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“You’re making me talk, but you haven’t said much about yourself.”

In fact, he’s watching me as if he wants to see inside my soul. If I wasn’t so attracted to him, it might scare me, but being the subject of his attention feels delicious.

We’re on the restaurant’s terrace with only a waiter, no other patrons, or staff. He invited me to lunch after coffee, but here we are in a lunch-appropriate place, and he hasn’t asked me if I want a full meal. I think it’s because he has plans for me.

Of course, nervous as I am now, I couldn’t eat anyway.

“Maybe I’m a better listener.”

“You are?”

“Not usually, but I like your voice. In fact, I like everything I’ve seen of you so far.”

I keep my eyes trained on the cup of espresso in front of me. “You are pretty straightforward.”

“Life is short, . I don’t waste time; I’m not that kind of man. When I want something, I go after it.”

“And I am what you want.”

“Yes,” he replies, and an uneasy feeling spreads through me. It has nothing to do with his straightforwardness but with the casual way he says it.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that this isn’t the first time he’s after a woman he wants.

With that thought, my bubble just bursts. My dream of being Cinderella and feeling special to him has magically disappeared, and the reality behind the painting I created is not pretty.

Xander wants sex.

Somehow, for some reason, he found me attractive and decided to come after me.

To disguise how much, I feel like an idiot, I check the time on my phone. When I look back at him, I know he immediately realizes that our date is over.

“A long lunch on my yacht is out of the question, I suppose.”

I nod my head up and down. “I have to go,” I say, already reaching for my bag. “I have to go back and get my mother’s souvenirs . Besides, it’s not just lunch you have in mind.”

He doesn’t deny it, and like the needy fool that I am, I feel my heart sink.

Before I leave, he goes behind my chair and helps me up. It isn’t enough that he’s handsome and smells good; he has to be polite too.

He doesn’t pull away, and the heat of his body against my back makes me shiver. I don’t move, but I look back.

Sweet Lord Jesus, the man is such a handsome temptation. If I wasn’t so starry-eyed, hoping to find Prince Charming one day, would I have willingly accepted his invitation . . . to be his mistress? Yeah, I think that’s what men like him have.

I look into his eyes, saying goodbye in my head to the sexiest man I’ve ever met.

The problem is, I may not know anything about life, but I know myself. When it’s all over—and by that, I mean this afternoon, since I have to get back to the ship—I’m going to feel alone and rejected again.

All the love I received from my birth mother is getting further and further away in my head. And as much as my adoptive parents, my incarnate angels, helped heal many wounds, the years of being adopted and returned to the state again and again left me with a legitimate fear of being abandoned.

I would have to be pretty crazy or stupid to just accept something like this at face value.

He lowers his head and whispers in my ear. “My gut says it would be delicious, .”

His mouth is so close that the temptation to kiss him is difficult to resist.

I stare at him, feeling more confident because I’ve already decided to leave. “Mine too. But believe me, despite all that, neither of us is what the other is looking for right now.”

When we get back to the car, at least three bags are inside containing dozens of souvenirs. I’m so embarrassed when he tells me he sent his employee to buy them for my mother.

I say I can’t accept them, but he doesn’t reply, so the only way out is to say, “thank you,” get in the vehicle, and enjoy the ride back to the dock.

To my disappointment, he doesn’t ride with me; he just directs the driver where to drop me off.

With the door still open, he looks at me so intensely that I want to take my chances and do something I never thought I would. I unbuckle my seat belt and get out of the car; my body almost pressed against his because he’s still standing by the door.

He doesn’t move, watching me like a predator.

I feel beautiful and wanted, and I carry out my plan. Feeling reckless, I wrap my arms around his neck and press our lips together.

I don’t even know how to kiss a man like him, but I don’t think about it. The only thing that crosses my mind is that this is the last chance I’ll have to know how his mouth tastes.

It was meant to be a light kiss, but as soon as our lips touch, he wraps his hand around my waist and pulls me against his body. His fingers tangle in my hair with just enough force to make my head tip back without hurting me.

“I don’t do anything softly, . Do you want to kiss me? Let’s make it delicious.”

And then, all those movie descriptions of starry skies, bells ringing, and a stomach full of butterflies happen at the same time as he takes control of the kiss.

Fulfilling his promise, his lips devour me, sucking, biting, his tongue asking for passage, the intensity of the grip on my hair increasing.

I melt against his body; my skin is on fire. My breasts ache, tender against his solid chest. My hands come to life, getting lost in his hair, nails scratching his neck lightly.

I’m so far gone that I forget everything around me. He apparently doesn’t because he pulls away without losing grip on my waist, perhaps sensing that I’m not able to stay on my feet by myself.

He gives me a second, then takes a step back. “Did you change your mind?”

“I can’t. I really want it, but I’ve had my share of rejection in life.”

I get back in the car quickly before I lose my nerve because I know there’s a good chance, I’ll regret missing this opportunity to make this dream come true.

I lean my head against the seat, eyes closed, before I hear the door slamming.

This afternoon will be forever in my mind.

One can’t meet a man like him and forget about him later.

Everyone will be ruined if compared to his beauty and masculinity.

I’ve always been attracted to older men but never to someone with as much of an aura of power as Xander.

Now, thinking about it, I remember what he said about being interested in buying the cruise fleet. This is another small sample of the wide gap that exists between us.

It’s not just age or experience that separates us but wealth as well.

The car rolls through the streets of Barcelona, and that would normally excite me—people smiling and chatting freely, a different setting from my dull life in Boston—but right now, all I think about is our kiss and his gaze on me.