Page 30 of To Tango, with Desire

I shrugged, annoyed by his perceptiveness. “My parents want different things for me.”

“Ah. Let me guess, they want what any Lebanese family wants for their daughter—”

“Marriage,” we both said in unison.

I smothered the urge to smile. The fact that we both shared a similar ethnic background should have been comforting, but instead it left me feeling exposed.

“Isn’t that what every Lebanese family wants for their sons too? I can only imagine your parents want the same.”

Zane glanced over at me. “My parents are dead.”

My heart tugged at his emotionless response. “I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. And yes, I’m sure they did want that for me. Well, at least my mom, I can’t speak for my father. He was useless and died not long after my mom left him. I was small . . .” Zane blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “Life doesn’t always pan out the way you expect.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, wandering leisurely out to the front area.

I wanted to understand his motivation for being here. Other than tango events and that one night I’d spent at his house, we’d never seen each other socially. It was always at a class or milonga, so his presence here was unnerving.

“Can I see upstairs?” He gestured to the staircase. I nodded, following him.

“A lot of light up here as well.”

“That was one of the selling points for this place.”

“I can imagine. So, did you get any matches from the mixer? Any future husbands?”

I stifled a groan. “You mean did I find a man who wanted me to birth his babies and tend to his home? No, afraid not. How about yourself?”

“I’m contemplating a match.”

I gripped my hands together. “You’re getting married? To whom?” I pictured the Russian doll and did my best to remain impassive. Kiki must be his sidepiece if he was getting engaged to someone from the mixer.

“I never said I was getting married. I said, I’m contemplating having an arranged marriage. It’s a business deal like any other. Two parties going into an agreement, making sure they meet the terms and conditions. Sounds ideal.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Sounds cold. And likely to get in the way of your playboy lifestyle, no?”

“You’ve got me all wrong.”

“Sure.”

Zane looked around the kitchen and living quarters, peeking into the small bedroom and private bath. “A good space to crash when you’re having a late night. Small but suitable.”

I huffed, annoyed at the way he kept changing the conversation to suit himself. “I think so. But then again, my teeny tiny business is worlds apart from your empire.”

Displeasure flashed across his face. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Why are you trying to put a wedge between us? You know, you and I aren’t so dissimilar,” he replied.

I stomped my way downstairs, beyond irritated and, if I was honest with myself, flustered. The small space had seemed to shrink in his presence. Was it his wealth that gave him this gravitas? Or was it just him? Tall, well-built, handsome as sin.

“You’re running away,” he taunted, following.

“I am not.” I whirled to face him, making sure to keep a good distance.

“We’re both in business,” he continued, listing his reasons for our compatibility.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve just started. You own a zillion companies.”