Page 31 of Wicked Prince

His words make a familiar heat creep into my face, even though I know better. Just because he's a gentleman enough to stick around and make me breakfast doesn't mean last night was anything more than a fling.

I want to be cool with that. I want to be realistic and logical, even if my heart is still as tangled up in him as our limbs were last night.

"Maybe not, but you're not most guys, either."

He gives me a shameless grin. "Yeah, I was hoping last night would make that clear enough."

My face gets even warmer. Does he ever turn off the charm? This would all be so much easier if he did.

"So, you cook," I say, deciding to change the subject before I open myself up to even more vulnerability.

"You sound surprised," he says, setting a couple of plates on the counter in front of him.

"I am," I admit. "I guess I assumed you would have staff to do that kind of thing for you."

If my family does, it's hard to imagine the Rossis don't.

"I do," he says, taking a glass decanter filled with what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice and setting it next to the plates. "But I'm particular."

I can't help but laugh. It's not a surprise, really. Lorenzo is a man who likes control, so it figures that would apply to just about every area of his life. I still can't help but be impressed.

He offers a hand, and I hesitate a moment before taking it, realizing he plans on helping me up onto the stool. He is surprisingly thoughtful, even if I’m sure it’s at least partially a gimmick to get into my pants again.

A highly effective one, I might add.

"Thanks," I say, surprised that I don't hate the whole chivalrous mafioso routine nearly as much as I should when he's the one peddling it.

He takes a seat across from me, waiting expectantly until I take a bite.

I can't hide my approval. "Okay, so you're an excellent cook and an athlete," I say flatly. "Is there anything you don't do?"

He flashes me another rakish smile that lights his eyes. "You forgot to add I’m good in bed."

I roll my eyes. "I didn't forget. I just didn't think you needed anymore ego fuel in that department."

To my surprise, he laughs. I'm starting to think half his interest in me is just the fact that I mouth off to him, and yeah, that probably is a pretty dumb thing to do. Especially since he doesn't know who my father is.

I can't help but wonder if that would diminish his interest altogether, and it's more of a deterrent than I want to admit.

"You know, I still don't know anything about you," he remarks.

I'm halfway through a gulp of orange juice when he asks the question, and it catches me off guard.

"What do you want to know?" I ask, deciding that will determine whether or not he gets an answer.

He pauses to think about it. "Why are you here?" he finally asks.

It's hardly the first time I've heard that question since I came here, but unlike the others, he doesn't seem to mean it as a value judgment.

"What do you mean?" I ask once I've collected myself.

"I can tell you don't want to be here," he answers. "And it's not really the kind of place people just end up at by accident, so I'm curious. Why are you here?"

When he echoes the question, I have a bit more understanding. I'm still not sure I know how to answer it, though.

I know I have to choose my next words carefully. Not just because of who he is, but because of how much easier it feels for me to open up to him than it should be.

Dangerously easy.

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