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to believe. The man exuded potency from his very pores. No, he wasn’t handsome, but he was the kind of man that women fantasized about. “Now really, Byron, why are you here? Have you just come to visit? Catch up on old times?” She doubted that. Their “old times” hadn’t been very enjoyable, not until the very end of the year they’d spent together, anyway.
    “No, I’m here on business of a sort. How many clients do you have right now?”
    “Three. Well, two, as of five minutes ago.” She sat back and pressed her lips together, not wanting to give out more information before he did. Did he want to be her client? That didn’t sit right with her. Not Byron. She couldn’t do it. He was too different from the other men she took into her bed. Too . . . special.
    “Only two?”
    She nodded. “I see them about once a week, sometimes twice.”
    He frowned. “I’d expected you to have more.”
    “ I choose my clients, not the other way around. These men suit me. They’re not cheating on their wives, they’re gentle, and they seem to need me.”
    “Need you?” His voice held a note of insinuation.
    “Sex isn’t always about the physical act, Byron. In fact, it very often isn’t about that at all. Oh, it’s nice, the orgasm, but it’s more about connecting with another person, feeling their smooth skin, the heat of their body, the sensation of their lips on yours. My clients are usually men who are socially awkward, incapable of procuring a wife. They’re lonely. For just a little while my clients feel less alone in the world. They feel as though someone cares about them, and I do care about them. Very much.”
    “But you don’t love them.”
    “Not in the classical sense. That sort of love would ruin me.”
    “Of course, I can see why you would think that.” His voice came out a deep, gentle rumble that stroked over her skin and deep into places her mind didn’t like to travel. There was a world more in those words than the obvious.
    She directed her gaze into her lap, suddenly unwilling to meet his eyes. This man knew more about her than anyone in the Temple of Dreams, more about her than anyone did. Of course she believed love would be her ruin when once it had been. Experience bred wisdom.
    He rubbed his chin. “Only two clients. Are you taking more?”
    Her blood turned icy for a moment at the implication. She couldn’t take Byron as a client for reasons that seemed impossible to examine at the moment. Having him pay for the privilege of being in her bed was something she couldn’t bear.
    She shook her head, still unable to meet his gaze. “No. I don’t want or need to take on any more.”
    “Are these three . . . two men in love with you, Lilya?”
    She examined her hands clasped in her lap, thinking of Wilhem. “Some of them think they are, but they only need to see that I’m not the right woman for them. Some of them ask me to marry them. I have a whole drawer filled with ring boxes from their proposals.” She raised her gaze to him. “But my clients know my nature. They know not to expect . . . more. At least, they should know.”
    “You have a cruel and dangerous nature.”
    Her face twisted. “What did you say?” She leapt to her feet. “You haven’t seen me in six years! You don’t know me at all! How dare you come here and insult me—”
    He stood, holding out his hand. “Please, Lilya, I didn’t mean to insult you, but you know what I’m saying is true. You weren’t born this way; you were made to be this way by what happened to you. You can’t help it.” He paused, clearly searching his mind for the right words to explain himself. “You’re dangerous in the way of a lion. Beautiful to look at, irresistible to touch, yet if someone gets too close, they’re going to get hurt. It’s simply your nature to draw men, let them fall in love with you, and never reciprocate. That’s why you have an entire drawer filled with rejected romantic dreams.”
    She didn’t