One eye carefully slitted open—then blinked in disbelief.
There, directly across from her, he sat with his legs sprawled, one arm stretched along the curved spine of the sofa, tumbler in hand.
Somehow, his utter maleness was…enhanced.
His gaze shifted…
And met hers through the crack in the screen.
She gasped—again.
Idly, he said, “You can come out now.”
Somehow, around the solid lump in her throat, out came the truth. “I’d rather not.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
That voice.
Recognition hung just beyond the edge of Dev’s memory.
“You’ll have to come out eventually.” He was only pointing out the obvious.
The obvious was met with silence.
And stillness.
The woman wasn’t coming out.
They were at an impasse.
He supposed it was within his rights to stride across the room, tear the screen away, and forcibly remove the woman, but in truth, this was the most interesting thing to have happened to him in weeks. It was even almost fun.
Still, she left him with no choice but to say, “You have exactly ten seconds before I send for the law.”
“No!” came a shout as the woman sprang to her feet and scrambled out from behind the screen, nearly tipping it over in the process.
And here was hazy memory come to solid life.
Lady Beatrix St. Vincent, as he lived and breathed.
Here, in his hotel suite.
Life could deliver some unexpected twists and turns, and that was a fact.
Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, her breath coming in sharp, shallow sips, she stared out at him. From the little he understood of her, he knew this much. She wasn’t the sort of woman who was lost for words.
Yet here she stood before him, exactly that.
He settled deeper into sofa cushions and crossed an ankle over the opposite thigh. A flash of irritation passed behind her eyes, and her jaw clenched and released.
His air of indolence annoyed her.
Good.
He wanted to poke at her…
Prod her…
