“You lead with humor,” he said, watching me over the rim of his glass. “Most women here lead with ambition.”
“Maybe I’m ambitious about humor.”
“Or maybe you’re hiding behind it.”
I smiled. “Aren’t we all?”
He leaned back, studying me like a puzzle he didn’t mind taking his time with. “So, Kara-with-a-K, what’s your story? I don’t recognize you from the usual circles.”
“I make a point of staying out of those kinds of circles. They just keep going around and around,” I said, twirling my finger through my hair as the words left my mouth.
“Mmm. I like that answer.”
“Then I’m in the right place.”
A faint laugh escaped him, the kind that came from deep inside, the kind that showed real amusement. “You talk like a woman who’s used to getting what she wants.”
“When I’ve decided it’s worth the effort, yes.”
He leaned forward now, elbows on the table, his gaze entirely focused on me. “And am I?”
I let my lips part slightly, my voice hardly a whisper between us. “Ask me tomorrow.”
His smile widened knowingly. He reached for the bottle and poured more champagne into my glass without breaking eye contact with me. Then his hand brushed mine for the briefest moment—intentional, feather-light, and absolutely more electric than I could have ever anticipated. The kind of touch that saidI want youwithout uttering a single word.
“What brings you to Dubai, Kara?” he asked.
“Business,” I said.
“What kind?”
“The kind that pays for pretty dresses like this.”
His gaze dipped, just long enough to trace the line of lace over my body before returning to my face. “Then I should invest.”
“You couldn’t afford me,” I said.
It wasn’t arrogance. Just fact.
He laughed again, but there was a flicker of a challenge and heat behind it this time. “You have an interesting version of flirtation.”
“I have an interesting version of most everything.”
The music changed to a quieter, more rhythmic song. I took another sip of champagne and leaned forward, close enough for him to catch the faint scent of jasmine on my skin. “You want to know a secret, Roman?”
“Always.”
“I think you like pretending to be dangerous more than actually being dangerous.”
His expression didn’t change, but I saw the brief tension in his jaw, the smallest flicker of surprise in his eyes.
“Maybe…” he began his reply gradually. “Pretending is safer.”
“For whom?”
His gaze dropped to my lips. “That depends on who you ask.”
I smiled, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t calculated. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
