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“So you have lived in London for a decade and not thought about returning to Australia.”
Her nod was tense.
“Do you have family?”
She nodded again.
“But you’re not close to them.”
She sighed softly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?” He demanded, his dark eyes heavy on hers.
“Because!” She drank several large sips of champagne simply for something to do.
“This is not an answer.” His nostrils flared when he was angry. She’d noticed it before, but now she joined the dots and understood that it was a tell for a dark emotion.
“It is the only answer I’m going to give.” She shrugged her shoulders. “There’s no big mystery. I’m not hiding anything from you.”
“Yes you are,” he contradicted. “It is better to be secretive and admit to it than to hide the truth and pretend you’re being open and honest.”
She glared at him crossly, her pale lips pouted, her expression weary.
“Tell me more about this princess of yours. What’s her name?”
It was a conversation change, but it did nothing to lift his mood. “Arja.”
“Arja. That’s pretty,” she murmured.
He shrugged. “Yes.”
“And you said she was beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“What does she look like?”
“Does it matter?”
“Sure.” She moved across the spa bath. It was so big she could have completed three full breaststrokes before reaching him. She moved between his legs, floating in the deep water. “I can help you decide the right bride. So tell me stuff.”
He felt his body stirring at her nearness but he made an effort to control it. For one damned hour, he wanted to talk to her without the interruption of sex. He wanted to hear her mouth move, not simply feel it.
“I can’t describe someone.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Dark hair or fair?”
“Dark.”
“Long or short hair?”
“Long, I think.” He shrugged. “She wore it in a style.”
“Tall or short.”
“Tall and slim. Her eyes are dark, like mine, and her skin is also like mine. She wore a red dress, and her nails were painted to match. Does this help?”
Not even remotely. Cassi
