Twenty floors above Manhattan, Rafael clasped his hands behind his back and contemplated the view through the plate-glass windows of his favorite restaurant. Skyscrapers soared into the sky, luminous glass stalagmites thrusting into the night, neon glittering like jeweled bracelets around the base of each one.

There was no one else in the restaurant. He’d booked the whole place so he and Ella wouldn’t be disturbed. One of the perks of being one of New York’s most powerful men, not to mention one of the richest.

He was still slightly annoyed that she hadn’t called him like he’d asked, merely sending him a prim little text telling him that she would meet him for dinner, but to bear in mind that her schedule was severely curtained due to rehearsals for a production that her dance company was performing.

As if that would be a barrier. Silly girl.

He knew her rehearsal schedule better than she knew it herself—he’d had an employee of his figure it out for him—and there were plenty of opportunities for her to have dinner with him. He’d chosen the earliest available night and sent her the date, expecting her to argue, make up some lie about how she couldn’t just to mess with him. But she’d agreed without even a cursory protest.

He was disappointed about that, yes, he was. He wanted her to protest. He wanted her to put up at least some semblance of a fight. Ah well, there would be other occasions for her to give him the fight he wanted. He would make sure of it.

A prickle of awareness lifted the hairs at the back of his neck.

He smiled. She was here.

Slowly, he swung round.

Ella stood in the doorway to the restaurant, glancing around, an uncertain look on her lovely face. She hadn’t seen him yet since the lighting in front of the windows was deliberately dim so as to highlight the view beyond the glass. It allowed him a couple of moments to stare at her unnoticed, which he did. Shamelessly.

It was obvious she hadn’t dressed up for him in the slightest, wearing a pair of faded skinny jeans and a loose pale gray sweater, her black trench coat thrown over the top. Her wealth of blonde hair was caught up in a messy bun on her head, and she hadn’t spent any time at all on her makeup.

Not that he cared about that particularly, but it would have been nice if she’d at least made an effort for him. After all, he’d made an effort for her. His dark charcoal custom-made suit was one of his favorites, and he’d chosen a tie the same kind of blue as his eyes. He knew he looked good—and he wanted to, for her. This was a courtship after all.

Maybe he could make that a rule for the next date. He’d choose something beautiful for her to wear and ensure that she wore it.

Rafe watched silently as she took a few hesitating steps into the empty, silent restaurant. The deep, soft blue carpet absorbed the sound of her footfalls from the heavy black boots she wore, making the silence somehow more dense.

She stopped, her nervousness obvious in the way she clutched the battered black purse that hung over one shoulder. Her fingers were white, and the wide-eyed way she looked around made all his predator’s instincts sit up and pay attention.

It wouldn’t take much to cross the space between them and pull her down onto the floor. Her hair would look beautiful spread out on the blue carpet, as would her naked body and the silence rent by her screams of pleasure . . .

His heartbeat accelerated, thumping loudly in his head, hunger burning in his blood, making him want to snarl.

Christ, he’d waited so long for her already. Did he really have to wait even longer?

Patience.

Rafe adjusted the clasp of his hands behind his back, pinching the skin between his thumb and forefinger hard, the sharp bolt of pain a reminder. Yes, patience. That was the key, as his grandfather kept reminding him. Impulsive behavior, acting on his emotions, was a recipe for disaster—he’d learned that the hard way.

Only patience would get him what he wanted.

Forcing away the hunger and the restless driving need, he got himself back under control, using the pain to focus.

He wouldn’t move, wouldn’t announce himself. He’d wait to see if his Little Red, his bunny girl, would sense him.

Sure enough, her gaze came to his all of a sudden and she went still, shock and fear rippling over her small, precise features. Then it was gone and her chin jutted, a defiant expression taking its place.

He loved that, the quicksilver change. The vulnerability and then the armor that came down over the top of it, hiding it., protecting it.

“Being creepy again, I see,” she said. “Here’s a tip for you, Rafael. Standing around silently watching me isn’t going to work as a seduction technique.”

He smiled, liking her defiance. “And what would you know of seduction techniques, little virgin? Had many of them tried on you?”

Color washed over her skin. “I’m not a virgin. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“And a liar too. I can see this dinner is going to be interesting.”

She blushed even harder, which meant she’d definitely lied about not being a virgin. How satisfying. Being her first appealed to the primitive, territorial male in him, because in a great many ways, he’d considered her his from the first moment he’d seen her.

He moved finally, going to the table he’d had set up, the one in front of the biggest window with the best view. It was spread with a white tablecloth, solid-silver cutlery gleaming in the light, a spray of delicate white orchids in a glass vase in the middle. Simple and minimalist, yet luxurious. Perfect for her.

“Speaking of dinner”—he pulled out one of the chairs and waited behind it—“won’t you sit down?”

Another flash of uncertainty crossed her face, but it was gone again just as quickly. She came over to the table, pausing beside the chair yet not sitting, giving him a pointed look. It was clear she did not want him at her back.

He pretended to misunderstand. “Would you like me to take your coat?”

“No.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of said coat. “I don’t need you to push my chair in for me.”

“I’m being a gentleman here. Indulge me.”

She frowned, her gaze moving past his to the window. Her eyes widened, as if she’d only just noticed the magnificent view, and to his surprise, she took a couple of steps away, looking around the room as if searching for something. “I don’t want to sit there,” she muttered. “What about over by the wall?”

Rafe stared at her, trying to figure out what was wrong. Because something was. It didn’t look like she was being difficult, not this time. There was something about this table that she didn’t like. Was it the view? Perhaps she was afraid of heights?

“Scared, Little Red?” He kept his voice soft, watching her face.

Her gaze came back to his, a spark glittering in it. “No, of course not. I don’t want to be near a window in case . . . anyone sees us.”

“No one’s going to see us. Not this high up. And why would you care about anyone seeing us anyway?”

Her delicate jaw hardened, her hand moving restlessly on the strap of her purse. She looked at the window again then back to the table near the wall, obviously uncomfortable. Obviously not wanting to sit at this particular table.

Rafe studied her, intrigued by how on edge she was, mainly because it was in such contrast to how she was on stage. When she danced there was no hesitation, no holding back, and definitely none of this restless tension. What was going on? She’d been nervous in the limo, it was true, but not quite like this.

It’s you. You’re making her nervous.

Well, yes, he already knew that. And what’s more, he was bad enough that he liked that he did. Especially when it made her angry and she showed her claws. He just didn’t want that stiff politeness and distance, because anything was better than that.

“We could move,” he suggested. “Especially if you’re too scared to sit next to the window.”

She stared back and he could see the sharp glitter of anger in her eyes; clearly having her fear pointed out to her was not something she appreciated.

“Don’t be stupid,” she said in a tight voice. “I’m not scared. In fact, I’m quite happy to sit by the window.”

Brave girl. He approved. Though really, he shouldn’t have expected anything less. Since he’d watched her dance, he’d done a lot of research into ballet and had discovered that it was brutally hard work. Dancers were not as fragile as they looked, and that definitely included Ella.

He smiled, letting her see his approval whether that mattered to her or not. Then he inclined his head toward the chair. “By all means, sit.”

She shifted again, and again it was clear she did not want him standing there helping her with her seat.

Too bad. If she could talk back to him, she could definitely handle him pushing her seat in.

Rafe stayed right where he was, waiting politely. He played power games like this every day since taking over as CEO of DS Corp, and he was very, very good at them. One small dancer was not going to out-dominant him.

Eventually, she let out a sharp breath and sat herself down in the chair, straight-backed and precise, doing her best to pretend he wasn’t there. Smoothly, he pushed the chair in then allowed himself a moment to enjoy being near her. His hands gripping the chair back were close to her arms, his fingertips almost brushing the wool of her sweater, and he could smell the sweet rain-drenched-rose scent of her. The top of her head was level with his chest, and all he’d have to do was bend down to bury his face in the golden softness of her hair.

Patience, remember?

Oh yes, he remembered.

He moved away, going around the table to sit down opposite her. Then he made a discreet gesture, signaling to the restaurant staff that he was ready.

Ella fussed around with hanging her purse over the back of the chair then dealing with her coat, making a big production of hooking that over the back of the chair as well. It was clear to Rafe that sitting here made her very nervous and that she was using the movements to cover it.

He leaned back, watching as she fussed, amused.

A waiter appeared with menus and the champagne Rafe had ordered earlier, popping the cork and pouring two glasses before withdrawing as swiftly as he’d come.

Ella had picked up the menu, studying it intently, and Rafe noted that there was the slightest shake to it, as if her fingers were trembling.

He sighed and reached out, taking the menu from her and flipping it around, holding it for her so she could read it.

She scowled. “What did you do that for?”

“Because your hands are shaking. Making it quite difficult to read, I should imagine. Especially when you’re trying very hard not to show how terrified you are sitting here.”

“I am not ‘terrified.’”

“Then why are your hands shaking?”

“Because it’s cold.”

“It’s not. It’s seventy degrees in here.”

She glanced out over the empty restaurant. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“I hired the place out so we wouldn’t be disturbed, and don’t change the subject.”

Ella put her hands in her lap, probably to hide them from him, and sat back in her chair, studiously not looking at the menu he was holding out.

So, she was going to be a brat, was she? “Is that really how you’re going to handle this?” he inquired mildly. “You’re going to sit there looking sulky and pretending you’re not nervous?”

Her gaze flicked to his then away again. “I’m not sulky.”

“But you are nervous.”

She said nothing, looking down at her lap.

“It’s heights, isn’t it?” he persisted, because he wasn’t going to let her get away with sitting in silence. “You’re afraid of heights.”

“It might not be.” She shot him a dark look from underneath long gilded lashes. “It might be you.”

He smiled. “Is it me?”

“No, of course not.” Her gaze flickered yet again and she reached to pick up her napkin, shaking it out and smoothing it out over lap. “I don’t like you, it’s true. But I’m not scared of you.”

Little liar.

“Funny,” he murmured. “You never used to dislike me. Not when you were small.”

She kept fussing with the napkin, as if getting it all smooth and square was the most important thing in the universe. “I don’t remember that,” she said after a moment’s silence. “I don’t remember you at all.”

Something slid under his skin, something sharp, but he refused to examine the sensation. Who cared if she didn’t remember him? The past didn’t matter, only the present did. He would create new memories for her anyway.

Casually, he reached out and picked up his champagne glass. “I propose a toast.”

Ella eyed him warily. “To what?”

“What do you think? To us, Little Red. To getting to know each other again.”

She frowned. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? Aren’t you Red Riding Hood?”

“Not if that makes you the big bad wolf.”

Oh, she was absolutely delicious. If she kept being this sharp, he was going to have way more fun with her than he’d initially thought.

He gave her the usual charming Rafael de Santis smile, the one that always laid waste to people and put them on his team. Permanently. “You want to know what I think?”

“Not really.”

“I think,” he went on, ignoring her, “that you love the idea of me being the big bad wolf. I think that you love the idea of me hunting you, and that you can’t wait to run because you’re desperate for me to chase you. You’re hoping I’ll bring you down.” He held her wary gray gaze with his. “But don’t worry, Little Red. That’ll happen.” He let some of the predator into his smile. “You just have to be patient.”

* * *

Ella couldn’t look away from him. Her heart was racing and there was something about his smooth, dark voice that was absolutely hypnotic. There was something in his smile too, and in those uncanny silver blue eyes. Something that made her mouth go dry and made her very aware that she was all alone in a deserted restaurant. With him.

He was right. She was scared of him and no amount of telling herself otherwise was going to change the fact. Every threat sense she had was going haywire, telling her that he wasn’t to be trusted. That he was bad. That he would hurt her in ways she couldn’t possibly imagine and that the best thing for her to do was to get up and leave. Now. While she could.

Yet, way down deep inside, that part of her that had always felt drawn to him found all of this absolutely thrilling. Found him thrilling. As if it liked being scared, which was crazy when her anxiety issues had caused her all sorts of problems.

Of course she didn’t like being scared. She hated it, even. Hated how it had taken her at least a couple of hours to get up the courage to get a taxi to the address of the restaurant he’d given her, then another ten minutes to force herself into the elevator. She hated elevators. And tall buildings. Heights of any kind made her mouth go dry with fear, let alone great expanses of plate glass that gave uninterrupted views of said heights.

She’d been weak-kneed with relief when she’d gotten out of the elevator, only to feel the anxiety gather again as she’d taken a few steps into the empty restaurant, the silence and the way the thick carpet seemed to absorb any and all sound somewhat eerie.

Then she’d seen him standing by the windows, tall and powerful and so, so still. The lights of the city had been behind him, his face in shadow, and she had the oddest sense that by coming here, by giving into his wishes, she’d taken a step she couldn’t come back from. That there would be no escaping this man, no matter how hard she tried to run.

You love the idea of me hunting you . . .

Ella swallowed.

He stared at her from across the table, sitting carelessly relaxed with his long fingers curled around his champagne flute and smiling. Yet there was nothing relaxed about the look in his eyes or the edge in that smile. It was clear he believed every word he said.

He’s right. You do love it. And you do want him to catch you.

“Well, that’s not true,” she said aloud, hoping her voice didn’t sound as scratchy and shaky as she thought it did. “You don’t know what I like. You don’t know the first thing about me.”

He tilted his head, his gaze unblinking. “I used to.”

Oh and she really didn’t like him reminding her of things she had no memory of. Such as how she’d once apparently had no fear of him at all. It bothered her that he remembered that and she didn’t.

“Like I said, I don’t remember that. It’s been a long time since I was . . . what, two?”

He lifted a shoulder as if to say that didn’t matter. “So tell me then. What’s the first thing I should know about the adult Ella Hart?”

“That I don’t like you.”

“I know that already. What don’t you like about me?”

She took a silent breath, trying to give herself a moment to think, because she didn’t want to give him the truth—that he scared her—even though he’d probably guessed that already. Still, saying it out loud felt like admitting a weakness and she really didn’t want to do that, not to a predator like him.

“I don’t like that you’re a . . . a fake,” she began hesitantly, finding it difficult to articulate. “That you’re pretending to be someone you’re not. You don’t actually like people, you only like to play with them.”

If he found her words offensive, he gave no sign. In fact, he smiled, as if she’d said something amusing. “And you’ve based this off of . . . what? Your wide and varied experience of me?”

She could feel her cheeks getting hot. Okay, no, she’d never really spent any time with him, so she didn’t know him per se. But she’d seen him interact with people. She’d seen the sharpness in his smile and the hungry glitter in his eyes. She knew all that charm was a front, a façade to lull people into a false sense of security.

Or those could just be the excuses you’re looking for so you don’t have to admit how drawn to him you are.

No, that was ridiculous. Her parents had told her that he was dangerous and she hadn’t seen any reason to disbelieve them. In fact, given how unsettled her made her, she thought they were probably right.

“I’ve seen you at . . . things, Rafael. I’ve seen the way you behave. You’re not quite as charming as you like to think you are.”

“So you watched me then?” He grinned and she felt herself blush yet again, not quite knowing what to say to that, because yes, by admission she had been watching him.

Just like you can’t take your eyes off him even now.

Wrong. She could take her eyes off him. Easily. To prove it to herself, she tore her gaze away and looked down at her lap, smoothing her napkin.

“Perhaps if you got to know me better, you wouldn’t think of me as a fake at all,” he said. “I mean, that is the whole point of this dinner.”

“I don’t want to get to know you.” She flicked out a corner of the napkin that had gotten folded over. “I’m only here because you’re not going to give me the money to go to Paris unless I have dinner with you.”

“This is very true,” he agreed, sounding in no way ashamed of that fact. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to it.”

Ella lifted her head. “Get used to what?”

That sharp, hungry smile was playing around his mouth, his eyes glittering in the light coming through the window from the city outside. The city she’d momentarily forgotten about.

He didn’t say anything immediately, merely leaned forward and knocked the rim of his champagne glass against hers. “A toast, like I said. To new beginnings.”

She didn’t move, a shiver coursing the length of her spine as he raised his glass and took a sip, staring at her from over the top of it. It made her anxiety curl tightly inside her, along with a sharp, hot feeling that she refused to acknowledge.

“Drink, Ella.”

“No. Not until you tell me what I have to get used to.”

“What do you think I meant? Spending a summer at the Paris Conservatory is expensive, and yes, I’ve investigated exactly how much it is. If you want to go, you’re going to have to convince me that it’s worth the money.”

“But it’s my money,” she pointed out, irritated.

He lifted a shoulder. “Your father entrusted it to my father for a reason. Presumably to protect your fortune.”

Anger began to bloom inside her. He was just so . . . arrogant. How dare he tell her what to do with her own money. How dare he. She’d been managing herself for years now and that included the meager wages she got as a dancer. She was perfectly able to deal with her own finances, and what she did not need was him coming in and telling her what to do.

She was the one in control of her life, not him.

“What?” she demanded. “You think I’m some kind of spoiled trust fund baby, wanting Porsches and diamonds and furs?”

The bastard only smiled calmly at her. “Requests for Porsches, diamonds, and furs will be denied. I’d have thought you’d have better taste than that.”

“That’s not the point.” She leaned forward, waving a finger at him. “The only things I have asked for have been dance related and—”

“I know you’re angry,” he interrupted, his tone mild. “You’re used to pleasing no one but your bad self and now you have to report to me. I understand how annoying that must be for you. Nevertheless . . .” His gaze sharpened, the relaxed quality of his stillness changing, a tension gathering about him. A dangerous tension. “The fact of the matter is that you’ve had it far too easy, for far too long. My father let you have anything you wanted without question, which is all very nice for you, but not much of a learning experience. Which is why I’m going to be doing things differently.” With a short, precise movement, he put his wine glass down on the table. “From now on, when you want something, you’re going to have to make a case for it. You’re going to have to convince me that it’s absolutely necessary for your career and continued personal development.”

Anger burned inside her like a magnesium flare, white hot and bright. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so furious. For the last five years, since her parents’ deaths, she’d been the one looking after herself and her grandmother. There had been no one else to help her, no one else to confide in when things had gotten tough. She’d had to do everything herself. When her grandmother had had the stroke that had curtailed the last of her physical independence, it had been Ella who’d called the ambulance. And it had been Ella who’d cared for her since.

And now this . . . asshole was treating her like a spoiled rich brat who knew nothing about anything. It was enraging.

“I don’t need ‘learning experiences,’” she said through gritted teeth. “I know how to manage money.”

Rafael raised one dark brow. “Do you? You’ve had a lot of experience dealing with large sums of cash then?”

Her palm itched and she wished she had the guts to crack it across his stupid, handsome face. Either that or upend her untouched champagne over his head.

But she didn’t have the guts. She was nervous, anxious Ella, who’d thought she’d been doing pretty well all things considered, until this . . . bastard had come into her life.

“I don’t need to sit here and listen to this.” She shoved back her chair and got to her feet, a dim part of her vaguely shocked once again by the intensity of her anger, not to mention puzzled about where it was coming from. But she was too furious to examine the feeling.

Rafael merely watched her with mild interest. “Ah, right. I guess we’ve reached the stage of the evening where you storm off in a huff. I must admit, I’d thought that would happen later, after I point out that a kiss is mandatory.”

A kiss? Was he serious?

Ella opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought about mandatory kisses, but was too angry to speak so she shut it again.

Instead she grabbed her coat and her purse, turned in the direction of the door, and walked determinedly toward it.

“How predictable of you.” Rafael sighed. “I was hoping you might be a bit more unexpected than that. But I guess I should have known that a little bunny girl like you couldn’t deal.”

Bunny girl?

He thinks you’re a coward—which, of course, you are.

It shouldn’t have mattered what he thought of her, yet a small splinter of hurt lodged inside her all the same. Yes, she was afraid, but that was not the same as being a coward.

So why are you running then?

The thought made her even angrier because under all her rage, a part of her knew the truth. That she was finding this—him and his orders—far too scary, and instead of trying to overcome it, she was letting the fear win and covering it with anger.

But so? Sometimes it was better to run. To get somewhere safe and examine the situation in retrospect where it didn’t feel quite so threatening.

“I suppose this means you don’t want to go to Paris after all,” Rafael murmured just as she reached the door.

Despite herself, the soft, lazy words wrapped around her, catching her. Holding her still.

“Because if you walk out that door, I’ll be refusing your request for money,” he went on in the same, unhurried tone. “Make no mistake, Little Red. I meant what I said when I told you what I wanted from you.”

Her heart thudded hard.

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

“I could get money.” She had to work to keep the shake out of her voice this time, keeping her back to him. “I don’t need you.”

He laughed, the sound soft and disturbingly sexy, making a shiver chase itself over her skin. “Could you? What could you do to get it, I wonder? Be a waitress in a diner? Clean the floors in office buildings?”

Wait. He sounded . . . closer. Was he walking toward her?

She tensed, suddenly breathless, every instinct telling her to run and yet her pride holding her rooted to the spot. Because she wasn’t a coward, she wasn’t.

“Or you could work behind the counter in a high-end fashion store. Take a position as someone’s secretary. But let’s not be sexist here. You could be a cop. Or a firefighter. Or, hell, get into politics. The world is your oyster after all, Ella. You have such a wide depth and breadth of experience, you could do anything.”

Yes, he was definitely close now, she could sense him. Very, very close.

Her heart thudded even harder and she struggled to catch her breath, refusing to move. Refusing to give into the fear tangling inside her.

She could feel his heat at her back, smell the dark, spicy scent of his aftershave. It was subtle, intoxicating, making something turn over inside her. Something that made the fear inside her get even worse.

No, she did not want to feel that.

“You’re right.” Oh God, her voice sounded hoarse. “I could do any of those things. And maybe I will.”

There was a silence behind her, and she didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to see how close he was.

“So go then.” His voice was very, very near. Deep, dark. Hypnotic. “Walk out right now.”

She should. She should do it just to show him. To prove to him that she wasn’t to be manipulated or intimidated, that she had options.

You have no options, and you and he both know it.

Ella stood there stiffly, staring at the exit, rage and fear burning a hole inside her. Leaving would mean she could kiss goodbye her chances of going to Paris, but staying, staying would mean she had to deal with him.

You’re not a coward, are you?

No. Hell no. If she could handle her anxiety issues, then she could definitely handle him. And she damn well would.

Ella swallowed hard. Then gripping her purse tightly, she turned around.

And all the breath left her lungs.

Rafael was standing bare inches away. He was so tall, she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, making her intensely aware of how small she was. How fragile, too, in comparison with his wide shoulders and broad chest. He radiated power, strength, and an intense, vital energy that made her feel literally weak at the knees.

Panic fluttered in her throat, though she had no idea what exactly she was panicking about.

Trying to wrestle the fear back under control, she forced herself to meet his silver blue gaze and hold it. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay. But I am not a goddamn bunny.”

His beautiful, cruel mouth curved, a gentle mockery of a smile . “Yes, you are. You’re very scared, Little Red. I can see it in your eyes.”

“No, I’m not—” she began, only to have the words die in her throat as he calmly lifted a hand and cupped the side of her jaw in his palm. The heat of his touch was astonishing, making every inch of her bare skin tingle where it was contact with his.

“You were afraid to come here tonight,” he went on in his dark-honey voice. “ Afraid to sit down at this table. Afraid to talk to me. Afraid of me making demands on you. Afraid of what I might ask you to do. So very afraid.” His long fingers curved under her jaw, his thumb tracing a burning line across her cheekbone. “That’s why you’re so angry with me. You’re trying to hide your fear, hoping I won’t see it. But I do, Little Red. I see it in your eyes very clearly.”

She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. She could barely breathe. The entire world had narrowed down to the touch of his fingers on her skin, that point of contact burning brightly like a star, like the lights of the city beyond the windows.

His gaze searched hers. “What makes you so scared, Ella? What are you really frightened of?”

She couldn’t answer, because the strangest feeling was sweeping through her. As if something tight and knotted deep inside her was unraveling, the scared, frightened part of her relaxing. It made no sense, absolutely no sense at all, especially when she’d been so angry and afraid. Yet for some reason, the touch of his hand was like cool water on sunburn, easing the frantic buzz of emotion. Her anxiety began to fade in response, a weird calm taking its place, and she had the oddest thought that now she didn’t have to worry about anything, because he was here.

Ella blinked up at him, confused. Why did she feel like this? Nothing had changed. He was still holding her Paris dream over her head to get her to do what he wanted and he still made her feel uneasy, yet . . .

“You,” she heard herself say thickly, his touch somehow drawing honesty from her whether she wanted it to or not. “I’m afraid of you.”

“Why?” His thumb moved on her cheek again, making her tremble. Making her want to lean into his palm, because he felt so hot and so strong, and some part of her found that insanely reassuring. “I would never hurt you, Ella. That’s not why I’m doing this. Surely you know that?”

He wasn’t holding her. She could pull away from his touch at any time. Yet she didn’t. She just stood there, letting his thumb stroke back and forth across her cheek. Almost as if . . . she liked it.

How? How could she like it? She didn’t like him. “I don’t . . . trust you,” she forced out. “And I don’t want to do any of the things you’re asking me to do.”

“What? Sit down and have dinner with me? Talk to me? Interact with me the way you would with any other human being?”

It all sounded so reasonable, nothing to be anxious about, so why was she being so ridiculous? God, the warmth of his palm against her cheek felt so good. She wanted to close her eyes, let the heat of his touch seep through her, because she felt cold and she hadn’t realized how cold she was until now.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, the words feeling thick and unwieldy on her tongue. Her gaze had dropped to his mouth and she found herself staring at it. At the shape of his bottom lip, the full curve of it surprisingly sensual.

“Or maybe it’s what else I might ask of you that you’re scared about.” He must have followed her gaze because his thumb shifted, trailing down the side of her cheek to her mouth, tracing her own bottom lip lightly. “I did already make it clear that I want you, so that shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

“Why do you want me?” Her lip was tingling, the sensation getting worse with each pass of his thumb, sending sparks of electricity through her. “We barely know each other.”

“It’s true that you don’t know me. But I know you, Little Red. I’ve been watching you for a very long time.”

He’d been watching her? How? Why?

Her brain struggled to catch up with what he was saying, but she couldn’t seem to focus, not when his thumb was stroking back and forth. “I don’t want to sleep with you,” she said, more to herself that to him.

“I know you don’t. Yet you don’t apparently mind me touching you right now.” His thumb paused in the middle of her bottom lip and he pressed down very, very gently, as if testing the give of her flesh.

Ella didn’t understand what was happening to her. One minute she’d been angrily storming out, the next he’d cupped her jaw in one large, warm palm and she was simply . . . letting him.

His touch was calm and unhurried, a fine tremor taking hold of her. But this time it wasn’t fear, she knew that much. She wanted to not only lean into his hand, but into him. Into that tall, powerful body inches away from her. Rest against him. Let him deal with her fears, all the terrible anxieties that made simply stepping outside her door difficult at times. The fears that something bad would happen to her, leaving Aurora on her own, or that something bad would happen to Aurora and she would be the one alone. Fears of random things like car accidents or subway crashes. Or slipping on an icy street and a headache that wouldn’t go away . . .

So many things to be worried about. So many things to be afraid of.

Another warm palm slid along the side of her jaw, long fingers lightly brushing the side of her neck. She found her head was being gently tilted back, Rafael’s black, winged brows and intense blue gray eyes filling her vision. “I understand that the change of guardianship has come as a shock to you. But you’re going to have to get used to the idea of me being around a lot more than my father, not to mention being a hell of a lot more involved in your guardianship.” His thumbs stroked along her jawline, caressing her. “Tonight though, we’ll go slow. If you sit down and have dinner with me, talk with me, you can give me that kiss on another night.”

A kiss . . . Her attention focused on his mouth automatically at the mention of the word, another thrill chasing down her spine.

No. He couldn’t ask that of her. She’d never kissed anyone in her entire life, had steered clear of all sorts of entanglements because she had a dream and that dream came first. And she did not want her first kiss to be with him. With a man she didn’t like and didn’t trust.

A man who scared her.

Except you’re not scared now.

Ella swallowed, her mouth bone dry. No, she wasn’t scared. It was something else entirely she was feeling.

“I don’t want to have dinner,” she forced out, struggling to get control of herself, to hold onto the anger, not the insidious warmth creeping through her. “You need to let me go home. Now.”

He shook his head slowly, the expression on his face almost regretful. “No. That’s not how it works.”

Oh God. She couldn’t sit there with him and eat dinner and talk as if he hadn’t touched her. As if she didn’t feel this weakness stealing through her. He was so close and so warm and she was so confused. She shouldn’t be feeling reassured by him. He was dangerous, every instinct in her told her it was true.

She had to get away from him, and the sooner the better. But how could she when he’d told her she had to sit down and have a meal with him?

Remember what Gran said? About using what he wants against him?

An idea came to her. A scary idea, especially if he agreed. But then she’d much rather a minute of scariness than a whole two hours of having to sit across the table and stare into that intense, demanding gaze of his.

“F-Fine,” she said unsteadily. “How about this then? If you let me go home without having to have dinner with you, then you can have that kiss. Right now.”