Her spencer was a soft ivory the color of fresh cream. Her gown, a soft lavender. Some might think it reminiscent of a delicate, fragile flower, but Max knew better. This shade was no wilting lilac, but the sharp violet of the flavored ice they’d shared when he found out her true identity.
Her bonnet was damp from the drizzle outside, and her lustrous brown hair fell straight and strong, undisturbed by the false pretenses of curling tongs.
She had come as herself. Not a lad in trousers, nor as an aristocratic lady. She was here as Bryony. The woman who haunted his office, his dreams, and now his home.
He pulled her inside and shut the door, but could not tear his gaze away.
“I’ve never seen you more beautiful,” he said and hated himself for it.
Already the platonic business meeting was off to a rocky start.
“You’ve always been the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” she said shyly. “Your waistcoat is gorgeous. Such deep greens evoke a mystical forest. A magical wood where only the most fearless adventurers would dare to tread.”
She was perfect. He was lost. The only exploring he wished to do was the taste of her moans while he—
No. This wouldn’t do at all. He spun away from her and gestured at his apartment, much of which was visible from the front door.
“This is my home,” he announced. “Smaller than your dressing chamber, I’m sure.”
“Mm.” Her eyes twinkled. “You’ll have to sneak in some time and see.”
He clenched his jaw at the inadvertent reminder the only way he would ever be allowed into her private chamber was if he snuck in like a thief. “Sit.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t I get the tour?”
“No tour.” The only room still hidden from view was his bedchamber, and he wouldnotbe leading her there. Having her in his sitting room was temptation enough.
He led her to the two armchairs facing a small sofa.
She did not take a seat. “Why did you invite me here?”
A thousand possible answers he could never say aloud crossed Max’s mind. He settled on the reason that was supposed to be true. Maybe it even was.
“You said we needed a neutral location to speak freely,” he reminded her. “There isn’t one. I don’t belong in your world, and you must come disguised to mine. Perhaps I do compromise. My home is my territory, but at least it is a place where we can both be ourselves.”
To his horror, her eyes turned glassy and she blinked several times before responding.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I believe that is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
Damn it all.
Max had believed himself the vulnerable dragon exposing his home and his heart to the invader, when in fact the mere act of lowering the drawbridge had shattered his opponent’s shields and laid her bare.
He’d had it backwards. She was the dragon, and he the slayer. He had feared her power and forgotten her vulnerability.
“I didn’t mean to be nice,” he said gruffly. “In part, I called you here to prove how different we are. To show you that my reality is this street, this neighborhood, this apartment. Now do you see? I have no palace, no white steed or pots of gold. All I have is my sister, a gambling den—”
“—and me,” Bryony finished with a wobbly smile.
“I don’t have you,” he said harshly. “You’ll be gone in a month, you said so yourself. You will be married to Lord Moneybreeches, living off in some—”
“I’m right here.” She touched a fingertip to his chest. “Lord Moneybreeches doesn’t have me yet. I’m right here with you.”
It still wasn’t close enough.
He pulled her to him and crushed his mouth to hers.
They couldn’t go on like this. There could be no promises between them. But she was right here in his home. In his life. In his arms.
