He leaned down, his face coming toward hers. Slow enough that she could’ve moved if she wanted to. She didn’t. His nearness was dissipating her anger. She could barely remember what she was angry about. The heat coming off him warmed her and his scent of spice and cigar made her mouth water. His beautiful, enigmatic eyes remained locked with hers as he lowered his mouth to hers.

The only thing that touched was their lips in a chaste kiss, yet her senses went haywire. She was frozen, unable to move, her heart hammering in her chest. Her breath locked in her throat.

When he broke the kiss, it took her a second to realize he’d moved away. She blinked and half lifted her hand to touch her mouth but stopped. She gave herself a mental shake.

“Uh… where would you like me to put the food?”

His brows lowered. “I don’t care about the food. I ordered it to get you up here.”

Of course he had.

Still, he’d ordered the food, so she moved the food from the trolley to the table. She’d only moved half the dishes when he grabbed her wrist.

“Stop.” He frowned at her. “I don’t enjoy seeing you do menial work.”

She laughed nervously. “It’s my job.”

Still, he didn’t let go of her hand. She didn’t know what to do or say. She should be pissed at this guy, but she wasn’t. She wanted him just as much as she had when they’d gone on their dinner date.

More, actually. His week away, the flower deliveries, had served to make her think about him constantly. Now that she was with him, the attraction between them flared red hot, sucking the oxygen from the room and leaving her giddy.

“I need to leave,” she mumbled, tugging on her wrist.

He didn’t release her.

“Why do you need to leave, Yasmin?”

God, she loved the way he said her name with his beautiful accent.

“I like your accent.” Darn it, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

He grinned at her, flashing his teeth. “My native language is Turkish.”

She remembered him saying that he had a home in Istanbul.

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“I like your accent too,” he said, running his hand up her arm, setting off a wave of gooseflesh in his wake.

“My accent?”

He grinned again. It was stunning. It transformed his face, the creases around his eyes and mouth deepening, and dimples teasing his cheeks. His scars were less stark and he was less frightening when he smiled.