“Yes. Ask me something.”
I glance down at her mouth before I stop myself. “Why journalism?”
She answers immediately. “Because I like truth. And because I’m bad at letting things go.”
That hits closer than I like. “Dangerous combination,” I say.
“You keep pointing out the dangerous part of my job.” She tilts her head, gazing up at me. “That makes me worried about what your world is like.”
My breath hitches. When was the last time someone worried about me? I mentally shake myself and give her one of my practiced diplomat smiles. “My world is very boring. Lots of paperwork and meetings.”
She watches me for a beat. Something in her eyes tells me she knows I’m lying, but then she smiles again. “Yeah, sure. Going to exotic locations, attending glitzy balls, flirting with women you just met.” She lets go of my neck with one hand and waves around in the air. “It all sounds very boring.”
Her quip startles a proper laugh out of me. A deep belly laugh I haven’t heard myself deliver in years. “Absolutely,” I agree. “Meeting a beautiful woman and making her dance with me. It’s all very tedious. All very boring.”
The small, shy smile that graces her lips when she realizes I just called her beautiful makes my heart stutter. This situation is getting away from me.
She leans in, her lips just shy of my ear. “You’re very good at making people feel comfortable,” she says. “You say all the right things and make all the right moves.”
I close my eyes for half a second. “That’s the idea.”
“And what do you get out of it?” she asks. “What is it you want?”
I open my eyes and meet her gaze. “Right now?”
“Yes.”
I should say something safe. Something flippant. Instead, I say, “You.”
Her smile turns slow and heated. “Hm. Mutual wants are easy to meet.”
My pulse kicks hard.
This woman is a liability. An unknown variable.
An unplanned complication wrapped in silk and confidence and far too much intelligence.
She’s also the best cover I could ask for because anyone watching sees a British diplomat dancing with a beautiful journalist, his attention wholly and convincingly occupied.
If I were smarter, I’d make sure this didn’t go any further.
If I were a stronger man, a decent man, I’d tell her goodbye and go up to my room alone.
But I am neither of those things.
“I should warn you,” I mumble. “I’m not looking for anything complicated.” At least I’m decent enough to tell her that.
Her fingers tighten behind my neck. “Good. I don’t have time for complicated.”
Our faces are inches apart now. The air between us feels charged, heavy with things neither of us is saying.
“This is a terrible idea,” I murmur.
She smiles like she agrees. Like she doesn’t care. “Probably.”
I’ve never wanted someone this quickly. This completely. This much.
It’s irrational. It’s reckless. It’s dangerous.
