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‘Partly.’ He sipped his wine, his eyes still appraising her. ‘But it is more than that. It is the way you tremble when I touch you—even lightly.’
As if to prove his point, he reached across the table and lifted her hand, pressing a kiss against the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist. To her chagrin, a shiver of awareness flew over her, coating her flesh in goosebumps and warming her core.
The widening of his eyes showed he had seen the effect he had on her. ‘Nothing about you adds up.’
Fear stilled her. She was failing. She was letting her own selfish needs get in the way of what she was supposed to be doing. What she’d been paid handsomely to do.
Cressida was counting on her and Tilly had given her word.
She had no right to be jeopardising everything just because she was...falling in love?
Her mouth parted in surprise. Was that what she was doing? It felt so alien to her.
Her heart rocketed in her chest and her mind ran away with her. Love? She’d never been in love. Not once. She’d dated some nice guys, and she’d even slept with two of her boyfriends—the ones she’d thought might eventually become serious prospects for Happily Ever After. And there’d been one ill-advised one-night stand that had taught her she didn’t go in for casual sex.
But she’d never felt anything remotely like this.
‘I’m not an equation,’ she mumbled, pulling her hand away and reaching for her wine. ‘I’m not something to make sense of.’
‘On the contrary, you are a riddle I want to solve.’
She swallowed, her throat knotting visibly as she tried to refresh her parched throat. When that didn’t work she lifted her wine to her lips and gulped it gratefully.
She toyed with the collar of her dress. ‘Speaking of solving riddles,’ she said, in a heavy-handed attempt at changing the subject, ‘I have something for you.’
He was quiet, but she sensed his impatience with the roadblock she’d erected. She reached into her handbag and pulled out the book, passing it to him with a shy smile.
He unfolded it, and when he saw the title his confusion grew. ‘This is the book you told me of?’
‘It’s not just a book,’ she corrected. ‘It’s a series. This is one of them. The only one I could find at that little shop.’
She sipped her wine again, surprised to realise the glass was almost empty.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured, flipping the pages and giving them a cursory inspection before putting it aside. ‘Did you read a lot when you were growing up?’
She wasn’t fooled for a moment. He seemed to be making casual conversation, but it was all part of his same quest to solve the riddle of who she was—a riddle she’d never be able to answer.
Desolation washed over her. Was there any way she could be honest with him? The idea gnawed at her mind.
She reached for her wine, the idea taking purchase inside her. If she told him the truth, then what? Would he go along with her ruse? Would he still look at her as though he wanted to peel the clothes from her body and make her his? Or would he judge her for engaging in this kind of subterfuge? For taking payment for a lie?
Or what if she could speak to Cressida? What if she confessed the truth to the other woman and asked her to release Tilly from their agreement? She’d have to pay the money back but, given time, she could do that.
Suddenly keeping this secret for the heiress felt all kinds of wrong.
‘That does not seem like a complex question,’ he prompted.
Her eyes were enormous in her face. ‘Huh?’
‘Did you read much when you were growing up?’
She pulled a face, doing her best to hide her embarrassment and refocus her attention on their conversation. ‘Yes.’
She had lived in the pages of books. Jack, less so.
‘And these were your favourites?’
‘Amongst my favourites,’ she agreed. ‘I adored any mystery books. I must have read the same ones a thousand times.’
