“In ours.”
She blinked. “There are lines, even in our world.”
“Are there?” He moved to the small cabinet bolted to the floor between the chairs they’d occupied earlier and pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. “Drink?”
“No.” The response was immediate and final. “The last thing I want right now is to share a drink with my abductor.” She really was magnificent like this. Nothing like the tame everyday girlfriend she’d played in his bed before. Oh, Rose had always been gorgeous, always been captivating, had always drawn his interest because he knew what lay beneath the mask, even if he hadn’t seen it for himself.
Now the masks were off. She wasn’t pretending any longer. Neither was he. Did she recognize him the same way he recognized her? They were alike in so many ways, were a perfect fucking match.
They were dangerous people capable of dangerous deeds.
They were predators.
Dante grabbed a glass and poured a healthy splash of whiskey into it. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, curious on how far he could push her. “How many of your aunts and uncles—and parents—had their relationships start with a little light kidnapping? More than a few.”
She dropped into the seat across from him hard enough to make her breasts bounce. He enjoyed the moment and enjoyed it even more when he finally raised his gaze to her face and found her glaring at him. She gave a delicate sneer. “This is not a little light kidnapping.”
“It’s the very definition of the word.” He smiled a little, just to see her tense in response. Dante motioned at her with his glass. “You’re unharmed and comfortable.”
“You. Put. Me. In. A. Trunk,” she gritted out.
“And you’re dodging the question, Rosa. That’s okay, I already know the answer.” He held up a finger. “James Halloran threw Carrigan O’Malley into a trunk after they fucked the first time, and now they’re married.” He held up a second. “Jude MacNamara knocked up your aunt Sloan before he ever admitted he was a hitman.”
“That’s not kidnapping,” she said mulishly.
“Close enough.” He shrugged and continued, “Your dearest Papa blackmailed your mother into essentially kidnapping herself the night they were married.”
Rose crossed her arms under her breasts and leaned back. “Stop quoting my family history at me.” She crossed one long leg over the other. “I know it better than anyone.”
“And yet we’re still arguing.” Not that he minded. At least she was talking to him. He’d half expected her to hide in the bedroom the moment she walked away the first time, perhaps to attempt to barricade herself in. But no, that’s something other Rose would have done when she’d worn her mask with him. The normal woman she’d played at being. This Rose was a Romanov, and she’d spend her entire time in his presence looking for the best angle to slip a blade between his ribs.
She was a revelation.
Rose started taking her hair out of its ridiculously complicated style. “Yes, we’re still arguing. You are not like my father or my uncles. You’re nowhere near the man they are.”
Dante shook his head slowly, watching bobby pin after bobby pin appear in a pile next to her. “You know better. I’m exactly the kind of man they are. We’re all cut from the same cloth—even you—but you have your panties in a twist because I hurt your pride, so you can’t admit it.”
She stared at him, her arms raised, half her dark hair hanging in wild waves around her face. “You’re out of your mind.”
He took a long drink of his whiskey. “It’s been said before.”
Rose leaned forward, flashing a healthy slice of her chest in the process. “You might have a stack of dossiers on me and my family, we might have done something resembling dating for several months, but you don’t know me.”
Dante drained his glass and sat back. He was determined to play this slowly, but her continued insistence that he couldn’t possibly know her worked its way under his skin. “I’ve known you plenty.”
“More sex insinuation? Cute.” She rolled her eyes. “We’ve already established that we both faked it. If that’s your basis for pulling this shit, the foundation is crumbling beneath your very feet.”
He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. The plane seats weren’t particularly roomy, so it shrank the distance between them considerably. Her bare knee was a few inches from his hand, and his fingers twitched with the need to touch her skin. Dante liked having all his fingers attached, though, so he resisted the urge. Barely.
Instead, he touched her in a different way. “Don’t pretend you lied about everything.”
“I did.” She said it so confidently, he almost believed it. Almost.
“Liar.” He shook his head. “You didn’t lie about how hard it is being the oldest, the one everyone depends on, the responsible party who has to keep your sisters in line. You didn’t lie about how hard it was being everything to everyone, or how much you appreciated that you didn’t have to do that with me.”
She went still. “Shut the fuck up, Dante.”
“I didn’t lie about everything, either.” He watched her expression closely. Was that interest? Impossible to say, so he pressed onward. “I didn’t lie about my mother, or the complicated feelings I have about her and her passing. I didn’t lie about the shit I liked to do with you, the movie marathons and finding little hole-in-the-wall bars to test out like they were a secret only we shared. I didn’t tell you the full truth, but not everything was fake.”
“Stop it,” she whispered. She looked away as if she couldn’t stand the sight of him. “You have me here. You don’t have to play pretend anymore. It’s cruel.”
He was tempted to continue, to drive the point home that no matter who they pretended to be with each other, the connection between them was real even before they ripped off each other’s masks. And after? He’d never wanted someone the way he wanted Rose. Given enough time, she’d want him, too. “Even if your argument weren’t complete bullshit, the fact remains that I’ll have plenty of time to know you after we’re married.”
“No. Absolutely not.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of her seat. “But I’m feeling gracious, so I’ll offer you a deal. Turn this plane around and return me home, and I’ll pretend this never happened.”
Her audacity had him barking out a laugh. The sound surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise her. He grinned. “The moment I take you back, if your family doesn’t snipe me on the runway, they’ll hunt me to the ends of the earth. Nice try.”
She gave him a surprisingly innocent look. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I bet you don’t.” He was good, but even he knew better than to take his chances against those odds. Back in the day, her uncle Jude MacNamara was one of the best hitmen around. Even thirty years out of the game—officially—he was one to be wary of. Technically, he was a private investigator now, choosing to find people instead of killing them, but Dante highly doubted he’d let his other skills dull. And that was just one member of the family. They all had colorful histories, and they were all deadly in their own ways. The only thing stopping Rose’s family from siccing one of their dogs on Dante was the fact he had Rose with him now.