Page 43 of Masquerade

“Can’t see it myself.”

She tugged her ear while her body, heart and mind waited for him to pass judgement.

“Your research is detailed and forensic. Your analysis of what you’ve uncovered is unblinkered. You identified the pitfalls for local protesters and for us.” He ticked items off on his fingers.

“Careful, Liam. I wouldn’t want you to get carried away.” He’d told Kate at Tony’s restaurant that he respected her work, but high praise from the cautious lawyer restored all the confidence that had trickled out of her recounting her shortcomings as a daughter.

“Your father’s a fraud.” He was passing judgement on her father, not her. “To create, you need to dream.”

“I should correct the record. I’m proud of both my parents. They’re passionate about their craft. They’ve earned their acclaim.”

“You can admire and love someone without always liking or agreeing with them.”

Some of the jagged pieces in the jigsaw of Kate’s life fell into place. “It’s been a while since I told them I’m proud of them,” she admitted.

“Someone always has to take the first step for reconciliation.” He was too smart not to admit Niall’s appearance on the billboard had jimmied the door ajar for their reconciliation. He and his brother had met halfway.

“Was there any pressure in your family?” She’d wrongly classified him as emerging besuited and confident from the womb.

“Not the kind you’ve been talking about.”

Another invitation for her to reveal more, and Kate let the moment pass. Coming out of hiding was scary; a journey made in small steps.

“To finish our conversation on research. To be good, you have to have reliable contacts as well as technical skills.”

“What’s reliable mean?” He accepted her lead.

“Mutual respect. Confidentiality and discretion.” She described the hurdles they’d cleared. “Trust on both sides.” She named the hurdle ahead.

He juggled the keys. “We should be making a move if we want to reach Montveau before dark.”

She held out her hand. “My turn to drive.”

He passed her the keys.

“That’s a kind of trust.” She smiled. “You’re keeping the secret of my identity, you respect my work, you’ve decided I can be discreet and now, you’re letting me drive.” Nuggets of trust that could in time add up to a whole. “The press releases make a thing of Anna and Niall being old friends. We’re allowed to be friends.” She offered a nugget of her own.

Quick as a flash, he slipped his hands to her hips and drew her towards him. She was reminded of their earlier embraces. Of the loveliness of the word embrace when he was doing the cuddling. Of heat and want. Of dreams disturbed by the scent of him.

He lifted a hand to tilt her chin. “You want to be friends?”

“We have that, and Anna and Niall don’t.” She met his gaze steadily, while her stomach did a slow drumroll. “That sense of imminent combustion.”

“You feel it too.” He ran the back of his hand down her cheek. His touch burned, and she wanted to step into the flame. “I want to kiss you.” The simple admission dragged from him was tantalising foreplay.

“We agreed kissing was a bad idea.” She moistened her lower lip.

“We were wrong.” He tugged her closer. “I’ll deny this if you ever tell anyone, but when I first saw you on the billboard, I thought kissing you would be like kissing sunshine. I’ve developed a taste for it.”

Wrapping a hand around his nape, she pulled him in. The crisp freshness of his cologne had mellowed to a spicy earthiness which anchored her to him as firmly as his hands cradling her hips. In welcome, he traced the seam in her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth on a sigh, her tongue already on intimate terms with his. Closing her eyes tumbled her into a new world of pleasure. His kiss was lightning and thunder, creating a storm of longings, and she tasted sweetness and the possibilities of sinful naughtiness.

His hands stayed anchored on her hips, his lower body angled towards her while she went exploring. She shaped his ear, first with her fingers, fascinated by the delicate bone structure. His groan when her teeth closed on his lobe was delicious. She ran her hand down his neck, the jumping pulse a giveaway to his tightly held control.

Tiny shivers skated across her skin, her body smiled, liquid pooled in her pelvis, and she gave him her weight. She listened to his body, but his hands didn’t stray from her hips despite his growing arousal—a tantalising go-slow.

Lifting her head, she met his gaze. Passion left him tousled and Byronesque-broody.

Magic was everywhere, intent on sabotaging her best intentions. The soft churring of the cuckoo shrike calling to its mate echoed in her heart. The air was sun-tossed and scented by eucalyptus, setting the scene for seduction.

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