Finally, finally I let my eyes meet his, my stomach feeling a little jerky when his gaze locks onto mine. He lifts his eyebrows as though to say, Well? It’s clear he’s been through this scrutiny before and knows what to expect.

I’m guessing most people try to pretend nothing’s amiss. The kind ones likely express pity—maybe even ask gentle questions under the idiotic misconception that he’d want to talk about it with a complete stranger. The cruel ones run.

I don’t want to be part of either group. I want Paul Langdon to see me as different.

So I do the unthinkable. As in really, truly horrible, and yet somehow I sense it needs to be done.

Wordlessly I bend my head, fumbling again with my purse.

“Mace won’t protect you,” he says with a sneer.

I ignore him as I go about my original task and pull a twenty out of my wallet.

“What’s this?” he asks, staring at the bill in my outstretched hand. I feel an odd surge of victory at the confusion on his face. For just a moment I have the upper hand.

I give a little rueful shake of my head. “A dollar in the hat’s not nearly enough. You should really think charging more for the first glance. Twenty dollars, at least.”

Silence stretches between us, even though his expression doesn’t change.

My mouth goes dry as he studies me. It’s a risky move, and I know it. With someone else—anyone else—it would be unbearably cruel. And yet somehow I suspect that this sort of in-your-face acknowledgment of his scars is exactly what Paul Langdon craves.

Then with a strangled snarl he swipes at my hand, but neither one of us watches the bill flutter to the ground.

Whoops. So it’s possible that I’m wrong. Maybe he doesn’t know that this is what he craves.

My pounding heart demands that I take a step back before I get backhanded by the livid guy in front of me, but I keep still, standing toe-to-toe with a beast of a man who looks as though he’d like nothing more than to physically throw me out of his secluded lair.

“Get out,” he says, mouth barely moving.

I lick my lips nervously, noting the way his eyes follow the motion of my tongue, and I finally accept that in spite of myself—in spite of the fear—I’m ridiculously attracted to him. Attracted in a fierce, animalistic way that I’ve never felt ever.

I found Ethan attractive, of course. I mean, we dated for like half of my life. And Michael . . . I don’t want to think about Michael.

But nothing in my limited sexual experience compares to the magnetic pull this guy has on me.

I ignore his demand that I leave him alone.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask, as though he hasn’t banished me from the room. “A cup of soothing tea? A turkey sandwich? Maybe sunglasses to protect yourself from all that happy sunshine you’re exuding?”

His eyes flash again, this time in puzzlement. I give him a fake-sympathetic smile and pat his arm. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. Were your bear growl and caveman antics supposed to send me running away? Did you expect that I’d faint at your glower?”

He opens his mouth, probably to bellow at me again, but I simply lay a finger over his lips the way one would hush a petulant child, even though this bold, tough-girl routine is as foreign to me as it is to Paul.

But I’m apparently not the only one who can do the unexpected, because instead of pushing me back or turning away, his fingers curl around my wrist until he’s grasping my arm hard enough to hurt. Without warning, his tongue flicks over the tips of my fingers, and I gasp, trying to snatch my hand back from the sweetly erotic stroke.

He’s toying with me.

I know it’s only manipulation, of course, but damned if I’m not turned on by this sick game I’m playing with a totally messed-up guy I don’t even know.

Both of us are breathing too fast, and I feel a surge of panic.

It was never like this with Ethan. That was always comfortable and easy. It wasn’t like this with Michael, either. That was simply forbidden. It was an escape, and a transgression I continue to pay for.

Paul’s eyes continue to hold mine until very slowly he releases my hand and pushes me back. “You’re clearly incredibly stupid, in addition to being bitchy, so let me be more clear. Get the f**k out of my home. I don’t want you here.”

I shrug, taking a step toward him, and feel oddly gratified when he takes a step back in response. “I’ll leave,” I say in a low voice, my eyes never leaving his. Surprise flicks over his half-handsome, half-contorted features, and I press on. “Yup, I’ll leave.”

He narrows his eyes “What’s the catch? Double your pay?” he asks with a sneer.

“No. I’ll leave. In three months, as agreed.” I lean in just a little, letting my eyes focus on his mouth. “Better get used to me.”

I make it as far as the door before I realize my mistake. No, Paul makes me realize my mistake.

He grabs my wrist a second before pushing me back roughly. My shoulder blades hit the door a half second before his mouth descends on mine—hard. I let out a startled yelp, my nails digging into firm, broad shoulders that feel like granite beneath my hands. His leg might be damaged, but his upper body is most certainly not.

This kiss isn’t about want, and it’s definitely not about romance.

This kiss is about power. He’s trying to scare me off.

I’ve never really thought of myself as having a temper, but something about this guy has definitely set it off. Anger flares, and I sink my teeth into his bottom lip. Not hard enough to draw blood, but definitely hard enough to tell him to back off.