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The possibility that he could be the kind of man she saw him as, the kind of man who could live a better life, was something he had never contemplated before and suddenly desperately wanted.
“Thank you, Rosalind.”
“You’re welcome, Griffith.”
Would he ever tire of hearing his name on her lips? The tenderness and heat in her voice as she spoke?
“The first time you called me Mr. Lykaois, I wanted to hear you say my name.”
A delightful crinkle appeared between her brows.
“When I called you?”
“The second time,” he amended with a slight smile. “In the lobby of the Diamond Club.”
She laughed. “When you watched me get thrown out?”
His smile evaporated. He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the delicate line of her cheekbone as he stared into her eyes.
“I did. It was wrong. It was selfish.”
“Selfish?”
“I needed you to leave.”
Her lashes swept down, then back up as she pinned him with her frank gaze.
“Why?”
“The first time I heard your voice,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss her forehead, “I didn’t think anything of it. I was too wrapped up in my pain, so angry at what you were trying to do, that I didn’t pay any attention.” He trailed his lips over her temple. “And then I heard you in Lazlo’s office. The feisty American who faced off against the guardian of the wealthiest people in the world.”
“Didn’t get me far.”
Her tone was tart, the underlying breathlessness making him smile in pure masculine satisfaction as he dipped his head.
“It caught my attention.” He kissed the curve of her ear, scraped his teeth over her lobe and savored the hiss of her breath escaping.
She pulled back suddenly, leaning away as she stared up at him.
“Did you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“That day. In the Diamond Club. When I looked up at you, I felt...” She paused. A blush stole over her cheeks. “Never mind.” She turned away and set her wineglass down. “It’s silly.”
He hauled her back against him, buried a hand in her hair.
“Tell me.”
Blood rushed to his groin as she bit down on her lower lip.
“Like there was a...a connection.”
He swallowed hard. The unknown lay before him, shrouded in darkness and pulsing with potential. Potential pain, heartbreak, loss.
But then there was Rosalind. Here, now, alive and vibrant in his arms, looking up at him with desire and hesitancy. He’d put her through so much these past few weeks. And still she put herself out there, risked his rejection, with more bravery than he had mustered in over a decade. Admitting that she hadn’t been alone in what she’d been feeling that day. That it had shaken him to his core, that he had escaped the country because of it. Admitting that would be his own act of bravery.
“I felt it, too.”
