8 — Kane Lays the Cards on the Table

🕺Kane's POV🕺

"Why did you take part in the auction?"

I want to start with the easy questions, just to get her to relax. There's plenty of time to get to what I really want to know.

"I was helping out a friend, and it's for a good cause," she explains without the slightest hesitation.

Of course she's the type—generous and helpful. You can practically see it written on her face, all compassion and sincerity.

"What about you?" she asks, her curiosity absolutely adorable.

Should I tell her it was more of a favor… or that I did it entirely by choice? Either way, the result's the same.

"As you said yourself—it's for a good cause."

She shakes her head, amused, almost like she's trying to hide that wide smile from my eyes, eyes that are already desperate to catch every trace of it.

"Don't get me wrong, but I just didn't expect a billionaire—who could have any woman he wanted whenever he wanted—to actually pay for one…"

"Any woman?" I ask, entertained, hoping to stir a different kind of reaction out of her.

If she says yes, I'll ask if she includes herself in that category. If she says no, well… I'll just keep the seduction going until she breaks. One way or another, she'll end up back in my arms.

"Almost any woman," she murmurs, eyes fixed on the table, avoiding my gaze.

A hint of a smile slips from me without warning. I'm a little disappointed by her answer—but also thrilled by the challenge. She's managed to remind me exactly how her innocence only made her more irresistible that night. Looks like nothing's changed…

"My turn. Why was it your first time?" I press on, even more intrigued.

She blushes deeply again and stares at me, stunned. She definitely wasn't expecting such a direct question. Her teeth sink nervously into her lower lip, and she blinks rapidly, still processing it. Maybe I'm pushing a little, but the longer I sit across from her, the more I want to grab her and take her straight back to my apartment.

"What kind of question is that? It's personal," she mumbles, trying to look anywhere but at me.

"Please, answer me, Jessa," I say softly, trying to read her expression—so mysterious, yet so damn captivating.

"I guess it was just meant to happen that way," she shrugs and sighs, sounding resigned, as if she wants this whole thing over with.

"Why me? Why with a stranger?"

This time, she looks at me with amusement, a mischievous smile curling on her lips—and for a moment, it knocks the air right out of my lungs.

"Not so fast! It's my turn!" she says, that spark in her eyes drawing me in. "I won't ask why you did 'that thing'"—she smirks, clearly avoiding saying the night aloud—"because I'm sure you do that kind of thing all the time. But I will ask… why me? Out of everyone at the bar, why did you come on to me?"

I'm pleasantly surprised by this confident and slightly seductive version of her. But I honestly don't know how to answer that question. How do I tell her that I just knew she was the one? That the smallest move she made lit up my mind like a bonfire and filled me with this uncontrollable desire?

"You could call it fate," I say calmly, hiding the fact that another wave of longing is rolling through me just from the way she's looking at me.

"Oh, no. Don't give me the 'we're meant to be together' line. I'm not one of those half-brained bimbos they auctioned off earlier," she fires back with a grin.

I laugh again. Honestly, I can't even remember the last time I laughed this much in a single day. This woman… she brings out a part of me I wasn't sure existed.

"Why did you say yes?" I ask, eyes drifting to her red, tempting lips, already pulling up memories I probably shouldn't be having right now.

"I was drunk," she replies quickly, stumbling over her own words.

"You weren't that drunk," I counter, my voice more irritated than I meant it to be.

I'm not even sure why her indifference is getting under my skin this much. It's not like me to care this much about the reasoning behind one of my past hookups. But then again… she doesn't fit any of the usual patterns.

"Fine, I wasn't completely out of it," she admits, crossing her arms in front of her chest, the same confident spark in her eyes that makes me want to grab her right then and there—and crush my mouth against hers in a possessive kiss.

I'm not satisfied with her answer, but I hold myself back. I have to move slow. Careful. If I push too hard, I'll scare her off—when all I want is to pull her closer.

"Why were you upset to find me gone the next morning? Isn't that how it's supposed to go?" she asks, hesitating just a second before speaking.

I bite back the urge to tell her I've never brought a woman to my apartment before—that I'm usually the one walking away. Instead, I push again, needing to hear the one answer that's haunted me since that morning. The one she keeps dodging.

"Why did you leave, Maya?"

"You still haven't answered."

"Why?" I cut her off, no longer able to mask my frustration. "Don't lie and tell me it was just another meaningless night for you."

Okay, maybe I lost my composure a little. But the indifference she keeps wearing like armor—it burns through me. I don't want to believe she felt nothing about what happened between us.

"I know you felt it too. That insane pull between us—the way we fit together like we were made for it," I go on, still visibly irritated.

That leaves her completely speechless. Those sinfully tempting lips part slightly, while her flawless pale skin flushes to the color of ripe cherries. Maybe I came on too strong. But I'm tired of her hiding behind a mask of false indifference. This woman turned my world upside down in a single night—and I'm not about to let her walk away without consequences. Not this time.

"I think dinner's over," she says without meeting my eyes, standing abruptly and moving toward the door with surprising speed.

No. Not this time.

I let her go once. That was more than enough.

I catch her before she reaches the exit—and I crash my mouth against hers in a kiss that's nothing short of possessive, punishing, claiming. The second our lips meet, memories blaze back to life—and I pull her body against mine like I've been starving for her ever since she left.

I pull her body tighter against mine, wrapping my arms around her waist like I never want to let go.

At first, she resists—barely—soft protests and feeble attempts to break away. But the moment stretches, and slowly, inevitably, she gives in to the pull between us. Her hands wind around my neck, fingers threading through my hair in slow, circular motions that make me growl low in my throat.

What the hell is this woman doing to me?

I'm one breath, one heartbeat away from laying her down on that empty table and doing everything I've fantasized about since the second I saw her again. I break the kiss, reluctantly, just long enough to catch my breath and lock eyes with her—those wide, gorgeous eyes burning with the same fire I remember from that night.

"Come back to my apartment," I whisper, completely consumed by the woman in front of me.

With the way things are going, I'm not letting her walk away again. She's become the center of every reckless, all-consuming desire I have—and she'd better be ready for it.