"No one's rescuing you." I stopped, trying to find the right words. "I'm just here. Because I want to be. Because talking to you wasn't enough. Because when I heard what happened, the only thing I could think about was getting to you and making sure you were okay."
"Why?" The question was almost desperate. "Why do you care? We barely know each other. We kissed once. That doesn't mean anything."
"It means something to me." I held her gaze. "I don't know what this is between us. But I want to find out. And I think you do too, which is why you're fighting so hard to push me away."
She looked away. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" I moved closer. "Because at the wedding, when we were in your hotel room?—"
After the wedding…
The hotel room was standard luxury, nothing flashy. Imani had kicked off her heels the moment we walked in, immediately losing three inches of height.
"Finally," she'd muttered. "Those things are torture devices."
"You looked incredible in them though." I'd settled on the couch while she poured us both water from the minibar. "Actually, you looked incredible, period."
"Smooth talker." But she was smiling as she handed me the glass.
"I'm Russian. It's genetic."
We'd talked for hours. About her consulting business, how she'd built it from nothing after her divorce, how satisfying it was to help minority-owned businesses scale. About my role in the family business, the parts I could talk about, anyway. About her marriage and why it had fallen apart.
"He wanted a trophy wife," she'd said, curled up on the opposite end of the couch. "Someone successful enough to look good at events but not so successful that I overshadowed him. When my business started taking off, when I started making more money than him, he couldn't handle it. That and other things."
"His loss."
"I used to think that. Now I'm not sure." She'd looked at me, vulnerable in a way I suspected she rarely was. "What if he was right? What if I am too much? Too driven, too ambitious, too needy."
"Stop." I'd moved closer. "You're not too much. You're exactly enough. And any man who can't see that is an idiot."
"You barely know me."
"I know enough." I'd reached out, touching the side of her face. "I know you're brilliant and funny and you don't suffer fools. I know you challenge me in ways no one else does. And I know," I'd leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away, "that I really want to kiss you right now."
"That's a terrible idea," she'd whispered, but she licked her lips almost in invitation.
"Probably."
"We live in different cities."
"I can travel. It’s not like you’re far."
"This is moving too fast."
"We can slow down."
"Marco, you’re not listening."
I'd kissed her.
She'd kissed me back.
And for about thirty perfect seconds, nothing else had mattered. Not the distance. Not the complications. Not the fact that we'd just met. Just her lips on mine, her hand in my hair, the soft sound she'd made when I'd deepened the kiss. The wayshe invited me on top of her as I leaned her back on the couch. Her arms as they fell to my neck, pulling me closer. She'd pulled away first, breathing hard.
"This is complicated," she'd said.
"I don't care."
