“No to both.” Now that was a lie, because I knew for a fact that Kristoff owned the hospital she worked at and her job was waiting for her when she got back.
Did she not plan on returning to the States? That was the only plausible explanation.
“Who or what are you running from?” The question slipped out before I could stop myself, surprising me almost as much as it did her.
She let out a strangled laugh, the kind that trembled somewhere between amusement and unease, then lifted her fork with a casual grace.
“That’s an odd thing to ask someone,” she said before taking a deliberate bite. Her eyes flicked up to mine for a fraction of a second, then she focused on her food.
I suspected it was her way of deflecting.
There I went again, eager to get a preview into the labyrinth of her thoughts.
I hadn’t felt this way about anyone in decades. Not since… Elena DiLustro. Gio DiLustro’s broken wife. The woman whose beauty and pain had once made the world tilt, whose life I had tried and failed to save. The memory of her lingered like a ghost, sharp and relentless, a reminder that desire and ruin were sometimes inseparable.
Every heartbeat now echoed that failure, and yet, here with this enigma, I realized something: I wouldn’t fail Sophie Baldwin.
“You’ll learn, Sophie, we Albanians are stubbornly curious,” I drawled, letting the words stretch like slow honey.
“I’ve already got a taste of that.” She tilted her head, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “You’re also Brazilian,” she shot back, quick as a whip. “Maybe that tempers your curiosity a bit… or, better yet, try being a bit more forthcoming. You’ll find openness begets openness.”
I threw my head back and laughed, drawing curious glances our way. “Ah, so you think you can teach an Albanian how to mind his manners?”
“Not teach,” she corrected, leaning closer, her voice soft but firm. This woman radiated confidence, wit, and beauty. It was a tough combo to beat. “More like guide, because you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
My laugh shattered through the air. Dammit, I liked her a lot.
“So, what do you say, Kian?” she challenged. “I’ll quench your curiosity if you quench mine.”
Her words hung in the air, loaded with unspoken promises whether she realized it or not.
A grin tugged at my lips before I could stop it. This woman was a puzzle I wanted to unravel, piece by tantalizing piece.
“You’re on,” I said, letting recklessness creep into my voice.
She extended her hand and I took it, although I couldn’t resist teasing her. “First you kiss me, now you shake my hand. Seems like a step back, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe it’s the perfect prelude.” Her smile sharpened. “Besides, last time I tried to distract you.”
“Dangerous,” I remarked, letting the word hang between us like a spark.
She scoffed, playful yet confident.
“Effective and smart,” she amended, her eyes daring me to argue.
I raised my glass and she mirrored me, the clink of crystal punctuating the tension.
“Cheers,” I said.
“To being effective, smart, and dangerous,” she finished.
I took a slow sip and met her eyes over the rim, the burn of the liquor nothing compared to the thrill of wondering exactly where all this—this game, this uncharted pull—might lead.
Chapter 13
Sophie
After our toast, we dug into our food, though it quickly became obvious that I was doing most of the eating while Kian merely observed.
