Again she pushed his hand away. “If you’re asking me to model for you, I’m afraid I’m not interested.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you are. I am.” He took her arm to lead her to the door.

“If you think I’m flattered—”

“Why should you be?” He opened the door, then stood just inside, studying her with apparent curiosity. “You were born with your face. You didn’t earn it. If I said you sang well, or danced well, or kissed well, you could be flattered.”

He eased her out, then closed the door. “Do you?” he asked, almost in afterthought.

Ruffled and irritated, she snapped back. “Do I what?”

“Kiss well?”

Her brows lifted. Haughty arches over frosty eyes. “The day you find out, you can be flattered.” Rather pleased with the line, she started down the hall ahead of him.

His fingers barely touched her—she would have sworn it. But in the space of a heartbeat her back was to the wall and she was caged between his arms, with his hands planted on either side of her head. Both shock and a trembling river of fear came before she could even think to be insulted.

Knowing he was being obnoxious, enjoying it, he kept his lips a few scant inches from hers. He recognized the curling in his gut as desire. And by God, he could deal with that. And her. Their breath met and tangled, and he smiled. Hers had come out in a quick, surprised puff.

“I think,” he said slowly, consideringly, “you have yet to learn how to kiss well. You have the mouth for it.” His gaze lowered, lingered there. “But a man would have to be patient enough to warm that blood up first. A pity I’m not patient.”

He was close enough to see her quick wince before her eyes went icy. “I think,” she said, borrowing his tone, “that you probably kiss very well. But a woman would have to be tolerant enough to hack through your ego first. Fortunately, I’m not tolerant.”

For a moment he stood where he was, close enough to swoop down and test both their theories. Then the smile worked over his face, curving his lips, brightening his eyes. Yes, he could deal with her. When he was ready.

“A man can learn patience, milaya, and seduce a woman to tolerance.”

She pressed against the wall, but like a cat backed into a corner, she was ready to swipe and spit. He only stepped back and cupped a hand over her elbow.

“We should go now, yes?”

“Yes.” Not at all sure if she was relieved or disappointed, she walked with him toward the stairs.

CHAPTER THREE