If he didn’t show, or if she couldn’t find him . . . well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been disappointed by a guy. Not even close. But that didn’t prevent it from stinging.

In the distance, the obelisk that marked the western end of the gardens loomed, and she slowed her pace. It had to be four thirty by now. How long would he wait? Was it even worth doubling back and looking for anything she might have missed? Dropping her arms in resignation by her sides, she turned in a circle, looking for anything that might give a clue.

When she spied something even better. Much better.

A single, choked peal of laughter caught in her throat as she spied him, all messy dark hair and clear blue eyes, dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans that fit him to a T. And held loosely in one hand, a rose the color of a garnet.

Rylan.

And behind him was a bronze. A Rodin—it had to be. A bigger-than-life-sized statue of a man and a woman in a passionate embrace.

It was cheesy. Tacky. Swiftly approaching tawdry, even. But as her feet drifted forward, leading her toward him, all the doubt squeezed out of her heart. He’d made her smile so many times in the day and a half since they’d met. He’d made her body come alive, and worse, he’d seduced her with art. If that wasn’t worth a shot . . . then she didn’t know what was.

chapter FIVE

According to Rylan’s usual game plan, his expression should have been a sultry smirk. But as Kate approached, a real smile stole over him instead, one that made his lips stretch and his cheeks tight.

Who the hell did he think he was fooling? If he’d been following his typical playbook, he would have taken the girl home last night, and there wouldn’t have been a second encounter. A second—oh, Christ, this was a date. Apparently, the rules had all gone out the window the second Kate had been completely underwhelmed by his charm.

She wandered toward him with her hands folded in front of her and a flush to her cheeks that said she’d been running to try to find him. She was a couple of minutes late, and he had to admit he’d been starting to worry. All that concern was evaporating now, though. Her hair was loose today, the long waves of it framing her face and shining in the sun. She still wore tennis shoes, but she’d paired them with jeans that hugged her hips, and a shirt that dipped low in the neckline and that . . . was smeared with charcoal?

She stopped short a couple of feet away from him, raising a brow and pointing. “Is that for me?”

He’d nearly forgotten the flower he’d bought on his way to the park.

“What, this?” He twirled it back and forth between his fingers. “Nah. Random homeless person gave it to me while I was waiting. Think he thought I was getting stood up and wanted to soften the blow.”

“Sorry. I lost track of time.” She narrowed her eyes. “Though it didn’t help that somebody didn’t exactly give me the clearest of instructions.”

“Somebody miscalculates from time to time.” With that, he held out the rose and drew her in¸ tugging at her hand to pull her close. And hell, but he hadn’t been playing this up in his head. She felt as good against him as she had the day before—better, maybe.

Today, she hadn’t just gone along with his cajoling. Today, she’d decided to come to him. To seek him out.

Swallowing down the fierce, sudden burst of pride within his chest, he darted his gaze across her face. Raised his hand to her cheek and rubbed away a sooty smudge. He found it unaccountably endearing. “Let me guess. Busy day drawing?”

“Yeah. I got a lot done.”

“Good.” Did she even know how amazing that was? All his wasted days, and she spent her vacation making things. And then she had stopped—had probably run here if her breathing was anything to go by, because he’d asked her to. His heart gave a squeeze behind his ribs, and he cupped her jaw, taking pains not to grip it too firmly. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me, too.” But she averted her gaze as she said it, like she was embarrassed to admit it.

Dipping down, he brushed his nose against hers, leaving their lips just a whisper’s breath apart. She smelled sweeter than the flower he’d brought her, and her skin was softer than its petals. And nearly as red. Her embarrassment grated at something inside him. Here he was, reveling in her choice to meet him again. He didn’t like the idea that she was any less pleased by it. Or that she was having second thoughts.

Whatever doubts she might be having, he resolved to cast them off.

Pressing his brow to hers, he grazed his lips against the corner of her mouth. His chest swelled as she let him kiss her. “You look beautiful today.”

She relaxed a fraction in his arms, laughing as she curled her hand around his neck. “You’re one to talk.”

Pride surged within him again. “You like?”

“Yeah,” she said, voice uneven and dipping darker. She smoothed her hand down his chest, lighting fires beneath his skin. “I like a lot.”

“Good.” His looks weren’t worth much more than his bank account, but if they’d won him this chance, at least they were something he’d worked for. Something he’d chosen to invest his time in. Without another word, he captured her mouth with his, parting his lips and darting forward with his tongue. Her curves came flush against him as he reeled her in, perfect and soft and lush. Willing.

And that was the sweetest part of all. None of her hesitance from the night before clung to her today, and the way she pushed up into the kiss shot like lightning through his veins. Forget the rule book—the long game was worth playing sometimes, even with a tourist.

Surrounding her with his arms, he kissed her hot and hard enough to put the statue behind them to shame. Just when it hit the point of testing his control, he pulled away enough to free his lips. Stayed close enough to still share air as he let a growl creep into his voice. “I’m really, really glad you came.”

She looked a little glazed, her red lips full and wet. “Me, too.”

And it was so tempting to try to hurry his plan along, but no. Not this time, and not with this girl.

Yesterday, their trip to the museum had started out a ploy to make her trust him enough to invite him to her bed. But somehow, it had turned into the best day he’d had in this long and pointless year. It had been connection and seeing art through this beautiful woman’s searching eyes. Seeing himself through her eyes, too. Not the man who’d had all his choices stripped from him, only to be shown the ugly underbelly of the life he’d been told he had to lead. The man who had seen it, and then turned around and run.

He was just a guy to her. One she liked the look of. One she’d invited to take her home last night. One who could make her disheveled and glazed just from a kiss.

His pulse roared. He wanted her like this, naked and laid out for him, all right. But he wanted the rest of it, too. He wanted more.

It took an exercise of will, but he managed to take a step back. His breath was still coming too fast, and he had to will his body to calm down as he forced some distance between them. Dinner. They were going to have dinner. And then they could have the rest.

“Come on.” Entwining their hands, he reached down to grab his pack off the ground.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Condoms and a fresh change of clothes, mostly.

“Nothing.” He slung the bag over his shoulder and tipped his head toward the exit of the park. Changed the subject before he could talk himself out of his own plan to not rush this along. “How do you feel about Ethiopian food?”

“It’s not French.” Her voice quirked upward with uncertainty at the end.

“Astute. But do you like it?”

“Never tried it.”

Perfect. “Feeling adventurous?”