No!" Her eyes widened, and she took a quick step toward him. "You can't lock me up!"
"I can," he said calmly, "and I will."
The room he'd actually prepared for her was luxurious and comfortable—nothing like the tower—but he had no intention of telling her that. Not after the hell she'd put him through today.
Her hands curled into fists as she visibly fought to control her fury.
"I… I've changed my mind," she ground out. "I will have dinner with you."
He turned to the housekeeper. "We'll dine in the sala. It's late—bring everything at once."
"Yes, sir," she replied before disappearing down the hall.
Marco stepped forward and offered his arm. "This way."
Elena stared at the gesture suspiciously.
But then—unexpectedly—she smiled. A sweet, soft, utterly deceptive smile. She slid her small hand into the crook of his arm.
"Thank you," she murmured in a sultry purr, her lashes lowering just enough to veil her eyes… and tempt him.
When they reached the table, she lightly touched his shoulder. "I think we can dispense with the formalities, don't you?" Her smile deepened. "Call me Elena, Damian."
Watching her lips shape his name stirred something far more dangerous than hunger for dinner.
The ice princess had transformed into a temptress.
But why?
The answer hit him hard.
Of course—this was strategy. Instead of insults, she was trying charm. A new tactic to manipulate him into letting her go.
He wouldn't fall for it.
Across from him, Elena was thinking the exact opposite.
She now knew how foolish she'd been to waste time on anger and threats. That would never work on a man like Damian Cole.
No—she needed a new plan.
A smile curved her lips as she imagined the look on his face when her plan destroyed all of his. Let him believe every rumor the tabloids ever printed. Let him underestimate her.
That would be his downfall.
"Here we are," he said as they entered the wide dining hall. His hand rested possessively at the small of her back, guiding her forward.
"Care for a drink?" he asked shortly.
She hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
He crossed to the small bar and poured amber liquid into two snifters. When he turned back toward her, she felt the air shift.
Late shadows sharpened the angles of his strong jaw. His black curls were unruly above his aquiline profile, his full mouth set in that cold, unreadable expression that made her pulse trip.
He set her drink on the table and sat beside her.
She startled when his knee brushed against her bare leg.
She blushed in embarrassment, looking for all the world like the virgin she truly was. She tried to recover quickly.
"No. Your legs are just very… big."
He arched a brow.
"I admire strong legs on a man," she added, reaching for confidence she didn't feel. "Big hands. Big feet." She gave an exaggerated glance downward. "So good for heavy lifting."
His voice dropped, low and amused. "I don't just have strength. I have stamina."
Oh my God.
Flirting with Damian felt like playing with fire—scorching, dangerous, and impossible to control.
You can do this, she reminded herself frantically. Make him think you want him. Act like the promiscuous woman he believes you are. Lean forward. Kiss him. Now.
But she couldn't.
He was too powerful, too masculine… too completely in control of himself. And she was losing control of hers.
He glanced down at her hand resting near his. "What exactly do you have in mind?"
His eyes dropped to her mouth.
Her tongue swept across her lower lip—nervous, involuntary—and her breath caught. She could not manipulate a man like this. He was too sharp. Too focused.
"Could you… get me some more brandy?" she asked, trying for lightness. She even forced a girlish giggle. "My head is starting to spin… in such a wonderful way."
Without a single word, he took her glass and walked to the wet bar.
"I still don't understand why you think kidnapping me would hurt Richard and my brother," she said softly.
Damian didn't answer at first. His gaze drifted—slowly, deliberately—to the swell of her breasts framed by the plunging neckline of the black dress.
"Here's your brandy."
He placed the glass carefully on the table beside her.
"Thank you."
She crossed her legs, angling them to her advantage. Then, with a tiny gasp, she let one of her high heels drop to the floor. She leaned forward to retrieve it—knowing exactly what the movement revealed.
When she straightened, he was staring at her like a hungry wolf considering a lamb.
She almost jolted when his hands came down on her shoulders. She hadn't expected her body to react—to the heat of his palms, to the firmness of his touch. Her heart gave a strange, trembling thump as he began to massage her shoulders.
His hands slid lower, brushing the bare skin of her upper back as he worked the tension from her shoulder blades. A shiver rippled through her.
She closed her eyes, unable to stop herself from leaning back into his touch.
His fingertips traced lightly along the edges of her shoulders.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured.
"It's not me," she whispered breathlessly. "It's the dress."
"It's the woman in the dress."
He bent forward then, his arms circling her, pulling her gently but firmly against his chest.
"Perhaps you're right," he said near her ear. "We could… help each other."
"I'm serving dinner as you requested—everything at once," the housekeeper announced sharply from the doorway, shooting Elena a hard glare before leaving the dishes.
Elena looked down at her plate. She lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips.
It was cold.
But it was delicious.
After dinner, they lingered over more drinks.
"Why do you think kidnapping me would help your plans?" she asked quietly.
"You're a pin in my grenade," he replied with a hard smile. The room fell silent around them.
"Getting warmer?" he murmured.
Before she could answer, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Elena's heartbeat kicked up. If she could just get that phone—she could call her brother, Richard… someone. She needed to stay focused. She needed the plan.
Feeling both terrified and bold, she slid her hand down and took his, guiding it lower into her own.
"What did my brother or Richard do?" she whispered.
"Why do you keep asking?" His voice was low. "Do you care?"
She forced her trembling fingers to glide down his chest. She could feel the hard lines of muscle beneath his crisp linen shirt.
"Tell me," she breathed.
He caught her hands suddenly, forcing them still. His handsome face hardened, almost savage.
"Kiss me," she said—taking the final step that pressed her entire body against his.
He inhaled sharply. For a heartbeat she thought he would give in—but then he tore himself away from her.
"It won't work," he said harshly.
"What won't?" she asked, dizzy from the closeness, from wanting him more than she understood. Her mind kept circling back to the same thought: his mouth on hers.
"You really think you can flirt, toss your hair, and I'll let you go?" His eyes were like steel. "I won't release you for a few cheap kisses."
Her breath shook. "And what if I offered you more than kisses?"
"Your body, you mean?" His tone was cold. "If I wanted you, I could seduce you easily."
"That's not true," she gasped, stung. "I've resisted far better men than you. What makes you so special?"
His eyes darkened dangerously.
"So if I kissed you now… you wouldn't feel a thing?"
"Not a thing."
"Really?"
He slid an arm around her and lowered his mouth toward hers, stopping when just a breath of air separated them.
"So this leaves you cold?" he whispered. "And this?"
He pulled her against him in a sudden, powerful embrace and kissed her—deeply. Heat rushed through her like wildfire. Her knees weakened. She felt the world tilt, his body firm against hers, her senses spinning beyond control.She wanted him to lift her,to wrap her legs around his waist,to make love to her and break her virginity so she could feel how other ladies her age felt
She clung to him helplessly, her breath caught in his mouth.
Then her hand brushed his hip—and she felt it.
The rectangle of his phone.
Her plan slammed back into her mind.
She couldn't lose herself now. Not when her sister needed her. Not when everything depended on her keeping her head.
She forced herself to tear away from him. Her breath was shaky, her heart pounding as she met his gaze.
"I felt nothing," she lied.
He blinked, eyes still dark with desire. His voice came out rough.
"You're lying."
"I'm a Hart," she said, throwing his own words back at him. "Just like you said—a liar and a thief."
She turned to leave, but he caught her hand, closing his fingers around her fist and pinning her gently against the stone balustrade.
"Wait."