Cyril’s gaze swung back and forth between the two of them. Her face burned as she fought for composure, resisting the urge to wiggle out from under Gideon’s arm.

Gideon turned a stunningly white smile on her, transforming the hard lines of his face from broodingly handsome to drop-dead gorgeous. “Don’t be surprised if you see me hanging around. Can’t stand to be away from my girl here.” Leaning down, he cupped her face, long fingers burning an imprint on her cheeks.

Immediately, she felt the rush of blood through the callused pads of his fingers, a drumbeat reverberating directly to her heart.

She stilled, motionless, as he dipped his head, eyes intent on her lips. His mouth settled over hers, warm and firm, a man who knew what he was about. She sighed and he swept his tongue inside her mouth. He tasted of heat and man—sex—and she arched against him. Slanting her head, she drank greedily, her fingers digging into his hard biceps.

And then it was over. Gideon set her from him with a jerk.

Her eyes snapped open. He stared down at her, smiling smugly. Only the muscles bunching beneath her fingers told her he wasn’t unaffected.

Feeling stunned and slightly dizzy, she slowly uncurled her fingers from his arms. Dropping her hands at her sides, she gulped a steadying breath. Remembering that they weren’t alone, she glanced at Cyril.

“Claire.” He nodded, lips tight and unyielding. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a dark look for Gideon, Cyril strode past them.

Leveling an angry glare at Gideon, she hissed, “What did you do that for?”

“You don’t need the complication of a boyfriend right now.”

“Cyril’s not my—”

“Not the point. He wants to be. And whether you realize it or not, you’re caught in a dangerous game here. The fewer people involved, the better. Since I’m going to be your shadow from now on, it’s easier if people just think we’re dating.”

“No one will believe we’re dating.” A dry laugh escaped her at the very idea. Strange how bitter it sounded even to her ears. “They need only take one look at you to know that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind,” she muttered, dropping her gaze and staring at her new, open-toed shoes. Her red toenails peeked out at her.

“Tell me,” his deep voice commanded.

She looked back up at him in exasperation, readjusting her purse on her shoulder. “I would never date a guy that looked like you.”

She thought she detected a twitching of his lips before he responded. “Why not?”

“You—” She waved her hand at him, her voice struggling and sputtering like a dying engine. “Me—”

She was too proud to say what raced through her mind: that he was too attractive, too confident, too everything, to want her. Guys like him didn’t date women like her.