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“Hi, beautiful.” “Hi.” “Talk to me.” “I was hoping you’d start.” “What do you want to know?” I study his features for a moment, admiring how fine and symmetrical they are and wondering how a rich guy who looks like a GQ model winds up doing what he does. “How much leeway do I have? Because I know you’re Mr. Secrecy, and you don’t normally answer questions.” Looking contemplative, he rubs his thumb slowly back and forth over my cheek. “Can I ask you something first?” “Yes.” “Are you mine?” My throat closes. My chest tightens. If I cry, I’m going to beat myself up. “You know the answer to that.” “I want to hear you say it.” “I thought you didn’t do relationships?” “I don’t. But you stole my heart the first night we met, and I finally realized it’s hopeless to keep trying to resi
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