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you’re doing it wrong.”
    She was so much prettier in person, he thought then, even as she glared at him in all of her high-class fury. He was so much more susceptible to her than he’d ever dreamed he’d be. Damn her . It made everything that much more complicated. Or it made him a fool. He supposed it was the same result either way.
    She tensed as if she was debating running for the door. But she only breathed for a moment, then relaxed again, however slightly, and he wished he knew why. He wished he could read whatever was going on behind that smooth, compelling triangle of her face. He wished ,and he was old enough, battle-scarred enough, to know better.
    “Is that why you think we should date?” she asked then, her tone crisp with disbelief. And all those other things he wanted far too much to uncover and identify, one by one. “So you can regale me with your theories about the physiological reactions of total strangers?”
    “That would be a side benefit, of course.”
    “This is ridiculous,” she said, standing then, practically vibrating with tension. Or was it something else? He had the sudden sense that she was far more emotional, perhaps even fragile, than he’d imagined. Than she showed. But he didn’t want to think of her that way. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here. My life is disintegrating around me and your solution is to date ?”
    “Calm yourself, please.” He stretched his legs out in front of him as if he had never been more at ease, enjoying the way her dark eyes narrowed in outrage. It was better than the possibility of tears, however remote. “It obviously wouldn’t be a real relationship. I am well aware of your opinion of me. I am no fonder of you. In that sense, we are perfectly matched.”
    Which was true, of course. But it did not address this thing between them that had nearly burned him alive where he stood earlier. And Ivan only had to look at her to know that bringing up the best way he knew of to deal with that kind of wildfire, out-of-control chemistry—in the nearest bed, for a week or so—would only cloud the issue unnecessarily. Not to mention, force her to vehemently deny something that he had every intention of proving to his satisfaction. At length.
    But not now.
    “Why would you even suggest something like this? Is that how people do things in Hollywood?” She looked scandalized. “I didn’t think that was true. Not really.”
    “Surely you cannot deny the power of that kiss,” he said, for no other reason than to poke at her. Or so he told himself. He shrugged languidly when she stiffened. “If you can, you are alone. Last I checked, the clip has been watched in excess of—”
    “There is no accounting for taste,” she blurted, as if she couldn’t bear to think about how many people had seen the video. Seen them. The perfect Ivy League professor with a shined-up Russian thug all over her. She no doubt felt contaminated by his very public touch. Forever marred. It made him want only to dirty her further. Here. Now.
    “Indeed.” He eyed her. Forced his voice to remain cool. “Just as there is no denying our on-screen chemistry. Think of the headlines we could generate if we actually tried.”
    “You have to be kidding me—” she began, though he could see the heat across her cheeks, telling him far more than her words ever could. For one thing, that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her, however loath she was to admit it.
    He could use that. He would.
    “I am changing careers.” He watched her process that. That blink. That considering tilt of her head. Why should he find such things so powerfully compelling? “Again.”
    “Racing about the world claiming that unnecessary kisses are a new form of chivalry?” she asked drily. It was as if she couldn’t help herself. “With your fame and fans, I’m sure you could turn it into quite the cottage industry. A moveable kissing booth, if you will. Headlines and chemistry at every turn, just