"What?" she asks.
"Nothing." I wave her off, still shaking. "Just... nothing."
This isinsane. This man—this absolute lunatic—just told me I'mnot allowedto have dinner with another person. Like he has any say. Like he owns me. Like we're anything more than two people who shared one ill-advised kiss in a club a month ago.
The audacity. The sheer, unhingedaudacity.
I type back, fingers flying.
What's not allowed is you making an offer to marry me without my consent. Stay in your lane, Baganov.
Send.
His response comes fast.
You knew it was me.
I pause.
Maybe it's time to stop pretending you don't want me, princess.
The pet name shouldn't do anything. It's condescending. My skin heats anyway.
Traitor, I think at my own body.
I don't even know you.
That's true. That's completely, objectively true. I know his name, his position, his reputation. I know he has beautiful eyes and a cold smile and hands that felt like fire on my waist.
But I don'tknowhim.
His reply makes my breath catch.
For someone who claims not to know me, you've gotten closer than most people ever have.
I frown at the screen.
What's that supposed to mean?
You let my tongue inside your mouth, Vittoria. You moaned against my lips like you were ready to get fucked right there. Don't tell me you don't know me when you know exactly how I taste.
Heat floods my face.
My thighs press together involuntarily.
Damn him.
"Okay, you're blushing," Amanda says, sitting up. "Who are you texting?"
"No one."
"Liar." She reaches for my phone.
I yank it away, holding it against my chest like a shield. "Amanda. Drop it."
She studies me for a long moment, eyes narrowing. Then her face splits into a grin. "Oh my God. It's aguy."
"It's not?—"
