“And yet you don’t.”
I scowl, but otherwise ignore the interruption. “And then you turn on a dime and you’re all warm and fuzzy.”
His brow lifts. “Fuzzy?”
“Point taken. Fuzzy is not a word anyone should use to describe you. Forget warm and fuzzy. We’ll go with hot and intense.”
“Intense.” He murmurs the word, making it sound much more sensual than I had intended. “I like the sound of that.”
At the moment, so do I.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “The point is, you’re dizzying.”
He looks at me with unabashed amusement. “I like the sound of that, too.”
“Dizzying and exasperating. And impertinent.”
“Impertinent?” he repeats. He doesn’t smile, but I swear I hear laughter in his voice.
“You ask questions you have no right to ask.”
“And you’ve steered this conversation in a very elegant circle. But you still haven’t answered my impertinent question.”
“I would have thought that a man as intelligent as you are would realize that I was avoiding it.”
“A man doesn’t get where I’ve gotten by allowing details to remain ignored. I’m both diligent and persistent, Ms. Fairchild.” He has me trapped, locked tight in his sights. “When I seek to acquire something, I learn everything I can about it, and then I pursue it wholeheartedly.”
I have to pause a bit to remember how to form words. “Do you?”
“I believe there’s an interview with me in last month’s Forbes. I’m certain the reporter outlined my tenacity.”
“I’ll be sure to pick up a copy.”
“I’ll have my office send you one. Perhaps then you’ll understand just how persistent I can be.”
“I already understand it. What I don’t get is why you’re so fascinated with who I’m sleeping with. Why exactly does that interest you?” I’m treading on dangerous territory, and I suddenly understand that old adage about flirting with danger.
He climbs a step, putting his body in much closer proximity to mine. “There are a number of things about you that fascinate me.”
Oh my. I move carefully up to the next level. “I’m an open book, Mr. Stark.” I ascend one more step.
“You and I both know that’s not true, Ms. Fairchild. But someday …”
He trails off, and though I know better, I have to ask. “Someday, what?”
“Someday you will be open for me, Ms. Fairchild. In so very many ways.”
I want to respond, but I’ve lost the power of speech. Damien Stark wants me. More than that, he wants to peel back the layers and learn my secrets.
The idea is terrifying, and yet also strangely appealing.
Discomfited, I take another backward step up toward the balcony, then wince. Immediately, Stark is at my side. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Something sharp on the step.”
He looks down at my still-bare feet.
Sheepishly, I hold out the strappy sandals with the three-inch heels.