Her eyebrows crinkled with confusion. “A gift?”
“For you.”
For some reason, he felt like that last bit needed to be said. This woman wasn’t accustomed to receiving gifts.
Tentatively, as if a jape were possibly being played on her, she took the parcel and set it on her lap.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Maybe.”
“Open it.”
Hesitant fingers hovered, then forefinger and thumb pulled the string and the four sides of the box fell open. She gasped with a squeak closely resembling delight at the variety of chocolate confections staring up at her. She tore her eyes away to meet his.
“Aren’t you going to try one?”
He found he liked this role.
Lord Devil—tempter.
He couldn’t help wondering what other temptations he could throw this woman’s way.
She picked up a chocolate and considered it. Very clearly, she wanted to eat it. A single bite was all it would take.
But she didn’t.
She took a nibble and savored it. Then another nibble, and savored it, too, as she consumed the chocolate bite by dainty bite in a manner Dev wasn’t sure he’d ever appreciated a single thing in his life.
“One thing more,” he said.
“Yes?” she asked, distracted. She was eyeing her next chocolate.
First, Dev noticed something. “You have a smudge of chocolate…here.” He tapped the corner of his mouth.
Her tongue darted out and began working on the area.
As he watched the tip of her pink tongue, a surprising happening occurred. His mouth went dry.
He tore his gaze away and cleared his throat and returned to the subject ofone thing more… “You and I are not adversaries.”
Her tongue stopped, and her eyes narrowed warily, as if searching for his angle. “We’re not?”
He shook his head. “I don’t see any reason we should be.”
She reached for her second chocolate and took a contemplative bite. Her eyes drifted shut for an instant of bliss. But he could see she was turning his words over in her nimble mind. At last, she nodded. “I think you’re right.”
“In fact,” Dev continued, emboldened, “we should be friends.”
Her brow crinkled. “Friends?”
“Our arrangement won’t work if we don’t like each other. So…”
He extended his hand across the table. She regarded it as if she’d never beheld a man’s hand before and made no move to take it. Then—at last…tentatively—she reached out. His hand felt like a clumsy bear paw against the slender elegance of hers. He’d thought her hand would’ve been cold. But, no, Lady Beatrix’s hand was warm and composed of firmer substance than it appeared.
Much like the rest of her, he suspected.
He liked the feel of her hand.
