But there was a part of her that wanted—no,needed—to prove him wrong. Needed to share something with this man, whom she wouldn’t see again, that she couldn’t with anyone else. Maybebecauseshe wouldn’t see him again. He couldn’t use the information against her. Couldn’t throw it back in her face. Couldn’t call her ungrateful or disloyal.
She needed to be...honest. For once in her life, she needed to be honest with someone and with herself.
“Family.” The confession slid out of her before she could corral it. “I’m hiding from family.”
She could tell him so much more. Like how as soon as her plane had landed at Logan International Airport, her parents had been blowing up her phone, leaving increasingly...vociferous voice mails insisting she join them at their home for their latest dinner party. Or how it didn’t matter that she’d just arrived home after an eight-hour flight and a weeklong business trip. There wouldn’t be welcoming messages of “welcome home” for her. No “We missed you.” Just “Get here because we have an odd number of guests and Janet Holloway is bringing her son who’s in wealth management. Be presentable, and for the love of God, don’t embarrass us with talk of your boring job.”
She could share how since she didn’t put it past either one of her parents to send their butler—yes, in this day and age they still had abutler—to Mycah’s house to hunt her down, she’d escaped to the bar.
But Mycah didn’t tell him any of that. She just left it at hiding. Because that alone was incredibly...sad.
And the second after she uttered the word, she fought the pointless urge to snatch the truth back from between them.
Achilles’s expression didn’t alter; it remained as still, as stony, as it had when he’d basically dared her to prove him wrong. Yet his eyes... His eyes no longer resembled shards of ice. They were heated. And fierce with an emotion that surpassed sympathy.
“Me, too.”
She stared at him. Shocked. Two simple words. But like a decoder ring from a cereal box, the words unlocked the meaning of his gaze.
Connection.
Affliction.
Gratification.
“Who would’ve thought we would find ourselves here?” She surrendered to the desire that had been pulsing within her since spotting him the moment she’d entered the bar. Reaching out, she captured a dense lock of his long hair, rubbed the silken strands between her thumb and forefinger. Her palm itched to scrape over that thick beard. Achilles’s sharply indrawn breath echoed between them, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched her, those lupine eyes steady and unblinking on her face. On a trembling inhale, she released his hair and leaned back, reaching for her beer and moistening her parched throat. “On common ground,” she added, her voice uneven as she attempted a note of levity.
Mimicking her, Achilles lifted his own ale and drank from it. The taut moment vibrated with tension, but then he arched an eyebrow and said, “Yeah, amazing, considering you believe Daniel Craig is a better James Bond than Sean Connery.”
She snorted. “I said what I said.”
Achilles shook his head. “Blasphemy,” he muttered.
Mycah laughed, and when his beautiful mouth quirked again, she mentally chalked in a point for her. She was a businesswoman, and even if her parents refused to acknowledge it, a damn successful one.
Yet... In this moment, all her accomplishments seemed to fade in comparison with one faint, reluctant smile.
Oh, she was in deep.
And she wanted more of him.
The thought jolted through her before she could cage it. There was no getting rid of it. Not when the idea had already sown deep and even now its roots were spreading, reaching, growing...
Her heart thudded against her rib cage, a heavy bass that reverberated in her sex. In the space of one breath to the next, the arousal that had been frolicking in her veins all evening had flashed into a serious, I’m-not-fucking-around fire.
For the first time in her twenty-nine years, she wanted to jump into the flames and burn.
“You’re staring again.”
“I am.” She switched her legs, recrossing them. And damn his too-observant gaze; he didn’t miss the gesture. Probably knew why she did it, too. Not that the action alleviated the sweet pain pulsing inside her. “Does it still bother you?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Why you’re staring.”
She slicked the tip of her tongue over her lips, an unfamiliar case of nerves making themselves known. Again, his eyes caught the tell, dropping to her mouth, resting there, and the blast of heat that exploded inside her damn near fused her to the barstool. What he did with one look... Jesus, it wasn’t fair.
