Page 42 of The Truths that Deceive

It’s not until the peacefulness is disturbed by a shift in the air that I know I’m not alone.

Smith.

“Go away.”

“Is that any way to talk to your savior?”

I snort out a laugh. “More like kidnapper with a part-time hustle in side thorns.”

“Pretty, and yet I can’t fucking wait to hand you over. Maybe if I ask nicely, they’ll let me torture you, just a little.” He steals a carrot moments before I bring the knife down on the wooden chopping block. “You do know that kind of violent action gets me hot, right?”

“Well, considering you’re a kidnapping son of a bitch… I’m not surprised.”

I don’t know why, but the needling banter lifts me, makes me want to smile.

It also turns this dangerous man into a pussycat over the feral panther I think he just might be.

Based on everything I know about him, I believe he’s a man who’s smart and very comfortable in his skin. But his talk of violent action, chasing me down, all that hunter and prey crap getting him hot

I don’t think it’s talk.

And I don’t think I’ve seen the real Smith.

Well, actually…

I think I’ve seen a facet of him, a glimpse of what he wants me to see with hints of what he actually is and what he’ll do. I don’t mean his job, I mean him. Who he is down in the marrow of his bones, down in his soul.

This man… He’s like a panther playing before his meal because, though he might want to eat, he’s not hungry. The desire to kill hasn’t been stroked into life.

When I say dangerous, what I’ve seen is a dangerous man, and that… that’s the tip of the iceberg.

I take in a shaking breath.

“Why the CIA?” he asks, leaning against the chipped white sink next to me.

With a shrug, I finish the carrots and tip the board into the pot. There’s a knife at the back of the workbench. It looks sharp. Maybe it’s a paring knife. Hell, maybe it’s for stabbing sexy, hot, dangerous men and making a run for it. I don’t know, but I do know I’m going to steal it.

His gaze travels to where I just looked but he doesn’t do anything about it.

“To rid the world of men like you.”

“Or make money by selling secrets. It’s been done.”

“I’m not doing that,” I snap.

“I really don’t give a fuck if you are.”

“Then why ask?”

He leans in. “To get a handle on who you are and what you’ll do. Maybe because I never expected you to enjoy this.” Smith spreads a hand.

“Cooking?”

“Line work.” And the slightest smirk lifts his mouth.

“This isn’t that different than writing code. The repetition, the getting it right, the looking for—” I stop. He’s notinterested in code or hacking. He’s… poking in my brain. “I find it soothing.”

“And what else do you find soothing?”

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