The Royals Collection. Rebecca Winters

satisfaction Demyan found oddly enticing.

      He liked this confident side of her.

      Afterward, Demyan made sure she got the opportunity to talk to not only the visiting lecturer but also the head of the university department overseeing her lab’s research.

      Her boss, who had attended the dinner as well, kept shooting her accusing glances from across the ballroom.

      Demyan observed, “The head of your research is not happy to see you here.”

      “He doesn’t like any of his assistants to make connections outside the department.” Chanel didn’t sound particularly bothered by that fact.

      “That is very shortsighted.”

      “He’s a brilliant scientist, but petty as a human being.” She shrugged. “I have no aspirations to run my own lab.”

      “Why not?”

      “Too much politics involved.” She looked almost guilty. “I like the science.”

      That sounded like what Demyan knew of her father. “Why the frown?”

      “My mother and stepfather would be a lot happier if I had more ambition, or any at all, really.”

      “Yes?”

      “When Yurkovich Tanner offered my schooling scholarship, they made it clear I could attend any school I wanted to.”

      This was not news to Demyan, but perhaps she would explain why she’d opted for a local state school when she’d had the brains, the grades and the SAT scores to attend MIT, or the like.

      “You graduated from Washington State University.”

      “It was close to home. I didn’t want to move away.”

      Pity. It might have done both Chanel and her mother a world of good. “You were still looking for a relationship with your mother.”

      He understood that, though he’d never told another soul. His parents had given him up in everything but name, but he’d never cut ties completely with them.

      He’d spent his angst-ridden teen years waiting for them to wake up and realize he was still their son. It hadn’t happened and by the time he left to attend university in the States, he’d come to accept it never would.

      “I think I still am,” Chanel answered with a melancholy he did not like.

      “You are very different people.”

      “I’m the odd one.”

      “You are not odd.” Unique, but not in a bad way.

      “I wasn’t the daughter she wanted. My younger sister is the much-improved model.”

      “That’s ridiculous. You are exactly as you should be.”

      “Sometimes even I think you’re being sincere.”

      Once again, she’d startled him. Because she was right. In that moment, he’d been speaking nothing but the truth with no thought of his final agenda.

      * * *

      Chanel wasn’t sure of the proper way to go about inviting a man up to her apartment for sex.

      Demyan wasn’t making it easy, either. She wasn’t entirely sure, despite the kiss earlier, that he would accept. He’d been attentive over dinner, made sure she enjoyed herself to the fullest. She’d even caught him giving her that look, the one that said he wanted her.

      Only, she got this strange sense that he was holding back.

      And not for the same reason she was so uncertain about this whole sex thing. No way was Demyan a virgin.

      She couldn’t help it—no matter how much her body was clamoring for sexual congress with this man, there was still a part of her that insisted that act was supposed to be a special one. Not very scientific of her, she knew.

      Everyone from her mother, who had given up on Chanel’s nonexistent love life, to friends who could not comprehend her “romanticized view of sex,” agreed on one thing. Chanel’s virginity was just another sign of how she did not fit into the world around her.

      But making love was supposed to be something more than two bodies finding physical release, she was sure of it.

      Chanel had never wanted just sex. Wasn’t sure what effect it would have on her sense of self if she indulged in it now.

      Things looked different at twenty-nine than they had at nineteen, though.

      She should be more relaxed about the prospect of casually sharing her body with another person. She wasn’t.

      If anything, the older she got the more important she realized each human connection she made was. Sex was supposed to be the ultimate act of intimacy.

      She had to admit she’d never felt the bone-deep connection with the few men in her past that she’d felt in that single kiss with Demyan.

      She wasn’t stupid. She knew losing the two people in her life who had loved her unconditionally at the tender age of eight had made her reticent about opening up to others, particularly men.

      Her father and grandfather.

      Chanel’s stepfather hadn’t loved her at all, never mind without limits. As for her mother, Chanel was twenty-nine and the jury was still out on that one.

      Which, as an adult woman, had nothing to do with the question of if and how Chanel should offer her invitation to Demyan.

      His car slid to a halt by the curb outside her apartment building. He cut the engine, reaching to unclip his belt in one smooth move.

      Maybe she wouldn’t have to figure it out, after all.

      “You’re coming up?”

      “I will see you to your door.”

      “It’s not necessary.” She could have smacked herself. “I mean, only if you want to.”

      Oh, that was so much better.

      One dark brow lifted as he pushed his door open. “Have I ever left you to see yourself inside?”

      “It’s only our third date.” Hardly enough time to set a precedent in stone.

      Her own words hit her with the force of a solid particle mass traveling beyond the speed of light. What was she thinking? Sex with him when they’d barely spent more than a minute in each other’s company?

      Still remembering the pleasure of his kiss earlier, her body screamed yes while her mind sounded a warning Klaxon of nos.

      No closer to a verdict about how to handle the rest of the night, she stalled in frozen indecision.

      Her door was opened and Demyan bent toward her in his too-darn-sexy dinner suit, his hand reaching toward her. “Are you coming?”

      She fumbled with her seat belt, getting it unbuckled after the second try.

      The knowing look in his dark eyes said he knew why she was so uncoordinated.

      “Don’t,” she ordered.

      The knowing glance turned into a smirk. “Don’t?”

      “You’re smug,” Chanel accused as she climbed from the car, eschewing the help of his hand.

      Ignoring her attempt to keep her distance, he put his hand around her waist, tucking her body close to his as they approached her building. “I am delighted by your company.”

      Heat arced between them and, that quickly, she remembered why after only three dates she was ready to break a lifetime habit of virginity.

      “I’m still not sure why we’re here.”

      “You live here?” Amusement laced his voice as he led her into the unsecured building.

      The