She pointed her finger at him and stepped forward. “You can’t explain it because the only logical answer is that you”—she poked him in the chest with a finger—“are aspy!” She poked him again for emphasis.
His expression didn’t alter at her statement. He didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink, but suddenly his hands clamped around her arms. He hauled her off her feet and pressed her hard against him.
“We will not discuss this.” His stare cut into her, the coldness of it trickling all the way into her belly. “My brother and I sometimes have occasion to travel to France. My family has French roots. We have business ventures there.” His eyes flared with anger, daring her to argue, and she realized he wasn’t trying to convince her, didn’t care that she knew he was lying.
“That is all there is to it,” he continued. “That’s all you know. And all you will say, should anyone inquire.”
Hot indignation and bitter disappointment flashed through her. She tried to pull away from him. “Do you think I would tell anyone? Expose you? I’m not Lady Victoria, Ethan, and I’d never betray you.”
He held her so her tiptoes just grazed the plush carpet, and now those arms tensed and trembled. She’d pushed him to his limit, but surprisingly she felt no fear he’d strike out at her. Unexpectedly, he released her and turned away. She felt the door at her back as she stepped away.
“Why can’t you trust me?”
He paused, tilted his head as if considering. Her words had sounded almost like a plea. She should be embarrassed to show him how much she wanted and needed his trust, his respect. She should be but wasn’t.
“People depend on me. Lives are at stake.”
She froze, aware he was tacitly admitting his role as a spy. He did not look at or acknowledge her—almost as if in refusing to acknowledge her, he did not have to acknowledge the forbidden words. “I cannot afford to trust anyone.”
His gaze met hers, and she understood. She’d asked too much. He couldn’t trust her with knowledge of his work for the Foreign Office. It wasn’t just her then, he couldn’t trustanyonewith that information. The thought gave her a kernel of hope to cling to.
“I’m sorry.” She went to him and put her hand on his arm to show she understood. “I shouldn’t have asked. Shouldn’t have eavesdropped. It’s—” She paused, uncertain what she’d been about to say. “I’m so confused. You tell me I’m beautiful, kiss me, and—other things—” She blushed but made herself go on. “But it doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”
He took her hand, bridging the distance between them. “Yes, it does.”
She held up her free arm, a barrier to any further advance. “Why should I believe that? How do I know you think of me any differently than you think of other women? Did Lady Victoria wound you so much that—”
He grasped her hand so tightly she gasped. Immediately, he released her. “Leave it alone. You know nothing about it.”
Angered by his avoidance, she shot back. “That’s my point exactly!”
Hands on his hips, he arched a brow. “And what about Roxbury?” The statement was an offensive move on his part, and she knew it, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from rushing headlong into the ambush.
“What about him?” She was back on the defensive now and hated it.
Now that he had the upper hand, he advanced on her. “Are you ready to tell me what he did to you?”
She stepped back, Ethan following her until she bumped into the door again.
“I already told you—”
“No, you merely evaded my questions. Don’t you trustme, Francesca?” He braced both hands on either side of her shoulders. “You accuse me of a double standard.” His hot gold-flecked gaze sliced into her. “But aren’t you guilty of it yourself?”
Her gaze skirted away from the intensity of his stare. “It’s different,” she mumbled. “I can’t talk about it.”
“And Iprefernot to.”
She sighed, a stalemate. It might as well have been a defeat.
“I’m falling in love with a man I know nothing about,” she murmured to herself.
She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but as soon as the words were out, she felt Ethan stiffen beside her. She glanced into his face, into his shocked expression, and wished she could slide under the crack in the door. “I didn’t mean—”
He put his fingertip on her lips, silencing her, and bent his head close to hers. She didn’t want him to kiss her. Her sole objective had been to ensure that he never kissed her again. But when his mouth melded with hers, everything except him faded. She no longer felt angry or cold or tired. Nothing mattered—not their argument, not his lies, not Roxbury. Nothing but his mouth on hers, his tongue sliding into her, his arms fitting her body to his. She knew she could lose herself in his kiss, his embrace, if she would only give herself up to it.
She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. Her fingers plowed through his thick auburn hair, pulling his mouth hard on hers. She wanted him closer, wanted to feel the heat from his bare chest sear into her. He growled low in his throat and broke off the kiss, nestling his lips against her neck. His breaths were short and rapid, and where she pressed against him, she felt his heart thudding. His lips traced a delicate path along the sensitive lines of her throat, and she arched for him.
“What do I do with you?” he whispered against her jaw. His breath made the delicate nerves of her earlobe tingle. His lips moved skillfully over her skin, finding the most sensitive places and lingering.
