You are going to do this, Sofía. You are not going to back out again. Muster your willpower.
* * *
“Bar bill says she will.”
“You’re on.”
Nik pulled his attention away from Sofía and frowned at his two closest friends. “What’s the wager for?”
“You.” Harry, his best friend since college, flicked him an amused smile. “I bet the bar bill the eye candy over there breaks your self-imposed slump. Jake says she doesn’t.”
Nik could have told him she already had. That he and Sofía had been seeing each other for a couple of months. But he liked things the way they were. Private. Uncomplicated. Sizzling hot.
He took a sip of his whiskey, savoring the smoky flavor of the spirit before pointing his glass at Harry. “I’ve spent the past six months negotiating a free trade deal. A landmark free trade deal, I might add. It’s not a slump. It’s a lack of bandwidth.”
Harry gave him a speculative look. “Still, you’ve been off. Your head isn’t here. What gives?”
He wished he knew. Hadn’t been sure what had been eating at him for a long time. All he was conscious of was that he wasn’t himself, had been consumed by a restless craving for something he couldn’t put his finger on.
What should have been the peak of his career, negotiating a free trade deal between his country and Mexico, a deal the critics had said couldn’t be done, hadn’t brought with it its usual adrenaline rush. Instead it had left him flat. Empty. Uninspired. A bit dead inside if he were to be honest.
But to try to explain that to his high-flying friends, still deeply immersed in the highs of their ultrasuccessful legal and banking careers, seemed pointless. That he, manager of a multibillion-dollar portfolio for his nation, a prince with unquestionable influence who could flick his fingers and have his heart’s desire at a moment’s notice, was having an identity crisis.
For what else could it be? Surely he was too young to be experiencing a midlife crisis?
He downed the last of his whiskey as their hostess slid off the stool beside Sofía, resisting the urge to delve too deeply into his head, because it never ended well, these ruminations of his. Thinking too much could make a man crazy.
“Maybe I need some inspiration,” he murmured, getting to his feet.
“Yesss!” Harry held up a hand in victory. “I knew it.”
Nik headed for Sofía, ignoring the group of women who had been sending unsubtle signals to their table for the past half hour. The closer he got, the more spectacular his lover became. Eschewing the rake-thin trend that always seemed de rigueur in Manhattan, Sofía had an hourglass figure that harkened back to the Hollywood starlets of the ’50s and ’60s. Curves that actually gave a man something to hold on to when he made love to her.
Her dark hair was up tonight, a fact that would have to change. It was the only accessory, he knew, she would need in his bed.
She was twirling a lock of her hair that had escaped her updo around a finger as he dropped down on the stool beside her, an uncharacteristically fidgety move for his ultracomposed lover. Her face was as spectacular as the rest of her as she turned to look at him: lush lips, a delicate nose and those startlingly beautiful long-lashed dark eyes.
“Your Highness,” she greeted him huskily.
His mouth twisted at the game they played. “You know,” he said, leaning toward her and lowering his voice, “you get punished when you call me that.”
Anticipation would usually have sparked in her beautiful eyes at the exchange. Instead they darkened with an emotion he couldn’t identify.
He frowned. “What’s wrong? Bad sales day?”
She shook her head. “It was great. I—” She pushed her martini glass away. “Can we get out of here?”
He’d been on his way to suggesting the same thing, but there was something about her demeanor he didn’t like. Those walls he’d broken down were back up.
He took out his wallet, threw some bills on the bar to cover the tab and stood up. “Meet me at the Eightieth Street entrance. Carlos will be waiting.”
* * *
Sofía made a discreet exit while Nik bade good-night to his friends. A chill, at odds with the sultry heat, slid through her as she exited the building and walked toward the Bentley Carlos was pulling to a halt at the curb. He got out, greeted her by name and held the door open.
She slid into the car, its sleek leather interior filling her head with the scent of privilege and luxury. Her head swirled in a million directions as she waited for Nik. Should she tell him it was over here in the car? Short and sweet, no big scenes, which Nik would hate, then he could take her home? Or should she wait until they were at his place?
Nik joined her in the car minutes later. Instructing Carlos to take them to his penthouse on Central Park West, he lowered the privacy screen between them and the driver and sat back in his seat, his gaze scouring her face.
“What’s wrong, Sofía?”
She swallowed hard. Decided the car was not where she wanted this discussion to take place. “Can it wait until we’re at the penthouse?”
He inclined his head. “Kala.” Fine.
She breathed an inward sigh of relief and sat back against the seat. Nik sank his hands into her waist, dragged her onto his lap and captured her jaw in his fingers. “You haven’t properly said hello.”
A wave of heat blanketed her. “We’re in the car...”
“It’s never bothered you before. “ He lowered his head, his firm beautiful mouth brushing against hers. “And it’s only a kiss.”
And yet a kiss from Nik could be disastrous. Her lashes lowered as he captured her mouth in the most persuasive of caresses. Gentle, insistent, he claimed her again and again until her traitorous body responded, lighting up for him as it always did. Her lips clung to his, seeking closer contact.
Gathering her to him, Nik deepened the kiss, his fingers at her jaw holding her captive as he explored the softness of her lips, the recesses of her mouth. All of her.
A soft sound left her throat, her fingers curling in the thick hair at the base of his neck. Nik lifted his mouth from hers, a satisfied glitter in his eyes. “Now you don’t look like a cardboard cutout. You look insanely beautiful tonight, Sofía.”
“Efharisto.” Thank you. A word he had taught her in his language. “And you,” she murmured, “had your usual throng of fans.”
His eyes glittered. “Jealous? Is that what has you off center for once? If so, I like it.”
The taunt knocked some common sense into her head. She pushed a hand against his chest and forced him to let her go. Sliding off his lap, she took her seat back and straightened her hair. Searched desperately for a source of innocuous conversation to fill the space.
“Congratulations on your big deal. The analysts half expected it to fall through.”
He inclined his head. “I thought it might at one point. But making the impossible happen is my forte.”
She smiled. No ego there. But why wouldn’t there be? First in his class at Harvard, a genius with numbers and forging high-stakes deals, the Wizard of Wall Street as he was known, he had turned his tiny Mediterranean island of Akathinia, a glittering former colonial jewel that hosted much of the world’s glitterati, into a thriving, modern economy over the past decade, his reckless, some would say suicidal, deal making paying off with deep dividends for his country. It was the envy of the Mediterranean.
She