Not quite what I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t be so bold.

He laughed once. “Believe me, Ms. Weaver, I’ll save you from a mundane conversation. The most you’ll ever know about me is my name. Everything else…let’s just say, ignorance is bliss.”

His aftershave of woods and leather came over me again. The chilliness in his gaze warned not to push, but I couldn’t help myself. Not after the way Kite treated me.

“Bliss…that’s a word I don’t understand.”

Jethro cocked his head, the trace of annoyance coming again. “What exactly are you trying to do?”

A rush of wobbliness hit me. I looked over my shoulder at the café across the street. “Have a nightcap with me. Over there.” I motioned with my head. I didn’t care in the least I wore a huge gown or that the coffee shop was empty. The couch in the window looked comfy, and I wasn’t ready to have this small freedom destroyed.

He looked to the small venue, a flicker of confusion filling his eyes. “You—” Cutting himself off, he straightened and let me go. “Fine. If that’s all you want, I see no reason why I can’t prolong our true agenda for thirty minutes.” Capturing my elbow, he half-dragged, half-marched me across the street.

My heart sank at the lack of romance and anticipation. I’d hoped he’d relax a little—knowing I was interested—and drop the chilly façade.

What if it’s not a façade? His demeanour was steadfast and engrained. I doubted he’d ever been carefree or impulsive.

The propulsion was fast, too fast for someone like me with the balance of a damn butterfly, but his hold was firm and granted a certain safety.

Striding over the curb, Jethro yanked open the glass door, scowling at the bell jingling above. A young Italian girl looked up, smiling in welcome.

The rich aroma of coffee and warmth instantly stole the stress from my blood from Kite, the show, and Jethro’s company.

“Sit.” Jethro let me go, pointing toward the faded yellow settee with purple and orange throw cushions. “And don’t move.”

I stood frozen. Jethro had no wish to be here, especially with me. What the hell was going on? First my father pushed me on him, then Jethro barely tolerated my company. Am I that repulsive to the opposite sex?

“Wait,” I said. “Aren’t you going to ask what I want?”

Jethro raised an eyebrow. “No. Want to know why?”

I did. But I didn’t want to play his ridiculous game. I was tired, had been dumped via text, and not wanted even when I practically threw myself at him. The night had turned from promising to disastrous, and I wanted it over.

When I didn’t reply, Jethro waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter what you prefer in beverages. You only get one request and you got it. I’m here against my plans; therefore, you’ll drink what I give you.”

My mouth parted, amazement stealing my ability to shout the incomprehensible phrases jumbled inside. Seriously? Who was this man?

Jethro strode away, leaving me gawking at his powerful back dressed in an immaculate, tailored suit. He completely ignored me while he ordered.

Not wanting to stand like a dismissed damsel, I moved to the couch and sat in a cloud of midnight-galaxy material. The underwire and other tricks to keep my dress buoyant argued against sitting, but my feet breathed a sigh of gratefulness.

Jethro returned with two cups of coffee. Espresso. Tiny cups, no biscotti, or anything to prolong something he obviously didn’t want to do. Placing the hot drink in front of me on the low table, he sipped his own, glaring at me over the rim.

I broke eye contact, collecting the cup of black liquid. Truth be told, I hated coffee. I’d only suggested the café to delay whatever he’d planned that was so urgent. Maybe he was a publicist, there to show the tabloids I was passionate about living as well as fashion. If that was the case, shouldn’t he be nicer? Kinder?

Inhaling the strong caffeine, I pretended to sip while sneaking glimpses at the mystery beside me. Did it matter he was an arrogant arse who didn’t know the difference between cruel and polite? He had a killer body, distinguished good looks, and a presence that screamed domination in the bedroom. I could choose worse for a night of guilt-free sex.

Sitting taller, I said, “So…the thing I wanted to ask you…”

What are you doing? He’s not a nice person. And he’s got the patience of a Doberman.

Jethro clenched his jaw, swirling his coffee. “I won’t answer, do, or respond to any more requests. Drink your coffee. We’re running late.”

I ignored that. I adopted a ‘don’t ask about the future and why the almighty rush approach.’ Working on another approach, I tried to break the ice between us. “You seem to know my father. What obligations—”

“No questions.” Jethro tossed his head back, swallowing the double shot in one go. Licking his lips, he carefully placed his cup on the table, eyeing my untouched one.

The unease of why my father had permitted me to go out with such an insensitive bastard came back. I feared there was a lot I wasn’t aware of, drifting around like a hapless child while adults battled over my future.

Running a hand through his greying hair, Jethro suddenly shoved my overflowing skirts off the couch and slid closer. So close his body heat seared my naked arms, prickling me with intensity.

I gulped, curling my hands in my lap.

Jethro bristled. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it won’t work. I will neither make small talk nor enter into meaningful conversation. You request to visit a coffee shop, yet don’t touch what I bought you.” He sighed, tension tightening his eyes. “I’m done playing silly games. Tell me what I need to do to make you come without making a fuss, and I’ll do it.”

My heart stopped. Anxiety roared back into existence. Why had I thought I could seduce this man? I had no hope, especially when he was obviously pissed off rather than intrigued. Linking my fingers together, I said quietly, “Why would I make a fuss? Where exactly do you want to take me?”

Please say a hotel and admit your attitude is all an act. Please say my brother hired you to play the horrible arsehole only to sweep me off my feet in a night of escorted bliss.

I should’ve known better than to wish for such things.

Jethro frowned. “What did I just say? No questions.” Grabbing my wrist, he tugged me closer, crushing my dress between us. “I don’t have time for games. Tell me what you want.” His mouth was so close, his brooding temper filling a bubble around us.

My eyes dropped to his lips. All I could picture was one kiss. One beautifully gentle, romantic kiss that turned my insides molten and my mind to stars.

I breathed shallowly, unable to raise my gaze to his.

He half-smiled. “That’s what you want?”

I blinked, dispelling the haze of intoxication he’d placed me under. “I didn’t say anything.”

Letting my wrist go, he trailed his fingertips up my arm. I shivered, loving and hating his masterful touch. “You didn’t have to. I should’ve known this would happen.”

My eyes flared. “Known?” Embarrassment came swift and hot. Was I so obvious? So needy?

“No questions,” he snapped. Sighing heavily, he added, “You forget your life is rather public, Ms. Weaver. And I happen to know you’re not…experienced.” Cupping my chin, he ran the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip.

I froze.

Jethro’s face didn’t soften or beguile, but his voice dropped to a murmur. His masculine scent threaded around me transporting me from the coffee shop and into his control. “What is it you want? A kiss? A caress?” His voice echoed like a deep baritone until I felt his question in my bones rather than heard.

Leaning closer, his mouth hovered over mine. He smelled decadently of coffee. “Do you ache for something? Do you lie in bed at night and crave a man’s touch?” His breath feathered over my lips, drugging me. “How wet do you get? Answer my questions, Ms. Weaver. Tell me how you pleasure yourself while fantasising about a man fucking you.”