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She broke off when his body pressed close, his hands gripping the railing beside her elbows. The cold metal at her back vanished under the heat radiating from him.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said roughly. His jaw clenched, his voice like gravel scraping stone. “My father was killed when I was twelve. My mother had passed before that. I was left on my own, trying to survive.”

Madelaine’s breath caught. The shadows on his face looked carved in pain, and still he forced himself to go on. “Life on the streets isn’t kind to a child. There are predators out there who…” He broke off, his throat working as he swallowed hard.

Her hand rose before she thought better of it, pressing against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under her fingertips. She didn’t know if she meant to soothe him, or to encourage him to finish, though she dreaded hearing his next words.

He exhaled harshly. “I aligned with the predators who could protect me from the worst part of the world. From men who would have used me for things I won’t speak of.”

Her throat tightened. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words trembling from her lips. Sorry for prying, sorry for his memories, sorry for what this extraordinary man had been forced to endure.

“I chose the lesser of two evils,” Paulo went on. “If my father hadn’t been killed, maybe I’d have gone to school. Maybe I’d be designing skylines instead of controlling them. Or maybe this was always my fate. Doesn’t matter. I made my choice. My life could have been far worse.”

Madelaine shook her head gently. “And yet… you survived. And not just survived, Paulo. You became so much more. I see it. I hear it every time you talk about the world, or history, or the way you protect the people around you.” She pressed her hand more firmly against his chest, her eyes lifting to his. “I know you went through hell. But you came out brilliant.”

His hard mouth softened, just slightly. “I survived,” he corrected, though his tone had lost some of its steel edge.

He reached out without thought, brushing her hair out of her face. His fingertip traced the curl of a lock before sliding down its length. The smallest touch, yet it stole her breath. She didn’t want him touching her hair. She wanted his hands on her, on her skin, so she could know what it felt like when he wasn’t holding back.

And for the first time, she thought he might want that too.

“What about you?” he asked. “How have you survived?”

“By hiding from my father,” she replied with a shrug that looked careless but wasn’t. “Not as economically productive as your survival methods, but it’s kept me alive.”

She didn’t add and unmarried. She didn’t want to explain how her only living relative saw her. Not as a daughter, not as a person, but as a commodity. A prize to be sold. Or a silent hostess at his endless dinner parties.

She lifted her chin, pretending it hadn’t hurt. Pretending it didn’t still.

Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t empty. It was charged, heavy, thrumming with something she wasn’t ready to name. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t want him to move away. Not now. Not when every part of her longed for him to lean down, to close the distance, to kiss her the way she’d imagined in restless detail under the silk canopy of her bed.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured.

Her breath caught. “Good.”

“It’s probably a mistake.”

Her eyes flicked to his mouth, hunger sparking low in her belly. “Yeah, it’ll probably ruin the whole friendly dynamic and stilted banter we’ve been perfecting over the past few…!”

She couldn’t finish. His mouth came down on hers, swallowing the rest of her teasing words. Her soft moan slipped free as her fingers crept up his chest, wrapping around his neck, holding him there. She pressed closer, greedier, until her curves molded to the hard wall of his body.

But it wasn’t enough. Nothing could be enough.

Her thoughts scattered when his hands slid to her hips, pulling her against the hard length of his arousal. Fire burned through her, hot and wild, and she moved instinctively, pressing closer still.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew they were standing on a public walkway, other couples strolling past, voices floating on the night air. But none of it mattered. Not when his mouth devoured hers like she was the only thing in his world.

Too soon, he tore his lips from hers.

Someone whimpered at the loss. Her. Definitely her.

“We need to get out of here,” he growled, still holding her close as if letting her go was unthinkable. His head snapped toward the shadows, where one of his guards stepped forward.

“Where’s the car?” Paulo barked.

The man pointed just ahead to the street.

“Fine.” Paulo’s hand closed around hers. “Let’s go home.”