Ryan blinked, her smile fading somewhat. “You own it?”

“Yes, with my brother, Quintus.”

She waited for the punchline, a playful smirk, or any other sign that he was teasing her, but none came. Instead, his brow furrowed.

“This displeases you?”

Displease didn’t adequately describe the level of WTF she felt at learning that the guy she’d thought was such a gentleman owned a place where such hedonism thrived.

Disappointment did, though. She should have known he was too good to be true. Her old-fashioned, well-educated, mannerly date was actually Golden Beach’s own version of Bob Guccione.

Following that thought was a bizarre image of Tiberius lounging naked on a pile of fur rugs, surrounded by scantily clad, gorgeous women with hundred-dollar bills floating in the air like confetti.

Her stomach churned uncomfortably.

Instead of responding directly to his statement, she said, “Let me ask you something. That yacht we were on tonight; did you charter it, or do you own it?”

“Ryan ...”

“Answer the question, please.”

He exhaled. “It is mine, though I fail to see how that is relevant.”

No wonder he hadn’t balked at the cost of a few lost lobster bites or wasted rental fees. He was probably loaded. She wondered what else she had been wrong about, then realized she probably didn’t want to know.

“Oh, it’s relevant,” she murmured. “I was way, way off base. Here I thought you were someone I could ... Well, it’s not important.” She summoned a weak smile. “I guess I don’t really have a career in profiling, huh?”

Her little joke fell flat as she got up.

Tiberius stood, too, and blocked her path toward the kitchen. “Finish that statement, please. Someone with whom you could what, Ryan?”

He was so close. He smelled so good. Unfortunately, the “cons” column of her perfect guy checklist had filled up pretty quickly. Not that being super rich was a bad thing, but being the owner of a nightclub known for illicit activities? That was about as far from the slightly awkward, potential kindred soul she had thought she had found. How could she possibly be so wrong about someone?

“It’s getting late, Tiberius. Perhaps we should ...”

“Oh, we definitely should.” He gently cupped her jaw with his large hands then slowly lowered his head toward hers.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the vague notion that she should protest floated around, but it got lost in a jumble of hormone-hijacking pheromones or something.

He took his time, giving her plenty of opportunity to say or do something to stop him, but she didn’t. Instead, inexplicably, she allowed him to brush his lips across hers once, then twice. And when he tilted her head slightly to get a better angle, she reached up and gripped his biceps, not to push him away, but to pull him closer.

New visions danced in her head. Those of the two of them naked and doing wicked, wicked things. As if he could read her mind, he groaned and deepened the kiss.

By the time he pulled away, Ryan felt lightheaded, overheated, and aroused.

He stared deeply into her eyes for several long moments, then pressed his lips to her forehead and stepped back. Her body leaned forward without conscious thought, wanting more of that contact.

“If I stay even a moment longer, I will make every one of those visions a reality,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent bolts of want right between her legs. “You have many questions, and I will answer all of them, but not tonight. Until then, I ask only that you let go of your preconceived notions, Ryan Winslet, and see me with your own eyes. See me”—he took her hand in his and pressed it over her heart—“with this.”

Hours later, Ryan’s lips continued to tingle from his kiss. Her body felt hot and achy with unfulfilled desire, the desire that Tiberius had so easily stoked with a single, incredible kiss. It was like something out of her cherished paranormal romances.

He did it for her, no question, but she couldn’t afford to let her hormones blind her to the truth, not again.

Jason Martinez. That had been his name; just not his real name. He had been young and handsome in an edgy, Miami vice cop kind of way. Right out of the academy, she had been working a downtown beat. A routine prostitution bust had turned into a lead on a human trafficking ring. Intensive follow-up had corroborated the story and revealed a possible link to Nez. When sexy Special Agent Martinez had shown up to enlist her aid in a covert sting operation, she had been starry-eyed and eager to prove herself. They had waited all night in an abandoned warehouse with the majority of the local PD ... while six blocks away, three young women had been drugged and loaded onto a ship bound for South America. Jason had disappeared the next day, and the body of the real Special Agent Martinez had been discovered several days later.

The department had received a lot of bad publicity and had undergone a brutal internal investigation. Ryan had cooperated fully and was ultimately cleared of wrongdoing, but she had never forgotten. She had sworn she would never be duped by a handsome face and pretty words again.

Until now, that hadn’t been an issue.

Was Tiberius laying on the charm in the hopes of keeping the heat off Bait? Of wining and dining her and making her believe she was special so she would look the other way when something happened?

Even as her head considered the possibility, other parts of her rallied in protest. She didn’t want to believe Tiberius would use her that way. He did have secrets, though. Of that, she was absolutely certain.

He had said to listen to her heart. That he would answer all her questions. But could he be trusted? Was he genuinely interested in her, or was he just another accomplished con man? Until she discovered exactly why he was being so reticent, she would do well to proceed with extreme caution.

Tomorrow, she was going to do some digging. Unfortunately, she realized, she didn’t know his last name. Why hadn’t she asked for his last name? She added looking up the county records on Bait to her mental to-do list. He had said he owned it with someone else—his brother, Quintus. Tiberius and Quintus. Their parents were either really old-school or nuttier than Betty’s sugared pecans.

Wait ... Quintus. Q. Betty’s words: “Q is one of the owners.” Tiberius’s brother was the guy with the impressive package who had given Betty a private tour and sexed her up!

Well, hell.

That doesn’t mean Tiberius is the same way, her inner voice challenged. Siblings were often vastly different from one another. Betty’s older brother, for example, was nothing like his sex-crazed, outspoken sister. He was one of the most straight-laced, uptight, anal-retentive jerks she had ever met. Maybe this was a similar situation. Tiberius was the conservative, responsible one, while Quintus was the outgoing, good-time guy.

The unexpected ache in her chest suggested otherwise, but she could hope, right?