He chuckled softly. “And you don’t?”
“I prefer knowing the odds.”
“Then what are they tonight?”
“Terrible.” I grinned up at him.
He laughed, a genuine sound that vibrated through my ribs. “At least you’re honest.”
The silence stretched between us, taut as wire. Outside, lightning flared faintly over the gulf, and for a moment the reflection of it lit the room, the two of us caught mid-motion, bodies too close, eyes locked together.
His fingers brushed my jaw, coaxing my face upward until I had no choice but to meet his eyes. The city’s light fractured there, twin shards of blue and silver. He looked at me like he could see through every lie I’d ever told and a flare of electricity spun right through me.
“What is it you want from me, Kara?”
The question hit like a blade. It wasn’t what he said, it washow. Quiet. Certain. As if he already suspected there was more beneath the surface.
“Does it matter?” I demurred.
“It does if it’s real.”
“Maybe nothing about me is.”
He smiled faintly. “Then I’ll enjoy finding out what is and what isn’t.”
His mouth brushed my cheek, not a kiss, just a test, a feather-light promise of one. My skin burned anyway. The breath caught in my throat wasn’t part of the act; it was self-betrayal, pure and simple. My hand found his shoulder for balance, and he took that as invitation, sliding his palm from my back to the curve of my hip. The movement was slow enough to give me time to stop him if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
Control slipped through my fingers like water.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was meant to steer him, guide the conversation, keep him curious enough to talk. Instead, I was caught between the press of his hand and the seductive rhythm of his breath.
He leaned in, lips near my ear. “You’re shaking again.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted.
“No,” he retorted. “You’re lying.”
The words ghosted over my skin, and a part of me cracked open—a quiet, electric thing. He wasn’t wrong, and that made it worse.
I closed my eyes for a heartbeat too long. When I opened them, the room seemed smaller, the city farther away. He looked down at me like he’d already figured out which of us had just lost the game.
“Still think this is just a dance?” he asked.
“Itisonly a dance,” I lied.
“Then why are you holding on so tight?”
I glanced at my hands. They were fisted in the fabric of his shirt. I released him quickly, stepping back, but he followed, erasing the space again. I hit the edge of the piano, the cool lacquer pressing against my backside. His hand lifted, palm open, not touching—just waiting.
He was giving me a choice.
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
I should have walked away. I should have remembered why I was here, who had sent me, what depended on this. Instead, I tilted my chin, a challenge disguised as permission.
Roman’s smile was gradual and confident. He moved closer until his breath mingled with my own. His hand rose to the side of my neck, thumb brushing the frantic beat there. He didn’t kiss me. He just looked at me, and somehow that was worse.
