Forcing his gaze away from James (you and I will discuss this later, he told the feline silently) he jabbed his pen into an open inkwell and held it poised in midair. “Why don’t you enlighten me as to why you are here, Miss Thorncroft?”
“I’d be delighted.” Her hand paused in the middle of James’ back. “But first, I believe I should be upfront about something. I do not—as it currently stands—possess the necessary monetary funds to pay for your services, Kincaid.”
In Kincaid’s experience, most women—hell, most men—would have stuttered and hemmed and blushed their way through such an admission. Money, particularly thelackof money, was never an easy subject to address. Which was why his standard policy was to demand a generous down payment on services to be rendered upfront. But Miss Joanna Thorncroft, with her clear blue eyes the color of an autumn sky, did not so much as blink. Nor did she blush, much to his disappointment.
He’d always been attracted to a blushing woman.
“I am sorry to hear that, Miss Thorncroft.” A lie, of course. Except that it wasn’t. Not entirely. Because there was a part of him thatdidwant to take her on a client. The same part of him that wanted to kiss her. The same part of him that had imagined her on his bed. The same part of him that was fascinated by that damned freckle on her collarbone. Which, as far as he was concerned, was simply more evidence that he should not, under any circumstance, agree to help Joanna. “I can recommend—”
“Yes,” she cut him off, waving her arm in the air, “you mentioned that. But the fact remains I want you to be my investigator. And it is you I intend to have, by whatever means necessary.”
Was shetryingto heat his blood, Kincaid wondered?
If so, it was working.
Any hotter and he’d burst into flames.
“That may be. But if you cannot afford my services, I am afraid we will not be able to proceed.” Closing his journal with a loud, purposefulsnap, he slid it away from him across the desk. “Thank you for coming in, Miss Thorncroft. Please let me show you to the door.”
He stood up.
Joanna did not.
“I believe I was very clear, Kincaid.” She arched a russet brow. “I temporarily lack themonetaryfunds to hire you, but that does not mean I am incapable of paying by other means.”
Kincaid sat down so hard his chair slid back and hit the wall. “What—what are you implying, Miss Thorncroft?” he croaked as his mind immediately conjured a flurry of scenarios, each one more wicked than the last.
Joanna against the wall, sighing his name as he kissed her neck.
Joanna naked on her knees, eyes heavy-lidded with desire as she beckoned him towards her with a crook of her finger.
Joanna leaning back against his desk, her skirts lifted above her waist as she ran a hand down the flat plane of her belly and pressed her fingers between her thighs—
Stop it, he ordered himself fiercely.
What the devil had come over him?
Kincaid wasn’t a monk. Far from it. But in the four years since Lavinia had shredded his heart with all the maliciousness of a feral she-wolf and reduced his career to a smoking pile of ash, he had selected his partners with the utmost discretion. Seeking blind pleasure over emotional attachment, he’d always been exceedingly careful to choose women far outside of his professional circle.
His last mistress, a widow several years his senior, hadn’t even lived in London. He had visited her when time allowed, and when they’d mutually decided to end their affair last month, there were no hard feelings. There’d been no feelings at all. Which was exactly what Kincaid preferred.
And how he knew, heknew, he couldn’t allow himself to become tangled up with a feisty red-haired American. Because the ripe, tangy passion Joanna invoked within him was the same he’d felt with Lavinia.
And everyone this side of the Thames knew howthathad ended.
He had been stupid enough to fall in love once and it had nearly ruined him. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. He wasn’t even going to allow himself to betemptedto make the same mistake again. Which meant, as deliciously enticing as trading sexual favors for investigative work appeared on the surface, he needed to decline Joanna’s offer.
“Miss Thorncroft, while I appreciate—greatly—your proposition, I’m afraid I must turn it down.”
She frowned at him and tucked a damp tendril of hair behind her ear. Her dress, a simple green gown with black buttons down the middle and a matching sash at the waist, was nearly dry with the exception of her breasts. Full and voluptuous, Joanna’s bosom must have caught the rain as she walked, and Kincaid’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth when he noted the hard peaks of her nipples straining against the light cotton fabric.
“But I haven’t even told you what it is yet,” she said.
“What?” Tearing his gaze away from her bodice—no small feat—Kincaid forced himself to focus solely on Joanna’s countenance. That hardly helped matters, as every inch of her face was just as stunningly beautiful as the rest of her.
Thick, arching brows a few shades darker than all that wild, red hair. Pale ivory skin saved from coldness by a charming spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. A full mouth that was slightly top heavy, and an elegant jawline leading to that delightfully stubborn chin.
“My offer. I haven’t told you what it is yet,” she repeated.
