“You won’t forgive me for what happened,” Klaus says, resigned.
“Idomostly forgive you for the… the misunderstanding. But I still wouldn’t date you. We already made things weird by coming in hot like that, jumping right into bed. Plus, dating you would be unprofessional. Way too much chance for conflict of interest.” I risk a glance at him. “Though I do find you very attractive.” There’s an unexpected ache in my chest. “And despite what you may’ve been led to believe by what happened in Abu Dhabi, I don’t do the friends-with-benefits thing well. It’s not where I am in life.”
As I step off a curb in the dimness between streetlamps, my heel goes sideways. I grip Klaus’s arm hard with a gasp, and he’s suddenly like a mountain—the most solid thing I’ve ever felt,impossiblyimmobile, steadying me. Catching my breath, I have the fanciful sense that if a tornado roared past, I could hold his arm and not fly away.
His eyes in the darkness are touched by twin flares of reflected light. He watches me with a completeness, as if we’re the only two people in the world. The thumping hum of music from a nearby house could be a faint radio transmission from a distant galaxy.
He brushes the backs of his fingers against my cheek, and I leaninto the touch. I wonder if we’re both too proud to initiate the kiss that is already there, a spectral thing between us, like a little soul waiting for life to be breathed into it.
God, his lips—I can’t stop looking at them. What kind of idiot would I be if I stepped over a line I drew minutes ago? I can’t kiss him. I can’t…
I grab his silk necktie, holding it light but sure.
Would another kiss be so terrible? Maybe it won’t be as good as I remember.
He gathers my hair and winds it around his hand once with the same cautious firmness I’m using to hold his tie. He’s so close, I can see the pattern of his laugh lines, natural and beautiful as striations in marble.
“This is unwise,” he murmurs with a troubled frown.
I give a small nod. “Let’s do it anyway. Just one more—to say goodbye.”
Heat floods me as his mouth makes contact in a glancing pass, sliding along my lower lip, tender and exploratory. I open to him, pulling on his necktie. An involuntary whimper rises in my throat. My heart hammers as he spreads his hand at the back of my head, cradling me, and his tongue sweeps mine in a welcome trespass.
We leave our hands where they are, gripping each other at only one point as our lips feast, re-angling, then closing in again. I wait for his free hand to connect, wanting it everywhere, anywhere: skimming over a breast, surfing the curve of my hip, grabbing my ass and clutching a handful, commanding. But he holds back; the only clue to his emotion is the way his fist occasionally tightens in my hair.
Finally he rests his forehead against mine before pulling himself upright and opening his eyes. He releases my hair, smoothing it over my shoulder.
“I will miss you,” he says.
I know it’s what heshouldsay. But that was before I remembered how everything about his touch is right, stunning, as real as the gravity pulling us together. I can’t let him know how his words disappoint me.
Dammit, I don’t want to punish myself for allowing the kiss, don’t want to engineer a wall between us… but Ihaveto, or I’ll change my mind…
“Klaus?”
“Talia.”
My eyes squeeze shut. The sound of the diminutive he’s so naturally chosen for me hits like a wave capsizing an insignificant boat. Gradually I open my eyes.
“The woman who was with you tonight—where is she now?” I ask.
He moves a lock of hair off my shoulder, baring my neck.
“There’s no answer that won’t make me sound bad.” Trying for a smile, he adds, “You’ll recall I had a five-minute window, which a certain imperious queen granted. If I say I sent the woman off without another thought, I’m a cad. If she’s waiting for me in my suite, I’m far worse.”
I nibble the inside of my lip, studying him. “Maybe there’s no nice answer, but thereisone that’s the truth. So which is it?”
He takes my hand, and I let him. His thumb coasts back and forth over my knuckles before he releases me. “She’s still there.”
I focus on a crack in the sidewalk, aligning the toe of my shoewith it as I determine how I feel. I try to work up some anger, but it seems forced.
“Is she, um…” I twist the thin strap of my purse. “You know…”
“A ‘working girl’?” he supplies.
I nod.
“I don’t know. We’d got no further than a bit of conversation in the lounge.”
