"Then what do you want from me?"
"I want you to stop lying! I want you to tell me why you really brought me here! I want?—"
He kisses me.
Hard. Demanding. No asking permission. His hands cup my face and his mouth crashes against mine and every coherent thought I have evaporates.
I should push him away. Should slap him. Should prove I'm not some weak woman who melts the second a rich man touches her.
Instead, I kiss him back.
My hands find his hair, fisting in the dark strands. His hands slide from my face to my waist, pulling me against him until there's no space left between us. The kiss is angry and desperate and wrong in every way that matters.
I break away, gasping. "We can't?—"
"Why not?"
"Because you're—" I don't know how to finish that sentence. Too rich? Too controlling?
"Too much like the men your mother warned you about?" He reads my mind, his voice rough. "Is that what you were going to say?"
"Yes! All of that!"
"And yet you kissed me back."
"That was a mistake."
"Was it?" He takes a step forward. I take one back. "Because it felt pretty fucking real to me."
Another step back. My shoulders hit glass. The floor-to-ceiling window is cold against my skin through my thin tank top.
"My mother warned me about men like you," I say, trying to find solid ground in this conversation.
"Men like me?" His hand comes up to brace against the glass beside my head. "Or men who tried to help her and got rejected for it?"
The comment about my mother throws me. "What are you talking about?"
"You work all of those jobs and still can't afford to breathe." His other hand comes up, caging me in. "You're talented but too scared to chase your dreams. You'd rather be safe and miserable than take a risk."
"How dare you?—"
"Tell me I'm wrong."
I can't. Because he's not wrong. Everything he just said is painfully, horribly accurate.
"You have no right to judge me."
"I'm not judging." His voice softens slightly. "I'm offering you a choice."
"What choice?"
"Stay here. Let me help you. Stop running from everything that scares you."
"And what do you get out of it?"
"Maybe I get to know you." His eyes are locked on mine. "Maybe I get to see if you're as brave as I think you are."
"I'm not brave."
