this time determined to clean the broken glass, anything but appear to snoop at his personal life.
“I don’t wish to talk about them,” he says firmly. “Sit.”
“Are you always this pushy?”
“Are you always this jumpy?” His eyes flash and he looks as if he is ready to snarl more, but instead locks his jaw and loosens his tie. “And yes. Pushy is my default. Apologies. Please, sit.”
I sink back to the couch, knees pressed together. “Okay, back to the business at hand. You said that you, you know, that you…”
Does that quirk to his mouth mean he enjoys my discomfort?
“I want to touch you. This request is most irregular and you are under no obligation to comply in order to keep your job. Anytime you wish to leave, call Katya and your departure shall be immediately arranged. If that is the case, you may continue to work for Zavtra Tech as long as your performance remains excellent, and if you prefer to be shifted to another department, that can also be arranged. Tonight is not some cheap attempt at coercion.”
“Nevertheless”—I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear—“there’s no denying that you hold an awful lot of cards in this deck.”
He smiles wryly. “Smoke and mirrors.”
“Down to specifics, then. What kind of touching are we talking about? Hand holding?”
He ignores my sarcasm, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I have a friend in my employ, a trusted friend—”
“Brandon Lockhart.” Bran is the fiancé of one of my good friends, Talia, and he also works at Zavtra Tech. He and Z apparently spent a few formative years together at an elite boarding school in Australia.
“What about Bran? Was this his idea?”
He inclines his head in assent. “Yesterday, I received some news about my past. Bad news. Lockhart suggested that spending time with you could help.”
I wait but he doesn’t elaborate. There aren’t many people in the world who can sit as comfortably as Z in total silence.
At last I can’t take it. “Help with what?”
“I desire you physically.” He ignores my question, delivering the statement as simply as if he’s telling me that he prefers pepperoni pizza or happens to be an Aries. Except that his gaze has dropped to my breasts, lingering long enough for them to respond, full and hot, my nipples tightening into two aching peaks.
“You want to have sex?” My track record with guys hasn’t been great. All work and no play makes Beth a dull girl. It’s been a while since I’ve hooked up, and by a while I mean over a year. I’ve become something of a sexual agnostic, not sure I’d ever get laid again.
“I want to give you pleasure and try to take pleasure in turn.” He lets out a coarse breath, raking a hand through his hair, causing it nothing but further disarray. “I’m almost twenty-five, Bethanny. I have not known the touch of a woman in seven years.”
I gape in disbelief. “But you are…” Sexy. Rich. Intelligent.
And a monk?
“We all have our demons, do we not?” he says in a quiet voice.
I close my eyes. It never takes much to hear brakes squeal, feel, really feel the gut-deep dread that the speeding car was going to hit us. A scream. A bang. Then silence except for the radio playing Taylor Swift and the dawning realization that the blood covering me wasn’t mine.
I force my eyes open. I’m not at the scene of a car accident, but at a billionaire’s oceanfront mansion. The scent of my best friend’s lifeblood doesn’t linger in the air.
“We do,” I murmur.
He gives a short nod. “I can see the truth stamped on you.”
“What?”
“Grief. Anger. The same things eating my insides.”
I rub the thin scar on the side of my face. “I focus on my work.”
“Yes, I know something of that too. It’s a way to survive.”
“Yes, stop feeling and nothing can touch you,” I say almost to myself.
“See!” He snaps his fingers. “You and I aren’t so very different.”
“Um, except for the part where I don’t own a billion-dollar business, helicopter, or oceanfront property.”
“I don’t want to debate such things.” The strange moment we shared is replaced by brisk efficiency. But too late. I’ve glimpsed a flesh-and-blood man behind the impassive mask and am intrigued and a little turned on. Scratch that. A lot turned on. It’s as if he’s cast a spell and I can’t even blame the vodka because it’s puddled on the floor instead of racing through my veins. He is ten feet away and