There was plenty of room between the island and the counter for two people to stand comfortably, but he was crowding her, and with the countertop behind her she couldn’t back up. She could move to her right, toward the stove, and calculated there was a decent chance she could slip past him—she might even be able to make the dining room before he caught her.

Or she could move to her left, where the counter made a ninety-degree turn under the window. He was already half blocking the path there, so her chances of escape dropped considerably if she took that route.

The choice was clear.

“The coffee will be ready in just a minute,” she said, and stepped to the left.

He followed, stepping forward at the same time, leaving barely a foot of space between them. “You got anything sweet to go with it?”

She stared up at him, her heart in her throat. “You want dessert?”

He shrugged. “I’ve got a sweet tooth.”

“You had tiramisu at the restaurant.”

“Didn’t really satisfy me,” he said, and edged closer. There were mere inches between them now. “But you know what would?”

She reached back, bracing herself on the counter. The pose forced her breasts forward, and, though he didn’t look down, his smile turned smugly sharp.

She had to swallow before she could speak. “What?”

“A kiss.” He lifted a hand to her face, his eyes narrowing when she flinched. His fingers skimmed down her cheek to her lips, his touch so light she could barely feel it. “Been wanting to taste this pretty mouth for months, now.”

She forced another laugh and reached up to push his hand away. “Cade, come on.”

“Come on, what?” He caught her hand, squeezing her fingers when she tried to pull away. Not enough to hurt, not really, but the threat was there. “It’s just a kiss, Olivia. Just one little kiss. What can it hurt?”

Her heart was pounding. She tried to pull her hand free, but he tightened his grip, and she winced as the ring she wore on her middle finger dug into her skin. “You’re hurting me,” she whispered, her voice hitching, and he smiled.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he assured her, moving forward to force her against the counter, the cool edge of stone digging into her spine. “And I won’t. If you’re nice to me.”

Fantasy and reality were starting to blur, the knowledge she’d been clinging to since she’d stepped out of the car—that that this was Cade, and this was the game—faded into the misty recesses of her mind, pushed there by his smooth voice and devil’s smile. In its place was fear, bright and sharp and delicious.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” she managed through dry lips.