“If you could be anything other than a publicist, what would you be?”

I blinked. It wasn’t a question I’d expected, nor was it one I’d given much thought to before. “Nothing. I love my job.”

And I did. Despite the frustrations, the breakneck pace, and the clients who made me want to tear my hair out sometimes, I thrived under pressure. There was no downtime for reflection. There were only problems I could solve and solutions I could implement.

People could call me a bitch or an ice queen, but there was one unshakeable, undeniable truth—I was the best at what I did. Hands down. That was why CEOs, celebrities, and socialites paid me the big bucks. They didn’t all like me personally, but they respected me and they needed me.

So you like to be needed.

Xavier’s observation floated to the surface before I brushed it aside. So what? Everyone liked to be needed. Those who said they didn’t were lying.

“Nothing? There’s not a single career you would consider outside PR?” He looked unconvinced. “I call bullshit.”

“Maybe I’d be a surgeon,” I allowed. It was another high-pressure, fast-paced career. I had steady hands and I wasn’t squeamish about blood. Commanding an operating room and saving lives could be exciting.

Xavier’s mouth quirked. “Unsurprising.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I finished my drink. “Your turn. Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

Interesting. I would’ve pegged him as a dare guy.

“Similar question,” I said. “If you had to choose an actual career, what would you choose?” I was genuinely curious. Xavier had never expressed an ambition for any type of job. What made someone like him tick?

He languished in the shadow of the villa, untouched by the moon or terrace lights, but his eyes sparked at my question.

“One I’m good at,” he said. “Like?”

A cloud passed over his expression before his smile reappeared. “Like teaching you how to dance. I think we’ve taken a long enough break.” He pushed off the wall and poured two shots of whiskey. “One more for courage. Salud.”

His hand brushed mine as he handed me my shot, and a tiny jolt zipped down my spine.

The whiskey burned smooth enough to dampen any concerns over my body’s strange reactions tonight. “You didn’t answer my question truthfully,” I said.

Warmth buzzed over my skin and pooled in my veins. I held my liquor pretty well, but the drinks were strong, and I didn’t resist the intoxication as fiercely as I normally did.

It felt good to let my control slip. Just a little bit.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I would choose a career I’d be good at.” A smile still played at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes contained a soft warning. “I even gave you an example.”

“Semantics. You don’t play fair.”

“I never do.” He came around behind me. His hands found my hips, and my breaths slowed beneath the weight of renewed static. “Let’s try this again.”

The music changed to something sultrier, easier to follow. Maybe it was the new rhythm. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was my attempt to focus on anything except Xavier that loosened my inhibitions.

Whatever it was, it worked. I didn’t hyperfocus on moving exactly the way I should, and the ironic result was that my movements flowed so much more easily.

I wouldn’t win competitions anytime soon, but I no longer resembled a malfunctioning robot, as someone had so rudely pointed out earlier.

“Much better.” Xavier’s murmur grazed the nape of my neck, eliciting an involuntary shiver of pleasure. “There might be hope for you yet.”

The seeds of a witty reply died on my tongue when he lowered his head so his face came next to mine. A delicious earthy scent seeped into my senses, heightening taste, smell, and touch until my mouth watered and I could feel every beat of his heart against my back.

I turned my head a fraction of an inch, just enough to meet his eyes.

I wished I hadn’t.

Xavier’s gaze smoldered like a lit match in the dark, scorching every inch of skin and any semblance of distance between us.

Beads of sweat dripped between my breasts. It was an inferno out here, but he was so close, and my head was so light, that if I just…

My lips parted.

His eyes darkened, and—

“Luca!” A girlish squeal from the neighboring villa tore between us. “That’s my favorite bag!”

There was an indecipherable reply, followed by a riot of laughter and then…silence. But it was too late.

The interruption snapped me out of whatever trance Xavier’s drinks/unholy magic/suspiciously glorious cologne put me under.

I jerked away from him, the loss of body warmth as sobering as the bowl of ice water I’d thrown on him mere days ago.

What was I doing?

He was my client, and I’d almost…he’d almost…

Xavier stared at me, his expression unreadable. If it weren’t for the heavy rise and fall of his chest, I would’ve thought him unmoved by what just happened—or didn’t happen.

My heart crashed against my ribcage, but I lifted my chin, broke eye contact, and forced myself to walk calmly into the villa without another word.

He didn’t stop me, and as I closed my bedroom door behind me and slumped to the floor, I hated how a tiny part of me wished he had.

CHAPTER 9

Xavier

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, triple fuck.

It wasn’t the most mature response, but it was the only one that accurately summed up my situation.

It’d been thirty-six hours since my movie night with Sloane. Thirty-six hours since our dance lessons.