Her wig, contacts and glasses concealed her true identity, but she still lifted her fingers to her cheek as if Gideon could see beneath the camouflage. Her throat tightened. Now would be a good time to come clean about who he sat with in the dark. But something held her back. Something, hell... She could identify it evenwithout him searching her soul.
In that ballroom, Gideon Knight had gazed upon her with fascination, admiration...hunger. And he’d had no idea she was Shay Neal, heiress to a global financial empire. Not that she was an ugly duckling in a lake full of swans, but she bore no illusions. Her money, social status and connections were often just as much, if not more, of an allure than her appearance.
But not for him.
Even now, his dark stare roamed her face, lingering on her eyes before drifting over her cheekbones, her jaw, her mouth. Though it belied reason, she swore she could feel his gaze stroke over her skin. An illicit, mysterious, desire-stoking caress.
And here, in the isolated depths of this mansion, she wanted more.
Even if just for a little while.
The cloak ofanonymity bestowed her with a gift of boldness—of freedom—she didn’t ordinarily possess.
“I wonder what’s going through your head right now?” he murmured, drawing her from her thoughts. “And would you honestly tell me?”
That would be a no. “Careful, Mr. Knight,” she drawled, tone dry. “You’re beginning to sound a little too Edward Cullen-ish for my comfort.”
“Last time I checked, Ididn’t sparkle in the sunlight or age out at eighteen years old. Although I do admit to a little biting. And liking it.”
A blast of heat barreled through her, warring with surprise over his recognition of herTwilightreference. Curling her fingers into her palms, she willed the searing desire to abate, but it continued to burn a path along her veins.
“Still blunt, I see,” she said, andno way could he miss the hoarseness rasping her voice. “You weren’t lying when you claimed not to play games.”
“Am I making you uncomfortable, Camille?” he asked, his head cocking to the side. His eyes narrowed on her, as if searching out the answer for himself.
She should say yes. Should order him to keep his straight-no-chaser compliments and need-stirring comments to himself.
Instead,she matched his head tilt. “And if I said you were?”
“Then I’d go out there in that kitchen and drag one of those chefs in here so you wouldn’t be. Is that what you want?”
She shook her head, the denial almost immediate. “No,” she said, although wisdom argued she should have him invite the whole crew into this small room. Protect her from herself. The self that couldn’t help wonderingif those stark angles softened with pleasure. Wondering if that hard-looking mouth became more pliable.
Wondering if that icy shield of control shattered under desire’s flame?
A shiver danced over her skin. Waltzed along her nerve endings.
She was the moth dancing too close to those flames.
“What do you want?” he pressed, the deep timbre of his voice dipping lower.
He didn’tmove, didn’t inch closer to her on the couch. But God, all that intensity crowded her, rubbed over her, slipped inside her. He wasn’t a coy or playful man; he grasped the wealth of possibilities that question carried. And he offered her the choice of not addressing them...or taking all of them.
A lifetime of playing by the rules slowly unraveled beneath his heated stare. His question vibratedbetween them, a gauntlet thrown down. A red flag waved.
“Too many things to possibly number in the space of a blackout,” she finally replied. Truth. And evasion. “But I’m fine with you here with me.” She paused, and with her heart tapping an unsteady rhythm against her chest, added, “Only you.”
A fierce approval and satisfaction flashed like diamonds in his eyes. “Good,” he said, thosesame emotions reflected in the one word. “Because now we don’t have to share this with anyone else.” Reaching down, he picked up a plate and set it on the cushion between them. A grin curved her lips at the sight of the braised lamb, roasted vegetable medley and risotto piled on the fine china.
“Now, that’s lovely,” he murmured, his gaze not on the dinner but on her face.
She ducked herhead, wishing the strands of the wig weren’t tied back in a bun so they could hide the red stain creeping up her neck and flooding her face.
“You’re certainly resourceful,” she said, reaching for an asparagus tip. “Or sneaky.”
His soft snort echoed between them. “I’ve been accused of both before. And both are just words. Whatever works to achieve my goal.”
“Yes, I clearly rememberyour goal for this evening. You didn’t mince words out there earlier. I guess you’ve achieved your aim. Spending the night with me.”
