Chapter 12
“What a load of cobblers,” Christian blurted.
He was still reeling from the intensity of that kiss. Bloodyhell, was he still reeling. And he would have fancied nothing better than to pull her off that settee and straight onto his lap to repeat the endeavor, but for reasons he felt forced to cry foul on, she was bound and determined to throw a wrench in the works.
She didn’t mix business with pleasure? Ha! Since when?
Her pale-pink lips flattened. “There you go again. Using phrases I don’t understand.”
“It means bullshit. Rubbish. I know for a fact that you had something going with your boss back when you worked for the CIA.”
Her chin jerked back so fast he was surprised she didn’t give herself whiplash. “Youhavebeen reading my file!” she accused.
“No.” He shook his head. “Again, I overheard you talking to one of the women at BKI. You intimated that an ill-fated romantic relationship with your boss was the reason you quit the Company.”
“Eavesdropper!” she accused.
“Loud talker!” he shot back, leaning forward in his chair.
He realized he was seconds away from jumping on top of her. Whether to punish her for the lie or simplybecause she was never so tempting as when her hackles were raised, he wasn’t sure. But since he prided himself on being a man of control, and since there was that itty-bitty rule about not touching a woman unless he was invited, he forced himself to sit back. There was nothing he could do to unclench his fists from the chair’s armrests, however.
“Why did you lie just now?” he demanded.
“I didn’t lie.”
“Abso-bloody-lutely you did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Sweet Fanny Adams, they were doing it again.
“Then explain how you can tell one person that you quit the CIA because of a dalliance with your boss and then claim to me that you never mix business with pleasure. One of them is a lie.”
“Nope. They aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“How so?”
Emily’s jaw set at an obstinateangle, telling him without words that she was finished with the conversation.
Bugger it all!
Then an idea occurred, and a cool blanket of calmness wrapped around him, banking the fire of his frustration.
If there was one thing that could win out over Emily’s stubbornness, it was her curiosity. The woman’s nosy nature got the better of her every time.
“I’ll make you a deal,” hesaid. “I’ll tell you one truth if, in return, you tell me one as well.”
She shook her head. He ignored the way a lock of her hair came to rest over her breast, the end lovingly curled around the tip as if to frame her unseen nipple. “But I don’t want to know justoneof your truths,” she said. “I want to knowallof them, you big smelly onion. For months, I’ve been dying to peel away yourlayers and see what’s underneath.”
See? Curious as a cat. And if she was keen to get to know more about him, that had to mean she cared, yeah? Or at the very leastwantedhim? But despite the fact that earlier he had been champing at the bit to tell her his tale, to let her get to know the real him, sanity had returned and suddenly the thought of whipping open his emotional raincoat and exposinghimself filled him with dread.
What if she didn’t like what she saw? What if the real him—warts and scars and dodgy psyche and all—sent her running for the hills? He wasn’t sure he would survive that kind of rejection.
Not from her.
“Two,” he grumbled, feeling the tension in the muscle beneath his eye. Only Emily would think to negotiate at a time like this. “I’ll give you two truths.”
“Three.” She was quick to come back. “I wantthreetruths.”
