Beatrix saw what he was so openly saying beneath his words. It was a tease, of course. But it was the truth, as well—and they both knew it.
He was perfection in other ways, too.
“You’re being incorrigible.”
It was what a friend would say.
A friend most definitely wouldnotpick up that thread and follow it.
A friend wouldnottell him, for example, that he was, in fact, perfect atsomething more.
So perfect, in further fact, that her body hadn’t stopped singing from it…hadn’t stopped craving it with every cell of her being.
No, a friend wouldn’t say that.
“You’re not the first to make that observation,” he said, as if he hadn’t taken note of all she hadn’t said.
She must turn the conversation in another direction.
It was four in the morning and it was only them in this kitchen and he was so very, very attractive, sitting here and eating cake and smiling wickedly with that very, very beautiful mouth of his.
His beautiful mouth… It would taste of chocolate cake.
Perfection.
“Your factory,” she began, abruptly, only remembering an instant later that his factory was yet one more attractive thing about him.
His head angled with interest. “What about it?”
“It’s an example of your perfection.”
“I’m afraid I can’t take credit for the perfection of the factory,” he said. “It’s all Shaw’s handiwork.”
Beatrix wasn’t letting him off that easily. “Those machines… They’reyourvision come to life. I find that amazing.”
“I amaze you?”
“You do.”
“In addition to interesting you.”
“Indeed.”
It was the truth, but she felt strangely caught out.
As if she’d somehow become ensnared in her own truth.
“A man might like that.” He lifted his brow and took another bite of cake.
Beatrix shook her head, stifling the laughter that bubbled up. Being Dev’s friend… It was too easy.
It was too easy to want more.
Another question came to her—one that would prickle… “Did you enjoy the game of charades?”
“You didn’t stay.”
“No.”
