I get hung up on the word sexual even though I know he’s only teasing.

“You make it sound like I’m all over town with a different woman every night. The last girlfriend I had was three years ago.”

“Three years ago? Are you that picky? Or does it have to do with your commitment phobia?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Ah yes. No time for sex when you’re plotting world domination.”

“I never said that…”

He runs his hand gently around and behind my leg, teasing the back of my knee until I squirm.

“Stop,” I tell him, gripping the back of his hands to try to force them away.

He grins like a conqueror then leans back, getting comfortable again. His hands stay where they are, touching me in a way that feels so deliciously wrong.

“I wonder what your next girlfriend will be like…” I muse, picking up the thread of our conversation. “Obviously she’d have to be incredibly wonderful to deserve you.”

He knows I’m trying to goad him, but he leans into it. “Yes, exactly. She has to intrigue me and seduce me, and on occasion, even outwit me. I want a partner, not a plaything.”

“I’ll be sure to alert the press so women can start queuing now.”

Sick of my teasing, he retaliates by tugging on my legs so I slip further down into the bath. My dress hikes up to show the tops of my thighs and the faintest peek of my panties.

“Emmett.”

He ignores my warning. “Is this payback for this morning? Your way of turning the tables on me?”

I smile, letting him think that. It’s easier than admitting the real truth: that I feel unbearably jealous over the hypothetical woman who will earn his attention. Marie or Miranda or any other woman down the line—I’ll hate them all.

“Since you seem so eager to know, Marie found me as I was leaving the villa after lunch and asked me to take her down to the pond. I tried to beg off, but she insisted. It was a twenty-minute walk that felt like it dragged on for ten hours. There, you see how easy it is to be honest? Now you try.”

I swallow, unsure of what he means.

“I’ve been honest.”

His expression says, Have you?

“Ask me a question then…”

“Has Royce ever kissed you?”

“On the cheek, all the time.”

Said cheeks burn red hot.

He waits, making me squirm.

I look away. I’m not as strong as him. I can’t deliver the truth while meeting his gaze.

“No.”

It’s a faint admission, and my embarrassment bleeds into real annoyance. I see no point in shying away now. I turn back to boldly face him.

“Do you want the real truth? I’ve been kissed by men but never with passion and never in a way that’s made me want to race to do it again. I’m boring and sheltered compared to the glitterati you surround yourself with, and I’m not eager to change that. I like my life.”