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Authors: Deborah Smith
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the way you are.”
“That’s not quite what you said. You hinted that I’d better not be lying about who I am.”
“Because you’re so different from me. I appreciate that.”
Puzzled but breathless, she took the handsome tote from him and bustled away, her knees weak. “You went to a lot of trouble for this. Thank you.”
“I’ll be waiting in the lobby. Oh, here’s your coffee.” Kovit appeared with a tray. He bowed and stepped past her, put the tray on a table near the door, then glided back out. “Kovit will escort you downstairs. I have some phone calls to make.”
“I’ll see you downstairs,” she agreed, searching his expression for clues to the man behind it. She saw a smooth tightening, a retreat, and a certain deepening of his own scrutiny of her. A trill of alarm but also burning curiosity rose inside her. What kind of man was he? How deep were his secrets?
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “It’s going to be a long day.”
After he left, she shut the door weakly, then let out a slow, troubled sigh. Kash was the most organized man she’d ever met, probably her exact opposite in that regard.
And in many other ways
, she added regretfully. She had very little reason to like or trust him, but she was falling under his spell.
After all, when he wasn’t badgering her, he was doing thoughtful little things such as remembering her favorite fragrance and—Good heavens, had he gone shopping for this bag full of items in the middle of the night? Where? Didn’t he sleep? She hadn’t gotten more than two hours sleep herself, and if she weren’t supercharged on adrenaline and Santelli’s electric effect on her senses, she’d be a zombie.
She had dreamed about the mystery man who’d become her … her what? she asked. Her ally? Her guard? Her fantasy? Wandering to the coffee tray, she fumbled with the insulated pot, poured a cupful of the black liquid, then distractedly dunked a spoonful of brown sugar into it. She finished by squeezing a thin slice of orange into the coffee.
Kash Santelli. The Asian-Italian sheik from Virginia, with a melodic southern accent, impeccable clothes, obvious education, sophistication, and money, but she guessed that none of those fine things had been part of his childhood. He liked early mornings and carried a gun. Brothels disgusted him but were familiar territory. He made black threats and sexual innuendos but treated her with care. Without half trying, he made her feel incredibly desirable, but also naive.
“I’ll go crazy if I don’t find out everything about you, Dragon,” she said out loud. “You’re not the only one who’s smart enough to pry out important details.”
Feeling determined and strong, she took a sip of coffee. With a soft gasp she set it down and stared at it. Orange slices. Brown sugar. How had he known she liked them? Somehow, while she’d slept, he’d researched her and learned the quirky way she fixed her coffee. What kind of man had the means and determination to find out so much about her?
She slumped down in a chair and looked at the cup as if it were her most intimate secret, and Kash had just served it to her with a deadly, warning smile.
The morning had gone quietly—too quietly, Kash thought, as they drank frothy Thai iced tea inside a tiny streetside café. Only the sounds of conversation around them, the click of chopsticks on ceramic bowls of spicy noodles, and the soft whir of ceiling fans filled the silence between them. He watched her eat delicately, trying with obvious determination to conquer her chopsticksand the noodles, and also trying to ignore him as much as possible, which she’d done all morning.
She’d come down to the hotel lobby in a subdued mood, and hadn’t said much to him over breakfast or in the hours since, as she shopped for clothes to replace her stolen ones. Kovit lumbered along behind them, as curious and intrigued as a chaperon, so maybe she’d felt awkward or shy. But
“That’s not quite what you said. You hinted that I’d better not be lying about who I am.”
“Because you’re so different from me. I appreciate that.”
Puzzled but breathless, she took the handsome tote from him and bustled away, her knees weak. “You went to a lot of trouble for this. Thank you.”
“I’ll be waiting in the lobby. Oh, here’s your coffee.” Kovit appeared with a tray. He bowed and stepped past her, put the tray on a table near the door, then glided back out. “Kovit will escort you downstairs. I have some phone calls to make.”
“I’ll see you downstairs,” she agreed, searching his expression for clues to the man behind it. She saw a smooth tightening, a retreat, and a certain deepening of his own scrutiny of her. A trill of alarm but also burning curiosity rose inside her. What kind of man was he? How deep were his secrets?
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “It’s going to be a long day.”
After he left, she shut the door weakly, then let out a slow, troubled sigh. Kash was the most organized man she’d ever met, probably her exact opposite in that regard.
And in many other ways
, she added regretfully. She had very little reason to like or trust him, but she was falling under his spell.
After all, when he wasn’t badgering her, he was doing thoughtful little things such as remembering her favorite fragrance and—Good heavens, had he gone shopping for this bag full of items in the middle of the night? Where? Didn’t he sleep? She hadn’t gotten more than two hours sleep herself, and if she weren’t supercharged on adrenaline and Santelli’s electric effect on her senses, she’d be a zombie.
She had dreamed about the mystery man who’d become her … her what? she asked. Her ally? Her guard? Her fantasy? Wandering to the coffee tray, she fumbled with the insulated pot, poured a cupful of the black liquid, then distractedly dunked a spoonful of brown sugar into it. She finished by squeezing a thin slice of orange into the coffee.
Kash Santelli. The Asian-Italian sheik from Virginia, with a melodic southern accent, impeccable clothes, obvious education, sophistication, and money, but she guessed that none of those fine things had been part of his childhood. He liked early mornings and carried a gun. Brothels disgusted him but were familiar territory. He made black threats and sexual innuendos but treated her with care. Without half trying, he made her feel incredibly desirable, but also naive.
“I’ll go crazy if I don’t find out everything about you, Dragon,” she said out loud. “You’re not the only one who’s smart enough to pry out important details.”
Feeling determined and strong, she took a sip of coffee. With a soft gasp she set it down and stared at it. Orange slices. Brown sugar. How had he known she liked them? Somehow, while she’d slept, he’d researched her and learned the quirky way she fixed her coffee. What kind of man had the means and determination to find out so much about her?
She slumped down in a chair and looked at the cup as if it were her most intimate secret, and Kash had just served it to her with a deadly, warning smile.
The morning had gone quietly—too quietly, Kash thought, as they drank frothy Thai iced tea inside a tiny streetside café. Only the sounds of conversation around them, the click of chopsticks on ceramic bowls of spicy noodles, and the soft whir of ceiling fans filled the silence between them. He watched her eat delicately, trying with obvious determination to conquer her chopsticksand the noodles, and also trying to ignore him as much as possible, which she’d done all morning.
She’d come down to the hotel lobby in a subdued mood, and hadn’t said much to him over breakfast or in the hours since, as she shopped for clothes to replace her stolen ones. Kovit lumbered along behind them, as curious and intrigued as a chaperon, so maybe she’d felt awkward or shy. But
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