Fine, if that’s how he wants to play it. I noisily clear my throat. “Ahem!”

He finally looks up at me, his mouth curling into a slow grin as his eyes begin roaming over my body. Again, just like the first time.

What the hell? Is he seriously checking me out?

“Luciana, lovely to see you.”

Oh fuck me, that accent…

I clear my throat to regain my voice, which seemed to have disappeared. “Hello, Tomas. How are you?”

God, that sounded so formal.

I hate myself so hard right now.

“I’m well, thank you. And you?”

Those gorgeous lips just said something to me.

Focus, dammit.

“I’m good.”

He keeps staring at me.

Say something…

“Oh, umm…Allegra told me what you’d be singing at the benefit. “Nessun dorma,” “O sole mio,” and the signature aria from Pagliacci. Basically, all of the Pavarotti hits.”

“Yes, that’s true. I’m glad I can help.”

He smiles at me, and this time, it’s a sweet smile, one that makes me want to smile in return because it seems so sincere and even more, it makes me want to sit down and just be in his presence, but I just can’t…I’m just too scared of getting hurt.

“Okay…well then. I gotta go—”

I turn to walk away when Tomas’s strong hand grips my wrist, the one that held my left upper arm so steadily when I’d walked right into him.

“Stay, Luciana,” he whispers roughly and deeply.

I try to remove my wrist from his tight hold, my heart racing. “I…I can’t. I have things to do.”

“Please.”

The low rumble in his voice captures my attention. I instantly stop pulling away from his hold. “Okay.”

He releases my arm and gestures to the chair across from him. “Sit. Please.”

I do as he asks, planting myself down. When I look over at him, he’s leaning back in his chair, his eyes searing into me. “I haven’t seen you since you bumped into me last week.”

My eyebrows raise at his comment. “Umm, I think you’ve got that all wrong. You bumped into me.”

“Tell me about yourself.”

What the…

I cross my arms over my chest. “What is this? A fucking job interview?”

“Do you always talk like that?”

“You mean curse? You probably think it’s rude and crass and very unladylike, but I don’t give a fuck.”

“I like it. And that’s why I asked. Because I want to know you better.”

That low timbre sounds again from his mouth that’s now smiling back at me wickedly. A wave of heat overcomes me, and my mouth drops at his admission. My shoulders drop from the weight of holding them so stiffly, always on guard for anything untoward. I warm inside from his words, my entire body softening.

He wants to know me better.

He really said that.

I inhale a deep breath, and I know what I have to do.

A preemptive strike against loss and heartbreak.

I need to know if he’s going to hurt me. I’ve been disappointed too many times by guys in the past to think that someone might actually like me for me. He said he doesn’t mind my language, but that doesn’t mean anything. It didn’t matter if they were frat brothers or hipster poets who told me they liked my eyes or my sense of humor. Guys are guys, and as long as you have two tits and a vagina, that’s all they cared about. I’m surprised none of them ever put a bag over my head or my entire body into a tall garbage bag when I had sex with them. But one thing was always common with them—the lights in the room were always turned off. I guess that’s the equivalent of a paper bag.

I pull my phone from my purse, hitting my Notes app and scrolling for the folder I call “The L List.”

I push the phone toward Tomas, watching as it flies across the tabletop to him. He catches it with one hand. He gives me a quizzical look, staring at the phone.

“You see that folder? I call it ‘The L List.’ The Loser List. It has the names of all the guys who’ve rejected me over the years. I actually added one after we met because the guy I’d gone out with on a date two nights before emailed me and said he didn’t think we were right for each other. I save the names to remind myself that I always scare men off because of my attitude. I’ll never be demure or graceful. My body wasn’t built for that. I’m what you call zaftig. I’m beyond curvy. Allegra is curvy. I’m plump, and it’s just as well because my body type is perfect for the roles I love to sing. So before you get any romantic ideas about us, you should see that list because you’re going to be on it eventually.”

Show me you’re different, Tomas Novotny. Say something, do something so I know you’re not going to treat me like dirt. I need to know so that I know whether these feelings I have for you are worth the nerves and uncertainty and sheer terror that overwhelm me whenever I’m near you.

My heart is pounding inside my chest. His sapphire eyes are still boring into mine. And what’s worse, he’s not saying a damn word. He just stares at me, and for a second, his eyebrows furrow in confusion, as if he’s trying to figure something out, probably me.

His silence unnerves me. Goose bumps pop up along my arms and my knees begin to shake. I need to do something.

“So, if we’re done here, would you kindly return my phone so I can be on my way?”

That sly grin appears on Tomas’s face again, and before I can stop him, he looks at the phone and flicks it twice with his thumb. He slowly slides the phone back to me. When I pick it up, the list is gone.

My mouth drops.

“What the fuck did you do? That’s my damn phone!” I screech at him.

I can’t tear my eyes from the empty space where the list once existed. Then in my peripheral vision, I notice Tomas tuck his book away in his bag and rise from his chair, grabbing his leather jacket that was hanging on the back of it. He slings his messenger bag across his chest, aka The Wall. I’m still in shock as he comes around to my side of the table, placing his hands on the armrest.

And then he leans into my space, close enough so that I can feel his warm breath on my skin. I close my mouth and swallow deeply. He’s never been this close to me before, not since I bumped into him. But this is different. This time, it’s deliberate. My heart begins to race with Formula One speed, my throat goes dry, and then I smell something…Tomas. He’s wearing some kind of aftershave that has a woodsy scent to it, but it’s mixed in with something else. Something male and virile and heady that I can’t describe, but arouses the core of me, and every sense I possess is now heightened.

“I erased that list, Luciana, because you won’t need it anymore. You’re fierce. You have the heart and strength of a warrior. You are a beautiful woman, and I intend to remind you of that every time I’m with you. You have no idea what you do to me. Remember that. I’ll see you at the benefit.”

He gives me one last long gaze with those deep blue eyes, then walks away.

I can’t move. I mentally review what just happened, especially why he just kept staring at me when I gave him my phone and explained the list to him. He seemed confused. Did he wonder why I had the list at all?

His behavior was different from that of other men. Maybe it’s a European thing, but he never rolled his eyes at me, he never fidgeted, he never looked away or acted bored. And he never made up some lame-assed excuse to leave because he didn’t like being around me. He just sat there, listening to me rant and rave, taking me in so patiently, strong and silent.

At the end, he said that I have no idea what I do to him. If his intention is to drive me mad until he tells me what exactly that is, then it’s working because I already sense the impatience and frustration settling in.

No man has ever spoken to me that way before, and I know without any doubt that I don’t want it to be the last time. And even more, I know that I want only Tomas Novotny to be the one who does.