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‘They don’t promise eternal life.’ Merida smiled. ‘I still think there’s something rather magical about them.’
‘Well, we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.’
Ethan didn’t believe in love. Full stop.
But as for lust? Absolutely.
He was almost tempted to tell her now that he knew Khalid—that the Sheikh was, in fact, himself a twin. Though only to prolong the discussion. To talk with her some more.
‘How long have you worked at the gallery?’ he asked as they headed back up the stairs.
‘Almost a year.’
Merida certainly wasn’t going to admit that she had been hauled in this afternoon at the last moment, but as they came out from the tunnel she did admit that this wasn’t her full-time job.
‘Though I only work here part-time.’
‘More of a hobby, then?’ he asked, or rather assumed, for he was more than used to women whose daddies found them a ‘little job’ until a suitable husband came along.
‘Not quite,’ Merida said, and gave him a tight smile without elaborating further.
Ethan Devereux was here to see the gallery, not hear her life story.
They walked past the displays where he had stood bored, and then came back to the desk. Of course she offered him a drink once more, and waved a hand over the nibbles.
Again, he declined.
‘Do you have any more questions?’ Merida asked, just as she always did, and yet it felt a little different this time. The beguiling, sensual air surrounding the amulet display seemed still to cling, and she found that she held her breath as she awaited his response.
‘Just one...’ Ethan said.
He saw her blink rapidly, and rather thought that she’d guessed what his question was.
Dinner.
And it should be as seamless as that—because for Ethan it always was.
Yet he hesitated, and did not know why.
It wasn’t the fact that he had to head to the hospital that halted him from asking. He could offer to pick her up in an hour.
Yet he didn’t.
Instead he reminded himself he was here for Khalid.
‘The rugs,’ he said. ‘If I were to order one, how long would it take to make?’
‘It would depend on the size.’
‘One like that.’
Merida should be dancing on the spot at the unexpected chance of earning some commission. A commissioned rug was worth a fortune, and she should be engaging him and wowing him with details. Yet all she could think of was dinner. Or rather, the lack of it.
Which was just as well, given Reece’s warning that he would crush her in the palm of his hand.
Yet Merida suddenly wanted to experience the feel of his palm more than she had wanted anything before in her life.
Except Broadway, which she had dreamed of all her life.
