in about fifteen minutes and I do hate to be late.” He smiled at her, a benign, non-threatening smile, just to see what she’d do. “I’ll expect your call tonight, shall I?”

That anger glittered in her eyes, her fingers once more scrunched up in the red velvet of her costume.

“Be careful with that velvet,” he chided softly. “You wouldn’t want to spoil your pretty costume, would you, Red Riding Hood?”

Her mouth opened as if she was going to say something, and he found he was holding himself very still, because if it was an attack, he was up for that. He was more than ready for it. In fact, he was dying for it.

Instead her mouth snapped close and, without a word, she reached for the door handle and got out, slamming the door hard behind her.

“Run, little Red,” Rafe murmured, watching her walk fast up the steps to her front door. “Run while you can. But one day I’ll catch you, make no mistake. And you’re going to love it when I do.”

* * *

“You’re kidding me,” Aurora Hart muttered, exhaling cigarette smoke in a billowing white cloud. “The gall of the man.”

Ella’s normal reaction would have been to tell her grandmother to put the cigarette out because those things would kill her, but today she barely even noticed it. She was far too angry.

“And you wouldn’t believe what he said after that,” she said, pacing furiously back and forth at the end of the big four-poster bed her grandmother basically lived in these days. “He said he wanted to sleep with me, and what did I think about that?”

“Terrible,” her grandmother agreed, frowning. “Though I’m not surprised. I’ll never understand why your father thought entrusting your guardianship to Cesare de Santis was a good idea. I wouldn’t trust that man as far as I could throw him, and apparently his sons are even worse.”

Ella, fulminating, barely heard. Part of her was still quite shocked at the depth of her own anger, especially when as a rule she tried to stay calm and not let herself get too wound up about things since it made her anxiety worse. Yet, she couldn’t deny the fact that she was very, very angry with Rafael de Santis.

For a start, he’d scared her. Yes, she knew she was an anxious person, but she tried hard to overcome her anxiety. Every day it was a struggle, yet she managed it.

She got up and went out into the scary city to her ballet classes and to her rehearsals and auditions. Sometimes she even managed to make it out to bars and parties with her few dancer friends. And okay, so maybe she hadn’t been out for a while, but still. She did go out. She coped.

But she was very much afraid she hadn’t coped well sitting in that limo with Rafael. He was wolf all the way through and her brain had had no problems screaming at her that she was sitting opposite a predator and that she should run now now now.

God, she hated being scared, and she hated him for scaring her.

Oh come on. Are you sure it was all fear? You didn’t just hide under the seats. You took him by surprise a couple of times, remember?

That was true. A few sharp words had slipped out, which had probably been a mistake since it let him know that she was angry with him, a vulnerability that could be exploited. Her father had been very clear before he died that she needed to keep herself well protected because once he was gone, there was no one else around to do it for her.

And staying well protected meant making sure not to let anyone get too close or discover her situation. Her father was afraid that once people knew how alone she was, they would take advantage of her—another reason he’d made sure her fortune wasn’t accessible until she was twenty-one.

Ella cursed softly under her breath as she paced.

Apparently though, the one thing her father hadn’t predicted was that not only would Rafael de Santis assume control of said fortune, but that he’d use that power to force her into going out to dinner with him.

Despite how lonely her life had been for the past few years, she’d gotten used to not being answerable to anyone. There was a certain freedom in having a guardian who took no interest in her whatsoever, one who simply agreed to every request, and quite frankly, she resented Rafael changing that arrangement. It made her feel like a child, which she did not appreciate since, although she was young, she’d basically been looking out for herself for the past eight years.

Bastard.

Part of you is a bit excited about the thought of dinner, be honest.

No. Wrong. She was not excited. In fact, thinking about that made her even more furious.

“So what did you think about that?”

Ella stopped pacing and blinked at her grandmother. “What?”

“The fact that he wanted to sleep with you.” Her grandmother tapped her cigarette against the solid-silver ashtray that sat on her nightstand and narrowed her gaze at Ella.

She gave an inward sigh. Aurora Hart might be eighty and bedridden with chronic arthritis, but she had a mind as sharp as a tack—and was extremely cranky with it—and tended to speak her mind with brutal honesty.

“I don’t want to sleep with him if that’s what you mean,” she said crossly. “He’s way older than me for a start, and he was being creepy. And then there’s the whole blackmailing me into—”

“And you’re more animated than I’ve seen you in months.” Aurora’s dark eyes were assessing, peering at Ella through a haze of smoke as she took another drag on her cigarette. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen you this animated, ever.”

Ella shifted on her feet, not liking where this was going. “I’m angry. Wouldn’t you be?”

“Of course. But you don’t get angry, Ella. Not like this.”

“What are you saying, Gran?” With an effort, she tried not to sound so sharp. Hell, she really was letting this get to her, wasn’t she?

“What do you think I’m saying?” Aurora inhaled, then blew a lazy smoke ring. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

She’s right. Come on.

Ugh. No, she was not right.

“I don’t think I’m protesting too much at all.” Ella tried to calm herself down. Getting worked up about it would not help. “Anyway, I’m not going to.”

“To what? Go to dinner with him?”

“Well, obviously not.”

“Why is that obvious? I thought you wanted to go to Paris.”

Ella moved restlessly, coming around the side of the giant bed and picking up the silver ashtray. “You shouldn’t smoke those, Gran. You know what it does to your lungs.”

“Don’t change the subject, girl,” Aurora muttered. “If you’re seriously thinking of giving up going to the Conservatory just because you’re too scared to go out with Rafael de Santis, then I guess Paris isn’t that important to you after all.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Oh crap. You are so.”

Ella ignored that and the anxiety that was gathering once more in her gut. “And of course Paris is important to me.”

“Is it?” Aurora’s gaze narrowed even further. “So why are you using him as an excuse not to go?”

The anxiety pulled and knotted. Yes, okay, she could admit she was nervous about going to Paris. About not getting into the program. About getting into the program. About having to travel so far and be away from everything she was familiar with. About the language difficulties and the travel itself. About living in a strange country for an entire summer. About a whole host of things. But she wasn’t looking for excuses not to go. She really wasn’t.

“I’m not. I just don’t see why I should have to go to dinner with him when I don’t want to.”

“Don’t then. But if he refuses your request for money, how else are you going to get to Paris?”

Ella turned and took the ashtray over to the wastebasket in the corner of the room, emptying it, knowing full well she was using the task as an excuse not to have to talk. Not that her grandmother would ever let her get away with that. “I’ll find some money from somewhere else,” she said, brushing out the last of the ash. “Maybe I’ll get a job.”

“A job?” Aurora gave a disbelieving laugh. “With what experience? You’ve done nothing but dance all your life, Ella. Hate to break it to you, honey, but no one’s going to want to employ you.”

Yeah, she knew that. Dammit. Dance had been her life, right from when she’d been six years old and her mother had taken her along to her first dance class. She’d never wanted to do anything else, and she’d been lucky that her parents had been in the position to be able to help her achieve her dream of becoming a ballerina.

Except it wasn’t quite that simple. Her French mother had been a dancer with the Paris Opera Ballet company, and if there was one thing Ella wanted, it was to follow in her mother’s footsteps. In fact, she’d been gearing up to audition for the Paris Opera Ballet School when she’d lost both parents, basically ensuring she wasn’t going anywhere.

Now it was too late. Now she was too old to be part of the school, and since the company very rarely took dancers from outside of France, the likelihood of being accepted as a dancer was slim to none. The summer school at the Conservatory of Dance was as close as she was going to get.

As close to her mother as she was going to get.

An old grief twisted inside her, still raw after all those years.

“I could . . . I don’t know, get a job as a waitress or something,” she said, staring down at the ashtray, hating how uncertain she sounded, because that seemed to be her default these days. Uncertain and anxious and afraid, even though she tried so hard not to be.

Her grandmother snorted. “If you don’t want to go to Paris, don’t go.”

Stung, Ella looked at her.

Aurora was leaning back against the white pillows, her fine white hair carefully pulled back in the neat bun Ella put it into every morning. She was still beautiful, the fine network of lines and wrinkles that creased the delicate skin of her face not detracting one iota from the exquisite bone structure beneath it. Except the expression on that lovely face was far too knowing for Ella’s comfort.

It said “I see through you, girl. You’re scared and you’re letting your fear get to you.”

She’s not wrong. You are.

“I do want to go,” Ella said carefully, trying to ignore the thought. “I have to. It’s what Mom wanted me to do.”

“So having dinner with Rafael de Santis will be a small price to pay then, won’t it?” Aurora gestured irritably for the ashtray, which Ella brought over and put back on the nightstand.

“I just. . . .” She trailed off, hating to have to give in and yet not being able to think of a single alternative.

“Oh, go out with the man for God’s sake.” Aurora stubbed her cigarette out with slightly more force than necessary. “It’s only dinner. And besides, you need to get out more anyway.” She gave Ella a sudden, narrow glance. “Unless you think he’s going to hurt you, and then that’s a different story. Do you think he’s going to hurt you?”

Ella swallowed, acting like she had to think about it. Though she really didn’t have to think about it. He wouldn’t hurt her, she already knew that. “No,” she muttered. “It’s not that.”

“Then what are you so afraid of?”

“Nothing.” Ella lied, adjusted the ashtray on the nightstand. “I already told you. I’m not afraid.”

Her grandmother’s expression turned shrewd. “Ah. So it’s like that is it?”

Sometimes she hated the way Aurora seemed to be able to see things in her she wasn’t actually aware of herself. It made her feel as if she wasn’t protecting herself as well as she should be.

Ignoring the comment, Ella turned and went back over to the little sofa that stood near the windows of the bedroom, bending to pick up the cloak she’d brought home with her. “Did I show you my costume? I got special permission from the wardrobe mistress to bring it home to show you.”

Aurora gave a sudden, husky laugh. “Change the subject all you like, sweetheart. But don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in that lovely head of yours. He makes you feel things, doesn’t he?”

Ella looked down at the soft red velvet in her hands, unease coiling inside her, trying not to think about Rafael and the overwhelming reality of his physical presence. The way he’d watched her, intent and focused, heat and hunger glittering in his blue gray eyes. She’d felt that heat too, the leashed, muscular power of his long lean body as he’d sat opposite her in the limo . . .

Something kicked hard, right down low inside her, making her breath catch.

She wanted to shake her head, tell her gran he didn’t make her feel anything but fear. Yet that wasn’t strictly true. There was that insistent pull toward him, that fascination she didn’t want to acknowledge even to herself let alone anyone else.

“I’m not interested, Gran,” she said flatly. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Some of her dancer friends were all about the guys, and even though liaisons between dancers were frowned on in the particular company she danced with, everyone seemed to be fine with sleeping with everyone else. Not her though. She always kept right out of it. Sex was another thing that made her feel anxious—and besides, she wanted to focus on dance, not men. Easy enough to do when she hadn’t met any she was interested in. And no, that hadn’t changed since scary Rafael de Santis had invited her to dinner.

Aurora gave a shrug. “Fine, I’m just an eighty-year-old woman who’s buried three husbands. What do I know?”

Instantly Ella felt bad. She wasn’t normally snarky or bad tempered with her grandmother. She wasn’t normally snarky or bad tempered, period. This was all Rafael’s fault.

“I’m sorry, Gran,” she said. “I’m just . . . mad about this.”

“I know.” The expression on Aurora’s face softened. “My advice is to have dinner with him. At least see what he wants. And who knows? Maybe you’ll able to use his interest to your advantage.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it, sweetheart. He wants something from you—something you’re not necessarily going to give him—and so he had to threaten you. Which means he must want it very badly.”

Yet another thought that made her anxious, since the thing he wanted badly appeared to be her.

Forcing away her anxiety, Ella lifted the cloak and put it on, drawing the soft fabric around her. And something inside her settled, like it always did whenever she put on a costume. When she was ready to perform, to dance, everything seemed easier, not to mention a hell of a lot simpler.

She wasn’t poor little Ella Hart, who’d lost two parents tragically within weeks of each other. Who had an ill grandmother to take care of as well as herself. Who was anxious about everything and who was tired of having to fight it all the goddamn time.

No, when she danced, she was Ella Hart, ballerina. Who wasn’t scared anymore, but brave. Who lost herself in the joy of the music, in the sheer physical challenge of the dance. Who could be Cinderella or Juliet or the Black Swan or any person she damn well wanted to be.

Today it would be Little Red Riding Hood. Who ending up killing the big bad wolf.

Ella fastened the cloak at her throat.

Maybe Gran was right. Maybe she should go to dinner. It would only be a couple of hours after all, and that did seem a small price to pay to be able to get to Paris. Anyway, apart from anything else, admitting she couldn’t go to dinner with Rafael de Santis because she was afraid of him was giving him far too much power, and there was no way she was doing that. She was afraid of a great many things, but he would not be one of them.

And who knew? Perhaps she could use whatever interest he had in her to her advantage. She wasn’t quite sure how yet, but it was certainly something to think about.

“This is true,” she said aloud. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

Aurora gave a short nod. “Good girl. Now, come closer and let me see you.”

Ella moved up beside the bed, then held her arms out to strike a pose. “Well? What do you think?”

Aurora smiled. “I think Red Riding Hood has the potential to give this particular wolf a run for his money.”