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She turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see the glow of happiness she couldn’t quite contain. “Was there something you wanted?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat down across from her, leaning back with casual confidence. “Would you like to go out for dinner?”

Her head shot up. “Dinner? Out?”

“Yes,” he replied, his voice full of mock patience. “There are these things called restaurants. People cook food and bring it to your table. I pay, we eat. Very civilized arrangement.”

“Yes!” The word burst out before she could stop it. She jumped up, papers sliding off the couch, and grabbed his hand impulsively. “Yes! Let’s go!”

His laugh was low, surprised, and he rose with her tug. “All right, little hurricane. What do you want to eat?”

She stepped behind him, nudging him toward the door. “I don’t care. I know I’m your guest and I should be polite and all that blah blah blah, but I just want to be out. Around real people. Not guards or business associates or anyone who doesn’t even notice I exist.” She paused for a moment, her head tilted. “Actually, the not-noticing is fine. Good, even. But I want to be out there. In the world.” She paused dramatically, raising a finger. “And if you’re buying me dinner, I’m not about to waste the opportunity.”

Paulo chuckled, shaking his head as he led her out. “Do you need to change?”

Madelaine glanced down at her jeans and sweater. “Are you taking me somewhere that requires a tiara?”

He considered her for a beat, then smiled faintly. “How about Tex-Mex?”

“Yes!” she hissed, clasping her hands like she was praying to the gods of melted cheese. “With mountains of cheese and rivers of salsa?”

“Absolutely,” he said chuckling. “Obscene amounts of cheese and salsa it is.” He pressed his hand lightly against the small of her back, steering her toward the garage. “Your chariot awaits.”

She gasped with delight at the SUVs idling, guards already waiting. To her, it looked like an adventure. “Oh, this is going to be so fun!” she whispered, bouncing into the backseat of the first car.

Completely unaware of Paulo behind her. Completely unaware of how his eyes faithfully followed the curve of her jeans, that his jaw tightened against thoughts he had no business entertaining.

She was his enemy’s daughter. Off-limits. Untouchable.

But as he slid into the car beside her, he wondered how long he could keep pretending that was true.

Chapter 18

Paulo felt a thousand times lighter with Madelaine beside him. He’d spent the last few days avoiding her, trying, and failing, to erase the image of her lush ass wiggling in that damn golf skirt. Lust had been chewing at him ever since, and no amount of discipline or distraction had banked it.

But now, with her sitting next to him in the SUV, he felt steadier. Clearer.

So, why was he putting himself right back into the same situation that had unraveled him before?

Because he couldn’t stay away. Because she was too much. Too perfect in ways he couldn’t even find the words to explain.

“What’s going on?”

Her soft question cut through his thoughts, and he turned his head. She looked so damn pretty in the passing streetlight glow, eyes wide, lips parted in expectation. His chest tightened with the insane urge to pull her onto his lap and bury his face in her neck, breathing her in until the rest of the world melted away.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice rougher than he liked.

Madelaine shifted, the seat belt keeping her from fully facing him. “I mean, you took me to golf with your friend, which was actually fun, by the way. Then we got back to your house, and you ignored me for days. Now, we’re going to dinner?” She hesitated, then pushed ahead before he could interrupt. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m grateful. I know you’re doing me a huge favor. I’ll get a job soon and get out of your hair, so you won’t have to worry about me. But right now?” Her brows pinched. “You’re sending mixed messages. You’re hot, then cold. I don’t know how to read you.”

Her words hit harder than they should have. He kept his hands clamped to his thighs instead of reaching for her hair like he wanted. He had no right. Not when he was using her. Bait for her bastard of a father. What kind of man did that?

“I never worry about you,” he said quietly. “And, again, you’re not a burden, Madelaine. When are you going to believe me?”

“Never,” she shot back with a shrug, though her tone was more weary than sharp. “But answer the question anyway.”

His lips twitched despite himself. “I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?”