Merde. She was so goddamn earnest. She was looking up at him with those big brown eyes, proudly declaring herself as his friend, a direct hit to the barriers Johan had thought almost invulnerable. Then her gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips and she made a small sound in her throat. “I guess there are other things.”

His whole body went tight.

“What other things?” he asked, his voice suddenly deeper. He wanted to hear her say them. He wanted a whole list, spoken in that sweet unassuming voice of hers.

“You can hold my hand sometimes,” she ventured, tangling her fingers together in her lap. “Kiss my temple, gently, if you think that’s okay. When things get tense, you can do a wall slam. Oh, and you can threaten to kill anyone who looks at me!” She scowled menacingly after that, as if giving him instruction.

“Pardon?” Johan cocked a brow.

“This is how people show romantic affection for one another in my . . . experience. And we can look at each other like this.”

Her chin lifted and she narrowed her eyes, then ran her gaze up and down his body. The pink tip of her tongue darted out over full dusky lips, and oh god, Johan had been wrong again. He was the one who didn’t want this to be fake. He wanted to know how soft those lips were, to feel that tongue slip against his.

Oh là là là là là là là là.

The air in the backseat of the Rolls-Royce was suddenly stifling, and sweat beaded beneath the hair at the nape of his neck.

“How?” The word came out as a squawk and he cleared his throat. “How exactly does one re-create that look?”

The sultry expression dropped away, replaced by her sunny smile. “I was just thinking about the comments I’d read about you on social media. ‘I would climb him like a redwood!’ and ‘I would lick him like an orange Creamsicle!’ You know, sexy things.” Her smile wavered and her head dipped with uncertainty. “Was it convincing?”

Yes. The answer was a resounding yes. He could have just nodded and looked away.

But.

Johan’s control was gone, and there was nothing to leash him.

He slid across the leather seat, closer to her, just shy of crowding her, and stared down into her eyes.

“You did great. Maybe something like this would work, too,” he said. He imagined taking her face in his hands, kissing her deeply. Wondered whether the same curiosity she showed in everyday life would follow her into their bed.

Their bed? What?

“What are you thinking about?” she asked quietly. “It’s very effective.”

You, he wanted to say. He couldn’t think of anything else. He was submerged in the warm brown depths of her irises. His nose was filled with the sweet scent of her, and he wanted to taste her, to sip at the nectar of her gentle kindness, as alluring as gingerbread houses and poisoned apples.

“Schnitzel,” he replied, sliding back to his side of the seat. “A really tender, delicious schnitzel.”

“I’ll have to try this schnitzel when we get to Liechtienbourg if it can make you look like that. Oh, there’s the palace!” She turned and pressed her face closer to the window again as they approached the structure, which looked like an exercise in East African gothic design.

Johan pressed a fingertip to the bridge of his nose. He needed to focus. He was an ambassador, and this meeting was important. He threw back his shoulders and lifted his chin as Nya looked back at him

“Can I admit something?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” he said. “You can tell me anything. Confidant, remember?”

He pointed to his imaginary sign, which was apparently always hung at his side now.

“I’m really nervous.” Her eyes were huge and round. “I’m trying to be brave, but I tried to be brave in Manhattan, too, and I failed.”

She trusted him enough to tell him her fears. Johan tried not to let that affect him, but it did, the warm sensation slipping into the cold and lonely passages of his soul.

She sighed. “I don’t want to fail again, especially since you’re going to all this trouble—”

“Spending time with you is not any trouble,” he said firmly. Not in the way she thought it was, at least. “And this isn’t some test. What is ‘failure’ here?”

She paused. “I make mistakes and embarrass myself, and you. I prove everyone right who says that I am a silly girl who should have just stayed at home.”

Johan had the feeling that “everyone” was her father. “Look. Only you get to decide how much a mistake embarrasses you, or what failure means. It’s normal not to feel brave. I never do.”

“Really?” Her mouth quirked and one brow rose. “But you always know what to do. You never look worried.”

“That’s bullshitting, not bravery, Sugar Bubble. It’s okay to be nervous. But you’re smart and engaging, and it shines through even when you try to hide yourself away.” He almost didn’t say the next thing, but even if she always surprised him, she was still human and he knew what she needed to hear. Maybe because he needed to hear it, too. “Besides, we’re in this together.”

“We are,” she said, the fear leaving her eyes. “Thanks, Phoko.”

“What is the Phokojoe tale, by the way?” he asked, memory sparked by the name. “Thabiso mentioned it to me.”