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It’s dangerous because I’m quite close to him, but I feel we need to maintain some of the connection he just established.
‘You’re not sleeping?’ I prompt softly.
‘No, Doc.’
‘Not at all?’ I frown, reaching around behind me for my pad and pen.
He shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. ‘I sleep a bit. Ten minutes. Twenty.’
‘Then what?’ I write 10...20 in the corner of my paper.
‘I wake up.’ The words are droll, bordering on sarcastic. My cheeks
warm, but I dip my head forward to write a note.
‘Do you have dreams?’
The wry sarcasm fades from his features. He focuses on a point behind me. ‘No.’
Liar. I don’t challenge him, though. It’s too soon and, for the moment, he’s made some admissions, which is a huge thing for a guy like Noah. I need him to trust me, and that’s going to be a tough sell with him.
I scrawl no dreams and underscore it, which is my way of reminding myself that I suspect it’s not the truth. ‘Have there been any changes in your lifestyle recently?’
‘Besides seeing you?’ he says thoughtfully, his eyes shifting back to mine, all confident, charismatic, sexy bad boy again.
My heart leaps.
‘I mean changes that could affect your sleep.’
‘Oh, you sure affected my sleep last night.’ The words are so far from what I expect that I lose my mask for a moment and show my surprise. I’m sure my face must pale visibly, that he must see the way I react. My stomach swoops and, briefly, I allow temptation to cloud my clarity.
But only briefly.
I’m a professional. I need to remember that.
‘Perhaps we need to try something new,’ I say, my smile an attempt at coolness that I suspect I don’t pull off.
He lifts a brow, obviously teasing. ‘I’m game if you are.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘I SET ASIDE a full hour, but I can already tell there’s no sense keeping you here that long.’ She pushes off the edge of the desk and walks back towards the window. The afternoon light shimmers across her, backlighting her in a way that makes her look like an angel. A very sexy angel.
‘Sick of me already, Holly?’
Her eyebrows knit together and I can see her cogs turning, analysing me. This is one of the many reasons I like to hook up with women who’ve got a drink or three under their belt. None of this psycho mind-reading bullshit.
And Holly Scott-Leigh is, I suspect, very good at this.
‘You don’t want to be here. And yet you came.’
‘I was curious about where you worked,’ I say lamely. Stupidly. She’s too smart to fall for that kind of bullshit.
‘So...’ She lifts a hand to her thick blonde hair and scrapes it back from her brow. A sign of frustration? The action pulls her sweater across her breasts, and everything inside me jerks. She speaks as though I haven’t. ‘We’re going to do five questions.’
‘Five questions?’ That’s easy. Relief is palpable.
‘But...’ She lifts her finger, her lips twitching with barely suppressed amusement. ‘You have to answer me honestly, and promptly. No faffing about trying to make something up and no dodging the questions.’
