“How the fuck do you murder someone with a washing machine?”
“You tell me. You’re the one with the very particular set of skills.”
He shook his head, as if this was all the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.
But he kept talking about it. “I’m not Liam Neeson, Lydia. Though, if I was, no one would ever kidnap members of my family in a series of increasingly preposterous scenarios.”
“So in other words, you’re actuallybetterthan Liam Neeson.”
“It doesn’t take much to be better than a guy who can’t protect his own daughter and wife from a bunch of xenophobic stereotypes that don’t fucking exist.”
“Destroying trashy movies and admitting you’re a spy for the CIA all in one sentence. Goddamn, could you be any hotter? I want to say no, but I fear that might not be true.”
“I wasn’t a spy for the CIA, Lydia. Oh, and Mexico doesn’t have a defense minister, just FYI.”
“Well, of course they don’t. Because you killed him on a high heat wash.”
She could tell he wanted to laugh at that. It pushed at both corners of his mouth. It made him throw up his hands. And even though his next point was pretty serious, there was some residual amusement in his voice. Residual amusement, and just a touch of admiration.
“You honestly think I don’t know what you’re doing here?”
“I have no idea to what you might be referring.”
“The attempt at squeezing me for information, Lydia.”
“Oh come on. I’m hardly squeezing.”
“No. You’re just leading me down dark conversational alleys until I completely lose my way and have to beg you for directions,” he said. And nowthat admiration was obvious. She couldn’t hear it in his voice. She could see it in his eyes, good and warm and reassuring. “Seriously, I thinkyoushould be the one working for the CIA. You can kill the King of France by speaking to him until he goes insane.”
“So you’re saying I make you insane.”
“God yes. Completely out of my mind.”
“You still seem pretty in control of yourself to me.”
“I don’t think you’d say that if desire was always a visible thing.”
nShe didn’t mean to make a sound when he said the word desire. It just slipped out, too high and too shocked and worst of all: so embarrassingly breathy. It was as if he’d told her something completely filthy.
Though, that was the problem with being around someone like him.
Even the smallest admission of sexual feelings seemed shocking.
And he knew it, too. As soon as she gasped, he made a sound of his own—a curse under his breath. Like he’d spoken without meaning to. Like he’d fucked up, and at any moment was going to tell her hadn’t meant to do it.I take it back,she imagined him saying.
Then stepped in before he could.
“Pretty sure now is when you’re supposed to kiss me,” she said. Just lightly. No big deal.But oh, it was definitely a big deal to him. It made him look almost agonized.
Hesoundedagonized when he finally spoke.
“I would, I would. Oh, the things I would do if everything was different.”
“Then pretend they are. For just a moment, pretend that we met under other, less fraught circumstances.”
“And what other kind of circumstances do you think there could be?”
“Anything. Anywhere.” She paused, considering. “We were set up by some friends.”
