She was not what Lorenzo was expecting, though quite what he had been expecting, he couldn’t have said. He only knew that the young woman who’d stepped into his office, closing the doors carefully behind her, was not it.

He couldn’t remember exactly the last time he’d seen Kira Constantin. Certainly, he’d seen her as a young teenager, but that had been around the time when he’d first met Katie and he hadn’t paid much attention to anyone when that had been happening.

Kira had been a delicate, porcelain doll as a child, with the kind of white skin that looked as if a strong wind would bruise it and long, silky, platinum blonde hair that most adult women paid hundreds of dollars for in hair salons all over the world. She’d had eyes the deep, intense blue of delphiniums, her stare wide-eyed and innocent. Guileless.

She’d been a fidgety kid, prone to emotional outbursts and temper tantrums that her parents completely ignored, an approach that only seemed to make them worse. He’d had to step in to distract her on a number of occasions, much to his irritation, but since the Constantins didn’t appear to notice that ignoring her only exacerbated her behavior, he’d had to in order to get any peace.

Lorenzo had asked Ivan once, after one of her outbursts, if there was anything the matter with her, because her behavior reminded him of his brother Rafe. But Ivan had simply told him that Kira had been spoiled rotten by her mother, and that giving her attention only fed into it.

Something had never quite rung true about that explanation to Lorenzo, but back then, in love for the first time in his life, he’d decided it wasn’t his problem. He had other, more important things to worry about than the correct discipline for someone else’s child.

Pity it had taken the loss of Katie to show him what a selfish little prick he’d once been. A man who hadn’t thought that controlling his own needs and desires was necessary.

A man who’d been just as unmanageable and headstrong as Kira Constantin had been.

Christ, he had no patience for people like that. Not anymore.

He eyed Kira from his position by the windows.

She wasn’t at all like the pretty, volatile teenage girl that he vaguely remembered. Tall and slender—maybe too slender—and dressed in a navy pencil skirt and a very plain, white button blouse, her platinum hair had been raked back and coiled in a prim little bun on the back of her head. One lock had somehow escaped and was now hanging by her ear.

Her face was almost the same color as her hair, white and with a strained look to it. She looked washed out, the delphinium blue of her eyes like a piece of blue fabric put through the laundry too many times, becoming faded and near to a dirty gray. The lipstick she wore didn’t help, its orangey tint doing her no favors whatsoever.

Even her voice sounded colorless, all faint and uncertain. Hello, Mr. de Santis.

He couldn’t have imagined a more unlikely looking spy.

Yet . . . there was something about her that held his attention. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. As a kid, she’d been in constant movement, a livewire of energy, and it was like that energy was still there. He could almost sense it. An electricity that vibrated through her, that her stiff posture and washed-out appearance couldn’t quite hide.

Letting the silence in the room stretch, he studied her.

When he’d told Ivan the previous day that he wanted to meet with her before she took up her position as an intern, Ivan had readily agreed. Lorenzo had been careful to make it sound like he’d simply wanted an informal, getting-to-know-you chat, but in reality, he’d wanted the meeting to check her out, see if he could confirm his suspicions.

If his father was trying to find out what Lorenzo knew, he’d have better luck asking him straight up than sending in this girl. And if Cesare had been hoping for the honey trap angle, he was going to be sadly disappointed.

Kira Constantin was hardly Mata Hari.

Lorenzo wouldn’t have been interested in any case. He had a lover he called when he needed one—an artist friend called Sian—who was happy to provide a couple of hours of physical pleasure, no strings. He didn’t need this poor, washed-out dishrag.

The silence was getting uncomfortable now—for her.

He didn’t mind it. Silence was useful. It made people say things they ordinarily wouldn’t just to break the awkwardness.

A stain of color appeared on Kira’s high, pale cheekbones.

“S-So,” she said hesitantly. “Do you want me to sit down?”

“Do you want to sit down?”

She stared at him, obviously flustered. “I guess. I mean, yes. I would.”

Strange. Where had this hesitancy come from? Was she nervous? He certainly couldn’t recall her being either. She’d been full of opinions and thoughts, not hesitant in the least about sharing them with anyone who’d listen. Even if the listener hadn’t wanted to hear them.

Not that it mattered to him whether she was nervous or not. He wasn’t here to make her comfortable.

He gestured toward the desk and she moved carefully over to one of the leather armchairs opposite it, wobbling on the black kitten heels she wore. She kept her head down, a black leather folder clutched tightly in one long-fingered hand.

He couldn’t imagine what was in that folder. He already had her whole resume since Ivan had forwarded it to him in another pointless gesture toward the charade. There had been no reason to look at it, so he hadn’t.

Kira sat, smoothing her skirt down and laying the folder carefully in her lap. That loose, pale lock of hair grazed the side of her cheek, nearly touching the line of her delicate jaw

Something kicked inside him, a jolt of sensation he couldn’t quite identify.

Irritated, he ignored it.

“Tell me why you’re here.” He didn’t bother to make it sound anything less like the order it was.

She gave a little shiver, as if the sound of his voice had given her a tiny shock. “Didn’t Dad mention it?”

“Your own words, please.”

“Oh . . . sure.” Her delicate fingers had started tapping in a fast rhythm on her folder, an unconscious movement he thought, because as she looked down at her hands, the tapping stopped abruptly. “I’m here to take up an internship in your department that Dad organized for me.” Her voice was soft, measured. “But Dad said you wanted to interview me first, so here I am.” As she spoke, those delicate fingers quivered, as if they wanted to move again and she was holding them back.

He found that fascinating, though why he couldn’t have said.

What he should be doing was making her tell him her real reason for being here—if she was indeed the spy he suspected she was. It wouldn’t take much in the way of pressure to make her crack, certainly not given how nervous and hesitant she already was.

Then again, that could be an act.

He moved closer to her chair, watching her.

Her eyes widened as he approached, her gaze flicking down the length of his body before returning to his face. Not a sexual look, he didn’t think. More as if he were a dangerous animal she wasn’t sure of.

Good. Keep her thinking that.

“Yes, I did want to interview you first,” he murmured, stopping not far from her chair. “Tell me why I should take you on.”

She gave a tiny nod as if this was a question she’d expected. “Okay, so while I was at Brown, I majored in business and entrepreneurship. I’m very keen to have some practical experience to add to what I learned at college.” Her voice was firmer this time, as if this was a script she’d learned and repeated many times.

Coached by Ivan no doubt.

“I’m a hard worker,” she continued. “I’m also reliable, punctual. And I’m extremely willing to learn.”

He circled around behind her as she went on, not listening. Because it didn’t matter what her strengths were. He wanted to know her weaknesses. They could be used, could be exploited.

Kira continued talking, but he wasn’t paying attention, his gaze falling to her exposed nape. She had a long, elegant neck, pale and slender, and some blonde wisps of hair had escaped from the bun on top of her head, clustering there like down.

Fragile . . .

All of her seemed fragile. Like she was made out of fine bone china and one blow would shatter her completely.

Something coiled in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t immediately identify. Was it sympathy? He didn’t think so. He didn’t feel things like that anymore, not since Katie had died. And anyway, what would he feel sympathetic toward her about? Her uncertainty? Her nervousness? No, he didn’t give a shit about that. In fact, she’d better get used to feelings that were unpleasant since life was full of them. He wasn’t here to sugarcoat them or coddle her the way colleges did with their students these days.

He wanted to feed her misinformation, which she could then feed back to Cesare. Hell, perhaps that might be the way to get the proof he needed of his father’s guilt.

Apparently, his father was very good at covering his tracks. The prick.

Lorenzo’s gaze fell once again to the vulnerable back of Kira’s neck, to the wispy locks of hair there, curling slightly from the heat of her body.

Another strange sensation went through him. Another kick. Another jolt. The inexplicable need to touch one of those delicate wisps of hair, to curl it around his finger, maybe pull it gently. Would she make a sound if he did? Would she gasp?

What the fuck are you thinking that for?

He went very still, momentarily stunned as a very distinct wave of heat washed over him. An unmistakable heat. And he realized that she’d stopped speaking, and that given the quality of the silence, she’d been quiet for longer than a couple of moments.

While he’d been standing there staring at the back of her neck.

“Is . . . that okay?” Her shoulders hunched very slightly, as if she’d been able to feel the weight of his stare. “Do you want to hear any more?”

Lorenzo turned and paced back to the windows, keeping his back to her, detaching himself from the inappropriate rush of sexual attraction the way he did with all unwanted emotions.

He couldn’t figure out where it had come from or why he should feel it for this pale, colorless woman. She was Ivan’s daughter for Christ’s sake, and regardless of what she was like now, he despised people who did whatever they wanted without thought to the consequences. As well he knew, since he’d been one of those people.

Perhaps it was only because he hadn’t visited Sian for a while. Maybe he should give her a call tonight after work, see if she was available.

“No,” he said after a moment. “I don’t need to hear anymore.” He turned around, pinning her with his gaze. “It all sounds good, Kira, but that’s not what I’ve heard about you from different sources.”

Color deepened on her cheekbones, making her eyes look bluer all of a sudden, the intense delphinium he remembered. “What sources?”

The question held a sharp edge. He ignored it. “I heard that you . . . didn’t take your studies very seriously, let’s say.”

The flush on her cheeks became scarlet and she looked down at her lap, where her fingers were now pressing hard against the black leather of her folder, the tips white. “Oh, yes. That.”

He waited, watching her. Was she going to admit to it? If she’d been an intern he’d been serious about taking on, he would have been grilling her much harder about her behavior. Then again, no he wouldn’t. Because he wouldn’t be taking her on as a serious intern, period.

“I didn’t get the grades I should have, no.” Her voice was very quiet. “But, I learned a . . . hard lesson not long ago and afterwards, I realized I needed to change.” She lifted her head, meeting his gaze very deliberately. “Please know that I’m not that person anymore. All I’m looking for is a second chance.”

He knew the lesson she’d learned, and if he’d been a warmer, kinder man, he might have touched on it, told her he was sorry, maybe even shared the fact that he knew what loss was like. That everyone deserved a second chance.

But he was none of those things, and his losses were no one’s but his to know, and as for second chances . . . Well, he didn’t deserve one, so why should she?

So all he said was “You better not be. I have high standards for those who work with me and you’re no exception. I don’t play favorites, Kira. And if you think you’ll have an easier time of it just because you’re Ivan’s daughter, you can think again.”

Something flashed in her eyes, an electric spark of what could have been annoyance, but it was gone before he could tell for sure. “I understand,” she said flatly.

“Be sure that you do. I expect you to be on time, every day. I expect you to do whatever you are told, no argument. We work long hours here, and I expect you to do the same. There will no time for your friends or parties, or whatever the hell it is you do with yourself after hours.”

“I know what’s expected, Mr. de Santis. Believe me, I know.” There was a husky note in her voice this time, a slight rasp of something that caught at him, that pulled him. Was it defiance? Annoyance? Irritation?

Jesus, why did he even care? He didn’t like it when he encountered opposition, so why that small spark in her eyes make him feel . . . intrigued, was anyone’s guess.

“Do you?” he inquired coldly. “Then you’ll also know that I don’t tolerate insubordination. I don’t like my employees arguing with me, do you understand? I make the decisions, I make the rules. That’s how it works here.”

Her mouth had firmed and he found himself staring at the shape of it because it was quite exquisite, all full and soft and pouty, despite the unflattering shade of lipstick she’d painted over the top of it. Perhaps she was going to say something ill-advised?

He realized he was almost hoping for it.

But she didn’t. Instead she looked back down at the folder in her hand once more. “Of course.” The husky, defiant note had gone from her voice, the words sounding toneless.

He didn’t like that, though why, he didn’t quite know. Certainly, he’d preferred her to be biddable and quiet, rather than having his time taken up dealing with the dramatic outbursts he remembered from when she was a child.

That loose lock of hair by her ear had slid forward and was now hanging over one eyebrow, the sunlight coming through the windows behind it making it gleam like a stripe of fresh snow. Beautiful.

His gaze drifted down before he could help himself, following the lock of hair to her elegant neck, then down to the hollow of her throat. She’d left the top button of her blouse undone and the second button looked like it was coming out too, halfway out of the buttonhole. She breathed in, her breasts pressing against the cotton, the button straining . . .

She was so pale. A white statue carved out of marble. Sleeping Beauty waiting for a kiss. Yet he could sense that energy inside her, fierce and hot, like a fire burning behind on the other side of a closed door.

What would happen if he opened that door? If he touched her and let the fire out? Would she remain pale? Or would she blush like a rose? Would the color of her eyes deepen? Would she burn . . . ?

But no. He wasn’t going to do any of that. She might have absolutely no self-control, but he did and he kept his desires firmly in check these days. And besides, aside from the fact that she was potentially a spy for his father and his soon-to-be-intern, she was also pretty much the opposite of women he was usually sexually attracted to.

He liked his beauties very much awake, rather than sleeping. He liked them confident, assured, and impeccably turned out. Not fragile and uncertain, with loose locks of hair and gaping buttons.

Not as if all that was needed was one touch to make the fire burn high.

Lorenzo turned back to the view of Manhattan, ignoring the hot rush of blood in his veins, sliding his hands into his pockets and clenching them into fists.

Tonight. He would call Sian tonight.

“You can go now,” he ordered flatly.

* * *

It took Kira a second to process the fact that she’d been dismissed. Her heart was beating hard in her chest, the sound of it echoing so loudly through her head she could barely hear what he’d said.

She was still recovering from the way he’d stalked around her, standing right behind her, making her feel like nothing so much as a goat tethered to a stake as bait for a hungry tiger.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off her, not once, and she knew because she’d felt the weight of his stare like a pressure, as if someone was pressing steadily and firmly down on the back of her neck.

Once, she’d loved that attention. Loved his smile and the warm rush of happiness it had given her, as she’d handed him another folded paper crane and he’d told her she’d done well.

But it hadn’t been like that now. He hadn’t smiled, and she didn’t feel either warm or happy. His attention made her feel like she was freezing and suffocating at the same time. As if she was being judged and found wanting.

Remind you of anyone?

Yeah, her father and the terrible interviews he used to conduct, where he’d call her into his office to discuss her latest report card, her latest failure. His expression had always been cold, unsmiling, and stern with disapproval . . .

Kira, her gut churning with old memories, had barely paid any attention to what she’d been saying in Lorenzo’s office, the words just tumbling out of her mouth, afraid of what it was that she’d done to earn that terrible judgment.

No need to wonder, though. She knew. Deep down inside, she knew.

He must have heard about the car accident and her role in it.

The thought made her feel sick, because even now she couldn’t shake the need gathering inside her. The need for his smile and the patience he’d once shown her as a child. The need for some kindness and a bit of care.

But there was no chance of that, not now.

She’d disappointed him the way she’d disappointed everyone else in her goddamn life.

Then, as if to make things worse, she’d become very conscious of how close he’d been standing, and how she’d been able to smell his aftershave, a dark, sensual, sandalwood and musk combination. The scent had made her mouth go bone dry and heat turn over inside her.

The contrast between his cold stare and the warmth of his scent had confused her, and it had been a relief when he’d suddenly turned and stalked back to the windows. The way he moved, fluid and predatory, made him seem like that tiger she’d imagined, and she hadn’t been able to drag her gaze away from him.

She took a calming breath, staring at his tall, broad figure, starkly outlined against the brilliant blue of the sky beyond the glass.

So . . . that was it? Had she screwed this up the way she screwed everything up?

Her father had told her that she was to use this interview to make a good impression and that it was essential she do so. Because she was going to have to gain Lorenzo’s trust. Without his trust, he wouldn’t let down his guard and she wouldn’t be able to get the information her father wanted. The information that would prove Lorenzo was moving against his own father.

God, she had to get this right, otherwise she wouldn’t be getting any money and without money she wouldn’t be able to set up those classes that she’d been planning on.

It had been something she’d decided on after the accident, during those long hours spent waiting at the hospital while her friends had been in surgery.

She’d reflected on her life and all the mistakes she’d made. The selfish anger that had fueled her as a teenager and those last few years of college. Her frustration with her father’s insistence that she get a degree, even though she didn’t have the academic ability. But she’d gone to college anyway, because she just couldn’t bring herself to refuse and disappoint him, even though everything she’d done in her life had disappointed him.

It was as if she’d had this burning need to set herself up for failure, every goddamn time.

And fail she had. Every exam she’d taken, even though she’d tried, even though she’d worked so hard to sit still and concentrate, to study and get good grades the way her friends all seemed to do. But trying hadn’t made any difference. It never did.

It was easier to be the disappointment they’d always thought her and blame everything on her ADHD.

At least until the accident had happened and she’d been given one hell of a wake-up call.

She’d understood then that being a disappointment didn’t absolve her from responsibility, neither did her condition. It had been her decision to get into her car and drive when she’d been so damn angry she hadn’t been able to concentrate, no one else’s. And if she wanted to make up for the lives that were lost, then it was also her responsibility to do so.

She did want to make up for those lives, she did want to atone. She wanted to take responsibility for what she’d done, and part of that was her plan to help the kids who’d had the same difficulties she had.

It had been Lorenzo, oddly enough, who’d given her the idea, way back when she’d been ten and he’d showed her how to make that paper crane. Keeping her hands occupied had calmed her mind, given her a way to manage herself, and so she’d expanded her original origami idea to include arts and crafts in general.

If it had helped her, then maybe it would help other kids, too.

Kira swallowed, her mouth dry, wanting to say something, retrieve the situation somehow, because she knew she’d screwed up, she knew it.

But what could she say? He’d dismissed her, and pushing would have been what the old Kira would have done.

She wasn’t that woman now. She’d never be that woman ever again.

So she stayed silent, moving over to the desk and placing her folder carefully on the top of it.

Then she turned and did exactly what he’d told her to do.

She went.