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“Perhaps. You’re rather dark and menacing. Are you enhanced enough to support this promise of violence?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI see.”
    She lifted the lid off the pot, releasing a cloud of aromatic flavor into the kitchen, and scraped the herbs into the soup. “What is it you want?”
    â€œYou.”
    â€œWhy?”
    He frowned. “I’m not sure. But I’m plagued by dreams involving your breasts and honey.”
    Her eyebrows crept up. He caught a hint of blush on the tan smoothness of her cheeks and found it at once elating and erotic.
    â€œIt’s quite adolescent of me, I know,” he said.
    â€œYou break into the house of a complete stranger, force yourself into her kitchen, and suggest that she should surrender her breasts to you so you can satisfy your honey dripping fetish. What woman could pass on that invitation?”
    â€œYou haven’t had many lovers, have you?” He watched her blush fade. It suddenly seemed important.
    She blushed again and he smiled, satisfied in her answer. She pointed at the front door with an oversized spoon. “Out.”
    â€œWhat will it take? What should I do to have you?”
    â€œI think you might be a raving lunatic.”
    He smiled. “But you aren’t afraid of me.”
    She sat in her chair. “No. You don’t strike me as a man who would rape.”
    â€œDespite me being dark and menacing.”
    â€œYou like to win.” She took a sip from her glass. “And forcing yourself on me would mean you failed in your conquest.”
    In two sentences she deftly dissected his soul. “I’m Celino Carvanna. Name your dream and I’ll make it happen. And then, if you’re so inclined, perhaps you could fulfill mine.”
    â€œA rather melodramatic declaration, don’t you think?” She smiled. Her mouth was soft, her lips pink like the sweet wine they drank.
    â€œWomen usually respond well to drama and decisive declarations of lust.”
    â€œI’m not that sort of a woman. Unfortunately for you, I’m not for sale.” She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “So far you failed to terrify me and failed to buy me. I’m terribly curious what path you will attempt next.”
    In his mind he lunged across the table and crushed her mouth with his. “Perhaps I will praise your cooking.”
    â€œAh. Flattery. A bit predictable, but it often works.”
    â€œDo you find me attractive?”
    She looked him over. Her gaze touched his chest, hidden by black doublet, slid up to caress his shoulders, then his thick neck, lingered on his cheekbones and finally rose to meet his stare. Her eyes were liquid chocolate and he felt a thrilling tension run through him.
    â€œYes,” she said, slightly surprised. “I do.”
    â€œWill you let me kiss you?”
    â€œProbably not. But I will share my soup with you, since you’re in my kitchen and I’m starved. You seem to be comfortable with rudeness, but I can’t let go of my manners and eat in front of you while you stare at me with your iceberg eyes.”
    â€œIceberg eyes?”
    â€œGlacial. The bowls are behind you.”
    Celino rose. The wall was dotted with standard hidden shelf covers. He tapped the closest one. A shelf slid out of the wall, offering a row of neatly placed bowls. He plucked two and pushed the shelf back into the wall.
    She ladled the soup into the bowls. “Would you like to eat in the garden?”
    She led him through the house into the garden. Flowers greeted him in every shade and shape imaginable. Dahlias. In his youth, he had spent countless evenings on the balcony of Carvanna house, sitting in a chair, puzzling over a financial riddle, and when he would look up to clear his head, the riot of dahlias blooming in the garden greeted him just like this.
    â€œTake a chair,” she offered.
    He sat and drank his soup from