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He didn’t rush to fill them when the conversation lulled.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze loose, the curl of smoke from his cheroot winding up toward the air vents.

She sipped her cocktail, heart inexplicably steady.

The man sitting across from her wasn’t just lean and lethal.

He was sensual in a quiet, dangerous way, a gravel-voiced, slow-tongued intellectual with a wicked, droll humor.

He was no bad boy trying to pretend.

He was all man, one of steel, humble substance, and gravitas.

Impressive.

The night wrapped the lake in moonlit hush as crickets chirped in the grass, and waves rippled on the shore.

Xander strolled alongside Savvine to the guest cabin, theirsteps easy and relaxed, slowing as if neither wanted to end the night.

The stars above them, faux yet dazzling, glimmered over the sky dome.

At the door to her lodge, he paused.

‘Buenas noches,senorita’ he murmured.

‘Buona notte, signore.’

His mouth twitched at her husky Italian phrasing as they stood for a beat longer than necessary, almost swaying into each other, but neither reached for more.

With a two-fingered salute, Xander turned and prowled back over the short path to his cabin.

Savvine tore her eyes from his enticing backside and flew up the stairs.

Once inside, she exhaled. ‘Be still, my wild beating heart.’

In the primary, she peeled off her jumpsuit and changed into the black lace sleeping set she had worn the night prior.

She went through the motions, washing her face, brushing her hair, applying a hint of perfume on her neck out of sheer habit.

However, her mind wasn’t in the room, and after some hesitation, she padded to the long curtain near the lake-facing window.

Just like the night before, he was there.

Her heart lurched as her eyes drank in the man sitting on the terrace again.

He’d stripped to the basics. His torso was bare, bronzed skin inked, his abs gleaming. Not fair.

Again, he wore only a pair of black midnight shorts, and the dip of them made her press her thighs together.

His legs stretched in front of him, sinewed and thick, his lean, laid-back and relaxed.

A synth cheroot burned in his left hand.

His gaze wasn’t scanning the lake tonight.

He canted his head, eyes predatory, narrowed.

On her.