Page 18 of Masquerade

“Prowl is an interesting verb choice when describing romance. A stealthy movement in search of prey. No one should see their romantic partner as prey.” Spoken like a true hero.

Shame at her naivety had heat rising up her throat. Andrew had seen her as prey.

“My mother’s a huge fan of romance. Used to read to Niall and me as babies so she’d get her daily fix. After we learned to read, she got us to read everything from bodice rippers to Twilight to Marion Keys out loud when she was cooking or driving us to sports events.” His face crinkled into a fond smile. “She loved it when we had away games.”

Reading steampunk romance as a pregame warm-up? The man was full of surprises. And Liam’s smile when he talked about the Quinn brothers reading romance novels to their mother showed simple affection, making the discord between the brothers even curiouser.

“Do you share your hobby with colleagues?”

“In case you haven’t worked it out, I don’t share much with my current colleagues,” he deadpanned. He wouldn’t stay in the box she’d chosen for him. “But at my first big job, I was sitting reading a romance when the opposition arrived.”

“A charcoal-coloured suit bent over a Mills and Boon?” Kate couldn’t bring the picture into focus. “Why?”

“A bet I had with my mother. She claimed no one would take me seriously if I had a romance novel in my hand.” His mouth twisted wryly at the memory.

“I bet she won.”

“She did. They dismissed me as a lightweight.” He laughed. “Their mistake.”

The story confirmed her bias about lawyers—well, most lawyers. Liam was constantly putting her off-balance.

“I’ve had a lot of negative feedback. ‘They entrench stereotypes, especially of women’,” she mimicked her father.

“Good writers play with stereotypes.”

She was close enough to see the gold rims of his irises outlining his sooty-coloured eyes. They held humour, not malice, and her heart hammered against her chest.

“Think of us now.” He took another step closer, then glanced furtively over his shoulder. “A quiet library. Two people alone.” He turned back to her, his voice dropping to a heart-stumbling rumble. “Perfect setting for a romance.”

“Wrong genre.” She jumped when the lights automatically switched to night mode. “You’re setting the scene for a thriller.”

He lifted her hand to his lips. Anticipation was a roller-coaster, and he was tempting her into sharing the ride. His breath drifted over her palm—enticingly erotic—before he pressed a kiss there. Soft, light as air. Her fingers curled inwards, locking in the heat.

“I disagree.” Placing her palm on his cheek, he gave her more of his warmth. “Librarians are wonderful romance stereotypes. They satisfy so many male fantasies.”

“Let me guess.” Even expecting a stereotypical fantasy, the sweet note of balsamic in his fragrance enticed Kate. “Your librarian works in a small, inner-city suburb. But underneath the short, easy-to-slip-off smock she’s wearing silk stockings, suspenders and a lacy bustier.”

“Now who’s being predictable?” he whispered against her palm. “If my librarian was a woman, she’d use her books to hide. There’s mystery in invisibility—shapeless skirts, thick sweaters and dark stockings. My guess is she’s been badly hurt by someone in her past but dreams of love. A beautiful woman hiding in plain sight.” He released her hand, touching her only with his gaze, his perception scalpel sharp.

“Sounds like a woman’s fantasy.” Kate’s body burned under his slow appraisal.

He gave a rueful half-smile, as if he’d been caught out confessing to a real fantasy about her, as if he truly thought Ms. Dowdy was beautiful, and Kate’s usual caution abandoned her.

“Then we’ll go with your choice of lingerie.” His murmur was smoke and silk, sparking instantaneous combustion. “Our hero takes off her glasses”—he tucked Kate’s into his pocket—“loosens her hair”—he whisked the pins from her thick plait, letting it tumble down her back—“hauls up her skirt to find the lace suspenders underneath”—his hand trailed down her flank towards the hem of her tweed skirt.

Grabbing his wrist, she stayed his hand on her hip.

“No?” he asked, shifting his other hand to her waist. “What if we start somewhere else? Make our librarian a male.” His voice was an invitation to misbehave. “Tell me about him.”

Kate moved closer in response to the light pressure at her waist. His willingness to succumb to fantasy ambushed her, making her forget where they were and why he was here. “He wears a suit, the Clark Kent choice for camouflage. He’s a loner, using a surly temper to keep people from getting too close. But my heroine’s fleeing a dangerous stalker, and she’s run out of places to hide.”

Kate wanted to taste him. To have his beguiling mouth on hers. To feel the hard contours of his body tight against her curves. To prove her heart was immune to his playful charm.

“I like my version better,” he crooned, sliding both hands to her hips, drawing her closer. “He’s learned about her mind. He wants to discover the body under all that heavy wool, but for tonight, he’ll settle for a hello kiss.”

He searched her face, a question asked and answered with a nod.

His head dipped to hers. Firm, warm—the kiss became hungrier than she’d anticipated. The first taste of his desire hit with the punch of neat spirit, burning the back of her throat. Electrifying, a scorching heat tingling along her nerve endings. She locked her fingers around his neck, needing to hold tight as her knees buckled. Her world narrowed to him. His complex scent filled her nostrils, and she discovered new layers beneath the spicy-sweet base—the faintest whiff of lavender, a trace of sage and pure, intriguing male. There was invitation in his touch, his seeking hands pushed her sweater higher allowing his fingers to lightly stroke across her midriff.

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