But instead, she stepped closer, saying, “Oh, Mr. Weiss, that doesn’t constitute grown.” An unbidden sly smile rose to her lips as her eyes traced his form, and somehow, without even thinking, she’d moved so close, they were mere inches apart. So close that she could reach out and stroke his cheek, feel the slight dark stubble against his jaw. “And if you’re aiming to impress me, well, let’s just say, at this point in my life, very little does in that department, and I don’t have the time or energy today to watch you flounder about.”
His lip tipped. “I wouldn’t flounder,” he said, catching her eye.
There was such heat in his gaze.
“I’m sure you think so,” she said, and he laughed heartily, sending warm shivers down her spine, before she regained enough control to ask, “What?”
“You’re both exactly how I thought you’d be and, at the same time, wholly unexpected.” And there was that damned sincerity again, bringing forth emotions that she had no idea what to do with, except make him leave.
She drew back. “Go away, Mr. Weiss. I don’t know why you’re here or what you want, but I promise you, you will not get it from me.” Damn it all, was her voice shaking?
She ground her jaw to steady herself and sharpened her tone as she glared at him, the dratted man who had no business being there. “You say you’re grown, well, then you ought to recognize some truths of the world. This is not a place for you, and I have nothing to offer save a few lackluster minutes of amusement. And I’m too old to waste time on lackluster.”
He arched those thick brows. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two. Quite a bit older than the likes of your employer,” she couldn’t help but add.
“I’m also older than her. And her husband,” he said, then added. “I’m twenty-six.” As if it mattered. As if their situation wasn’t the same—he was far too young for her. Even if she was inclined.
Which she wasn’t.
“Good for you,” she said. “If you stay out of places like this, you might one day grow old enough to study the Zohar.” She turned her back to him and made a show of fiddling with a tray of loose buttons, willing him to take the hint and leave her be.
“And you truly believe anything between us would be lackluster?” he asked instead.
“Yes,” she lied.
Weiss snapped his fingers. “How about a wager then?”
“What?” Hannah spun around, gaping at him.
Rummaging in his pocket, he pulled out a coin and held it up to her. “A sixpence.” He reached around and set it on the table, brushing against her arm. “If we—”
“I cost much more than a sixpence,” she snapped. Both because it was objectively true and because she had been a blasted fool to think their exchange was anything more than yet another demand to be made of her.
“I’m not purchasing anything. Oranyone,” he said, sounding affronted. “I am gambling.”
She could find no hint of teasing or sarcasm in his tone.
He raised a single finger. “One kiss. If it is ‘lackluster,’ you get the sixpence, and if it isn’t, you’ll owe me one.”
Oy. He was tempting. Too tempting. And tempting led to wanting. And wanting what she couldn’t have led to nothing but trouble. And he couldn’t afford trouble. Especially not now. She swallowed. “I don’t gamble.”
“Coward.” But Weiss smiled as he spoke and folded his arms over his rather expansive chest.
“No—smart,” she said. Except when she stared behind those thick lashes into eyes that were all mirth and, if she were a more romantic person, magic, she found herself reaching into her apron pocket, pulling out a coin, and laying it next to his. “Fine. A sixpence. And either way, you leave.”
“Excellent. We have a deal.” And, oy, why was that grin so affecting? Or more, attractive?
And before she could think, she’d moved to him again. They were close in height, so she didn’t need to stretch up to meet his mouth, instead throwing her arm around his neck to yank him toward her.
With a groan, he grasped her hips, pulling her against him as he held her close, his lips crashing into hers with a raw fire that near took her breath away. Moaning, she opened, taking him in, reveling in thebroad, firm strokes of his tongue, which promised not only lust but a pleasure that would be deeper and more tantalizing. More terrifying.
His movements weren’t careful and practiced, but pure. Without artifice or force, a passion just simple and true and natural.
She clutched at his shorn hair, knocking his hat to the ground, practically dislodging his yarmulke, unable to get enough of this, of him. Everything in her body craved more, of his taste, his heat, of him and only him, fully and completely. Which was—no.
Half dazed, Hannah wrenched herself back from his body. Panting, she clutched the table for purchase as her mind spun.
