Page 153 of Bitter Secrets

“Who is he?” she asked.

“Grayson Ward.”

The surname sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Is he a criminal?”

He turned with a fancy bottle of Scotch in one hand. “You think he looks like a criminal?”

“I don’t believe criminals have a certainlook.” She gave him an insulting perusal. “They come in all shapes and sizes, don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He turned away from her. “What makes you think he’s a criminal?”

She heard the clink of glasses and then the sound of a generous pour.

“Aside from his association with you?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes, aside from that,” he said with imperturbable cool as he turned back to her with a drink in hand.

“Not many businessmen keep these hours and there was something about him…” When she hesitated, he raised his brows. She tried to put into words that unsettled feeling he gave her. “He smiled, but there was nothing there. His eyes were empty.”

She waited for him to laugh or scoff at her impression of Grayson. He did neither.

“I don’t think anyone’s picked up on his true nature that quick,” he murmured.

She tensed. “True nature?”

“He has his share of demons. Occasionally, he has trouble controlling them, but that isn’t a crime. I have that problem myself.”

Her stomach flipped. Was that a warning or admission of past sins? The distance between them should have made her feel safe, but she knew how quickly things could turn in his presence. The sensible part of her piped up again, reminding her she still had time to make a dignified exit, but she stayed put. Her emotions stirred, but she ruthlessly squelched them and plowed ahead.

“If he isn’t a criminal, then what is he?”

“Seventeenth in line to the throne.”

“What?”

“Most people can’t see past his status, wealth, and looks to what’s beneath. He gets away with murder.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. He dismissed her suspicion that Grayson was a criminal, only to bring up murder. Was he messing with her, or was that just a poor choice of words on his part?

“How did you meet?”

“By chance.”

She gave him a few seconds to fill in the blanks. When he didn’t, she raised her brows. “You aren’t going to tell me?”

“No.”

“Why? Because it’s illegal?”

“No.”

He stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows obliterated by rain, relaxed and totally at ease, while she balanced on a knife’s edge of anger, doubt, and uncertainty. He was so good at keeping her off-balance. What would it take to shatter his composure?

She put her shoulders back, rounded the couch, and started toward him. She was pleased when he lost the relaxed pose. He wasn’t the only one who could pull strings. Although every fiber of her being said she should retreat, she walked toward the edge of the cliff. If she wanted answers, she had to play the game and use every weapon at her disposal.

She allowed her eyelids to lower and mouth to soften seductively. Although his expression remained inscrutable, she sensed his energy shift as she neared. When she was five feet from him, he tensed. When she was so close that she could smell rain on him, she made a sharp turn toward the wet bar. With her back to him, she allowed herself a smug smile and reveled in the seething silence. She selected a heavy tumbler and poured herself a drink. Although she preferred Scotch on the rocks, she wasn’t in the mood to make the five-minute trek to the kitchen.

“You should take off your clothes.”

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