Page 53 of A Story of Love

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

She stared at his chin for a moment before lifting her eyes to his. “Somebody has been sending me gifts.”

“Like the gown?”

“Yes. This gown, the one I wore last time, and other… things.”

Fast inwardly smiled at her dismissive use of other things for the fortune in emeralds currently festooning her delicious person. “A secret admirer, then?”

“I don’t know that the person admires me.”

“What other reason could he have for sending you gifts?”

“Why would you say he?”

“It was just a figure of speech.”

She grunted.

“Don’t you like the gifts?”

“Of course I like them. They are beautiful—and perfect! That isn’t the issue.”

Perfect.

Fast allowed himself a tiny, smug smile at her admission. He liked seeing his gifts on her body very well indeed, but it was nice to hear that she liked them, too.

“So, what is the issue then?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

She looked so disgruntled that Fast wanted to laugh. But he suspected that he would gain more information with silence than mockery.

And his patience was rewarded when she said, “I’m supposed to be a newspaperwoman adept at digging up information and I haven’t been able to discover a thing about the gift giver’s identity.”

Fast made a mental note to give Thérèse a bit extra when he settled the next bill.

“Surely you must suspect somebody?”

“I”—she bit her lip and then vigorously shook her head. “No.”

“You were going to say somebody—whom?”

She gave him the irritable scowl he treasured almost as much as her blushing. “I’ve already said too much.”

It irked Fast almost beyond bearing that there was somebody else in her life she suspected of giving her such gifts. And the fact that he was irked was even more… irksome. Naturally, she must be combing through her acquaintances and looking for a probable suspect. And just as naturally Fast would not be among that number. She’d said it herself: they weren’t even friends. Indeed, she viewed him as nothing more than source material for a newspaper story.

It was Fast who’d given in to a flight of fancy and developed not just lustful imaginings, but romantic ones.

Bloody. Damn. Hell.

He needed to do something to keep the shocking state of his thoughts in check because Gregg was already beginning to suspect there was something amiss. He hated to think what his long-time business partner and friend would say if he ever guessed that Fast had been brought to his knees by a woman whose only interest in him was exposing his family’s darkest secrets in his enemy’s newspaper.

And he never wanted Gregg or anyone else to guess how arousing he was finding it to clothe this woman. Even Fast thought himself more than a bit unhinged to be deriving such pleasure in choosing garments for her—or even just thinking about her wearing garments next to her skin that he’d selected for—

“At first I thought it might be Mr. Parker—ow!” Miss Fontenot glared up at Fast when his fingers tightened around her waist.