Except for Thomas Kincaid.
He looked at her…well, he looked at her as if he wanted to know everything about her. As if he wanted to devour every thought inside of her mind. As if he wanted to peel away her layers until he reached her soul.
What would he find, if he went that far?
What would he discover in her secret heart of heats?
Did she want him to know?
Didsheeven know?
Three months ago, she would have said yes. Unequivocally. She knew exactly who she was. She knew just what she wanted. But now…now with old secrets exposed, and a future that was ripe with uncertainty, and a growing attraction to a British detective who didn’t seem to like her very much, let alone return her interest, she wasn’t so certain.
About anything.
It was a very uncomfortable position to be in.
Especially for someone accustomed to being in control.
Disguising her discomfort behind a wry smile, she used her thumb to wipe away a spot of dust on the edge of his desk. “I imagine one would have to be in love in order to be scorned, and I’m afraid I have never been blessed with that particular pleasure.”
“Good,” he said, rather abruptly.
Nowhereyebrows rose. “Good?”
“I…that’s not what I meant to say.” With a grimace, Kincaid raked a hand through his hair and shoved his spectacles into place then promptly removed them, polished the lenses on his sleeve, and then put them back on.
Crookedly.
Joanna lifted her mug to disguise her growing smile. This was the first time she had ever seen the detective visibly flustered, and she found it very…appealing. Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as unaffected by her as he’d like her to believe. Maybe—just maybe—he reallydidlike her.
“What did you mean to say, then?” she asked, placing her coffee down on the desk with a hardclickthat made him flinch. Her head canted. “Are you glad I’ve never been in love, Kincaid?”
“Yes. No. I…that is to say…bollocks.” Flipping his journal to a clean page, he picked up his pen and wrote with such speed the words seemed to blur. “Here,” he said, ripping the paper free. “There are supplies I need from a bookshop on the corner. Paper, envelopes, more ink. I’ve an account with the shopkeeper, you need only give him my name.”
“You want me to gonow?” she asked.
“Do you’ve a more pressing matter to attend to, Miss Thorncroft?”
“No, it’s just that I thought we might discuss the Chamberlain case in more detail.”And find out why you seem relieved that I’ve never fallen in love,she added silently.
“Your position does not entail solving cases.” He stood up, walked around his desk, and held out the list.
She took it. Their fingers brushed. Heat flared between them, like the strike of a match against flint. With a startled gasp, she looked swiftly up at his face, searching for a sign that Kincaid had felt what she had. But to her overwhelming disappointment, his gaze was shuttered and his emotions were concealed.
A wall of stone would have been able to tell her more about what it was feeling, and she felt a surge of frustration at Kincaid’s refusal to reveal even the tiniest hint of desire.
“The bookstore is easy to find,” he said in a clipped tone. “Turn left, walk to the end of the street where the large oak tree is, then turn right. It will be on the corner. The white building with blue shutters. The proprietor, Mr. Bingley, is very helpful. He should have everything you need.”
As she folded the list and tucked it inside her reticule, it occurred to Joanna, somewhat belatedly, that if Kincaid hadn’t experienced a jolt of sensation when their hands had collided, then he’d have nothing to hide. Maybe the very fact that his entire countenance was as empty as his foyer was actually an indication that he hadfeltsomething.
He was just better at disguising it than she was.
Joanna frowned. Thomas Kincaid presented a problem she’d never faced before. In the past, her suitors had never needed any encouragement. As soon as she had refused one, another had lined up, eager to try for her hand. Truth be told, she had never quite understood her own appeal. But she had also never questioned it, and—eventually—she’d come to take the attention for granted. Which meant she had never developed a key ingredient to any successful courtship: the ability to flirt.
Now here she was, actuallywantinga man’s attention for once in her life, and Kincaid could not have been more dismissive.
It was all very infuriating.
