Page 35 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

“I’m not like that,” he said quietly. “I’m not wired to take people at face value.”

In a calmer mood, she might have appreciated his truthfulness. But Emma wasn’t calm. She was ticked off, mighty ticked off.

“Well, that’s your problem, not mine.”

“Yes.” His swift agreement took her breath away and—for a moment—the heat out of her anger. But only a moment.

“So work on it,” she grunted, making a move to pull away again, but without much serious effort—or intention—of leaving his embrace.

“Why?”

Great question. It wasn’t like she was planning to stick around and reap the benefits of said work, nor like she had any stake in his improvements as a human. “Because you’ll waste your life if you don’t,” she muttered, stricken, because something was occurring to her, something she couldn’t unravel completely, but all of a sudden she was starting to wonder if they weren’t more alike than either of them knew. They were both experts at pushing people away. Emma had learned to be this way in the last year, she’d had to develop a thick protective coat and keep it wrapped tightly around herself. And maybe the same advice could be given to her? If she kept herself locked away from the world, maybe she’d waste her life too?

But life was scary.

Letting yourself love and trust and enjoy was the first step to suffering.

“I’m no expert,” she said haltingly, with a small shake of her head. “Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I think you do,” he corrected quietly, tilting her face again, their lips separated by only an inch now, his eyes dropping to her mouth as though he couldn’t help himself. “I think you know what it’s like to waste your life.”

She gasped. Why was he always so perceptive?

Emma squeezed her eyes shut against his insights. She didn’t want them.

“My father and grandfather showed me why I shouldn’t trust anyone. Women especially. Am I tarring you with that brush unfairly? Probably.” He frowned. “Do I do it with every woman I meet?” He shook his head as Emma opened her eyes, unable to resist seeing his face as he grappled with that question. “I can’t say. I was surprised to find you in the pool house. I’d learned that my grandfather was dying only earlier that day, and there you were, at the end of his life, beautiful and helpful, living right under his nose. I jumped to the only conclusion I could, based on my experience with him.”

“Yes, you jumped to the wrong conclusion,” she agreed. “But it’s more than that. Youheldthat conclusion even after I told you the truth and showed you that’s not how things are.”

“No.” He moved then, pulling her out of the way of a big group of tourists who were walking past, as if just realising they were in a public place. “I know things aren’t what I first thought. It’s just habit for me to see the worst.”

He was admitting fault. A vulnerability. She had to give him credit for that, didn’t she? For at least being honest with her about his shortcomings in this regard.

“You don’t know how many women there were, Emma, for both of them. Going into protective mode is what comes most naturally to me. I’ve watched them both be fools for women, fools with their fortunes, with my future, with everything, in the face of a pretty smile.” He moved closer then, pressing his forehead to hers, and she stood where she was, breathing him in, not moving, not even wanting to move. “And yours is a very pretty smile.”

It flashed across her face quickly, like lightning on a clear night—she hadn’t expected it. But despite her misgivings, despite what he’d thought of her and on some level clearly continued to think, there was something about Vasilios that she couldn’t walk away from. Something compelling and drugging. Beyond that, the fact he was motivated by a desire to rescue his grandfather from the big bad Emma was actually pretty sweet.

Her temper, which had raged with the heat of a thousand suns a moment ago had come down to an almost non-existent simmer, but there were other feelings that were churning her insides, making her skin flush.

“Would you like to go back to the restaurant?”

She blinked up at him, belatedly remembering the food they’d ordered. “I guess we should.”

He shook his head once. “That’s not what I asked. Would youliketo go back?”

Her eyes widened, fixed to his. Slowly, she shook her head.

“Let’s just…walk a while,” she suggested. “See if we can grab some street food if we’re hungry?”

She could have sworn he expelled a breath of relief, but before she could analyse that, he’d reached down and grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together, lifted it to his lips and placed a small kiss against her knuckles. Her stomach swooshed as though she’d stepped out of an aeroplane.

People milled about the town, wandering, talking, eating gelato and laughing, children too, but Emma was barely aware of any of them. Her pulse was like the fast beating of a drum, forming a background noise to their walk that overrode everything else. But as they went, she gradually became less aware of Vasilios as a man, of his masculine energy, of her desire for him, of the feelings he’d stirred up, of the dangers and darknesses inherent to what they were doing, and she simply begun to enjoy herself.

She wouldn’t stay long.

She couldn’t.

Not after this.

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