Page 5 of To Tango, with Desire

“Gold suits you.” He placed his hands in his pockets, standing tall, powerful. And so damn unreadable I wanted to scream.

“Why did you send it?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I thought that you—” I ground my teeth together, hating my almost petulant tone. Way to go, Amira. May as well suck on that pacifier while you’re at it, girl.

“Amira—”

“So how long have you known Kiki?” I needed to change the subject before I embarrassed myself. What had happened to my dignity? I didn’t just lose my head over a guy. Damn it, I’d thought he was different, that we had a connection.

Annoyance flashed across his face. “I was on business in Europe for six months and you want to talk about Kiki?”

“I don’t know about you, but when a woman accompanies a man back into the country, that says something. Means something.”

“Were you waiting for me, habibti?”

My temper flared at his smug expression. “Don’t be condescending.”

But I had. Stupidly, secretly, I had waited, hoping to see him again. Thrilled at the prospect of a love affair.

I tilted my chin. “When a man sends a woman a very expensive piece of jewelry, that means something.”

“Does it?”

I was struck by his disinterest. His nonchalance pissed me off.

“It should. But I suppose you’re quite different from some of the men I’ve been dating lately.”

A small, petty part of me rejoiced in the flash of annoyance across his face.

“Wasn’t it you who asked for one night of passion, Amira?”

“You wanted the same.”

“So what’s the issue?”

“There is no issue.”

I had no claim over this man. I was just oversexed and unable to find someone who made me feel . . . what? There were billions of men on the planet. It shouldn’t have been so hard to find one to sleep with. And yet losing my virginity hadn’t been painful and awkward, but one of the hottest experiences of my life.

And I wanted more.

“So you’re not jealous of Kiki?”

I offered my best condescending expression. “Why would I be jealous?”

Zane stepped closer. “You’re telling me you haven’t thought about that night we spent together? Or the morning after? That you’re not thinking about a repeat performance, even now?”

I wanted to slap him, but threaded my fingers together instead. “I forgot how arrogant you are.”

“Did you wait for me, Amira? Did you look for me in milongas?”

I rolled my shoulders, refusing to give this man an inch. “No, I didn’t.” The lie sailed from my mouth with ease, even if it did score the back of my throat. It was partly true. After accepting that I was no longer going to see him any time soon, I’d put myself out there, gone on dates, even been set up by my parents, but I only ever felt mild attraction to those men. When they’d kissed me, I’d felt . . . empty.

It seemed I needed more than just a handsome face to get my juices flowing. And I blamed him entirely for spoiling me for any other man.

“I didn’t wait,” I repeated. “And clearly neither did you.”