“A few days.”
I arch my brows, surprised. “Days?”
His tone dry, he says, “I didn’t know how many of your ex-lovers would attempt to shoot their way into my building.”
“You move pretty fast, don’t you?”
“Once I’m motivated, at the speed of light,” he murmurs, his gaze locked to mine.
“And now you’re motivated?”
“You know I am.”
“By me?”
“Don’t be coy.”
“But I’m so cute when I’m being coy.”
He reaches up and caresses my cheek. “Are you worried?”
“Hell, yes.”
“About what?”
“That you’ll die of your advanced age, and I’ll have to find a Realtor on short notice to unload this lover’s pied-à-terre you bought.”
Knowing I didn’t want to admit I was worried about what might happen to him, he chuckles. “It’s hardly a pied-à-terre.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s a ten-thousand-square-foot estate on six acres.”
My lips part, but no sound comes out.
He smiles at my shock. “On the beach. With its own helipad. The Obamas have a place nearby.”
Overwhelmed, I say faintly, “Oh, good. We can have cocktails together, talk about world peace.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why not?”
“You’re registered to vote as a Libertarian. They’d probably think you’re a nutcase.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Man, that background check was really something else.”
He says softly, “Aye. It revealed someone fascinating. A woman who marches to the beat of her own drum.”
I drop my hands and look at him. “You’re saying I’m eccentric.”
“I’m saying you’re an individual, above all else.”
“No, above all else, I’m smarter than you, remember?”
“You’re also crazy about me.”
Flustered by the burn in his eyes, I glance away. “Or maybe just crazy.”
He leans over and kisses my flushed cheek. Into my ear, he murmurs, “You’re worried I’ll get hurt. Which means you’re crazy about me. Admit it. I want to hear you say the words.”
“If you’re going to be smug about it, I’ll remind you that I worry about Stavros, too.”
“Like someone worries about the family pet. He’s no more than a gerbil to you. I, on the other hand, am—”
“An egomaniacal monster?” I smile. “Agreed.”
He settles his hand around my throat and says in a husky voice, “A monster who wants you to tell him how you feel about him.”
I glance at Kieran in the driver’s seat. “Now?”
“Now. That Grand Canyon speech of yours has made me greedy for more.”
“I can’t replicate that. It was extemporaneous.”
“God, how I love it when you use all your big words.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“Think of one that describes how you feel about me. Just give me one, baby.”
His breath is hot on my neck. His hand is tight around my throat. His voice is low and rough, and all of it turns me on like a light switch has been thrown inside my body.
I close my eyes and search for the perfect word to describe how he makes me feel. “Intoxicated.”
He takes my mouth, kissing me hungrily. We go over a bump in the road and break apart, but our faces are still close together. Our eyes are locked.
He says, “You’re not the only one.”
“I know.”
“Have you ever been here before?”
“To Martha’s Vineyard? No.”
“Don’t hide. You know what I’m asking.”
His eyes are so intense. I feel exposed. Naked. And disoriented, like I’m tumbling down into a deep, dark hole. “You know I haven’t.”
“Say it.”
“You really like to get right into it at the weirdest times, don’t you? We’re not even alone.”
“Say it.”
I can tell he won’t be satisfied until I give him what he wants. So I lean close to his ear and obey him.
“No, I’ve never been here before. I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I’ve never lost myself, or wanted to lose myself like I want to lose myself in you. And I’ve never trusted a man, including my father. So if you break my heart, gangster, just know that you’ll be the first and last to do it. Nobody before you has ever been able to even scratch it, and nobody will be able to pick up the shattered pieces behind you if you leave.”
He exhales hard. He takes my face in his hands. His eyes are bright and exultant, brilliantly blue.
He pronounces gruffly, “I’ll never leave. Because you’re going to be my wife.”
“Holy shit.”
“Is that a yes?”
“No.”
“Then make it a yes.”
“I’m not wife material.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“I see. So you’ll kidnap me into marriage?”
“Why are you getting angry?”
“Because your arrogance is larger than the entire known universe.”
“It’s the next logical step.”
“Sure, if we’d been together more than four seconds.”
“I won’t live long, Sloane. I don’t have the luxury of taking things slowly.”
That puts the brakes on the conversation faster than anything else he could’ve said. Shocked, I say, “Are you sick?”
“No. I’m the new head of an international criminal empire. My expected lifespan has just been drastically reduced. My predecessor didn’t make it a year in his position. How much longer do you think I’ll get?”
Panic forms a cold, hard ball in the pit of my stomach. “Longer than that, if you’re careful.”
“I’m not careful. It’s not in my nature to be. I’m lucky I’ve lasted this long, in fact. But the clock is ticking, and it’s getting loud.”
I can’t decide if I should be horrified or if I should hit myself over the head. What he’s saying makes total sense, and of course I knew all of it, but hearing him say it out loud right after he dropped a bombshell proposal is way too much.
I sit up straighter, shaking his hands off my face. “Let me get this straight. You think it would be a good idea for me to marry you—let’s not even get started on all the hilarious issues about how we met, and the vast expanse of time since that happened—knowing full well that in a few short months or years, I’d be a widow?”
His brows draw together. His lips thin. He goes into his classic glower mode as fast as two fingers snapping. “You’d be my sole heir. You’d get everything I own—”
I cut him off with an acid laugh. “Oh, we’re talking about money again! You seem to be under the impression that the only thing women care about is cash, which is less than charming. But I can assure you, I don’t give a shit about how much money you have or would leave to me in the event of your untimely death.”