“What?”

She pressed her lips against him, feeling his heart beating strong and fast beneath them. “What every woman wants to hear.”

“I love you.” When she lifted her head, he laid a hand gently over her lips. He knew it would hurt to hear her say it, when she didn’t mean it as he did.

Suddenly she was glad it was dark, and he couldn’t see the smile fade away from her face. “Even after this,” she said carefully, “you don’t want me to love you back.”

More than anything, he thought. More than life. “Let’s just leave things as they are.” He traced her face with a fingertip, enjoying those odd angles. “Tell me how you broke your nose.”

She was silent a moment, gathering her composure. She couldn’t offer what he didn’t want to take. “Fistfight.”

He chuckled and drew her back to cuddle, instinctively soothing the tension out of her. “I should have figured.”

She made an effort to relax against him. There was time to convince him. Hadn’t he said they had plenty of time? “At boarding school,” she added. “I was twelve and homely as a duck. Too skinny, funny hair, dumb face.”

“I like your face. And your hair.” His hand cupped her breast comfortably. “And your body.”

“You didn’t know me when I was twelve. When you’re odd in any way, you’re a target.”

“I know.”

Interested, she lifted her head again. “Do you?”

“I didn’t learn English until I was five. Before my father’s business got off the ground, times were rough.” He turned his face into her hair to breathe in the scent. “I was this little Ukrainian kid, wearing my brother’s hand-me-downs. And back then, Soviets weren’t particularly popular with Americans.”

“Well, you made such great villains.” She kissed his cheek, comforting the small boy he’d been. “It must have been difficult for you.”

“I had the family. We had each other. School was a little rugged at first. Name-calling, playground scuffles. Even some of the parents weren’t too keen on having their kids play with the Russkie. No point in trying to explain we were Ukrainian.” He shifted, tangled his legs with hers. “So, after a few black eyes and bloody noses, I earned a reputation for being tough. After a while, we kind of got absorbed into the neighborhood.”

“What neighborhood?”

“Brooklyn. My parents still live there. Same house.” With a shake of his head, he drew back. He could make her out now in the dark, could see the way her eyes were smiling at him. “How come we’re talking about me, when I asked you about your nose?”

“I like hearing it.”

“There was a fistfight,” he said, prompting her.

Bess sighed. “One of those girl cliques,” she began. “You know the type. The cool kids, all hair and teeth and attitude. I was the nerd they liked to pick on.”

“You were never a nerd.”

“I was a champion nerd. Gawky, top of the class academically, socially inept.”