Page 22 of Masquerade

“Another one?” It was wicked to remind her of their stolen kiss, but after the fantasy she’d whispered in his ear, he was fascinated by her definition of crossing a line. “Do you always give warning of an attack?”

“Depends how well I know someone”—she huffed out a breath—“and how open I think they are to the conversation.”

“You said you don’t know me.” He savoured the red wine. Fruity and smooth on the palate. “Let me guess. You think I’ll react badly.” A shared fantasy leading to a first kiss was a new experience for him.

“This won’t work unless we tell our twins where we are and what we’re doing.”

“You can guarantee Anna won’t simultaneously pop up on social media?” His scan of social media sites revealed that Anna was a constant—largely professional—presence, whereas Kate was invisible.

“Yes.” Her eyes flashed. “I live with her most of the time. Talk to her. Confide in her...”

He interrupted her. “It’s none of your business.”

“Niall didn’t intend to hurt you when he agreed to the billboard.” She frowned, as unmoved as Jodie Whittaker’sDoctor Whowatching a Dalek shouting exterminate. “Niall wanted to shake up the pompous, distant lawyer you’ve become.”

“He confides in you too,” Liam growled. It hurt to learn Niall had talked about the distance between them. Almost as much as their actual estrangement. Sharing those kinds of thoughts implied a closeness with Kate that Niall had denied.

“Okay, this is not a professional conversation.” She threw a hand in the air. “I said I’d cross a line.”

“It’s still none of your business.” He shifted his gaze to the wall over her shoulder, where the shadows cast by the candlelight performed an impromptu dance, and a clear picture formed in his head. In Anna’s office, Niall’s defensive posture had been more like a loyal, guard dog than a fierce lover.

“It is if it stuffs up this job.” She stopped when Tony appeared with the plates, leaning forward to sniff at her meal. She closed her eyes and opened them with a smile that wasn’t for Liam. “Smells divine.”

“You’re a good girl.” Tony wandered away.

“You’re both unhappy. In a weird way, Niall did this to force you to see him.” She picked up a fork. “Until he went to Ireland you were close. Now you dance around each other as if you’re prize fighters who don’t really want to land a punch.” She scraped at the raw wound.

“You’re crossing more than one line.” He was appalled she could read him so easily.

“I don’t need to know what happened.” She bristled with irritation as she dug into her pasta. “You need to talk to him about what we’re doing.”

“You’re giving me indigestion.”

“That’s stubbornness stuck in your craw.” She waved her fork at him, then sighed. “Pax while we eat.”

“Tony was right about the wine.” He raised his glass in a toast. “And you were right about the food. It’s great.” He cursed himself when she started to eat again. Her beautiful mouth opened to take a bite of pasta, and he remembered it opening to him. He stifled a groan. Stepping back had been the right decision.

Stuff making the right decision. “Do you eat here often?”

“About once a week. Lunch if that suits my shifts or dinner. My personal indulgence.”

“I’m guessing you’re not full-time.”

“Five days a fortnight. A mix of afternoon and evening shifts.”

“People still use libraries?” Small talk allowed him to get his interested body under control.

“The world hasn’t completely abandoned books.”

“I haunt secondhand shops myself,” he confessed.

“A wealthy reader. You can afford to own your library.” She mocked, but gently.

The irony amused him. Books were an indulgence, an invitation to escape his relentless real world. He swapped mostly and had a favourite exchange close to home which stayed open late at night.

“How rigid is your schedule?”

“I can shuffle days with my coworker for the time we need to be up north.”

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