Page 40 of Edge of Secrets

I had to stop projecting wishful fantasies onto every single interaction that I had with him. It was stupid and self-destructive.

I’d been privately dubious about the wisdom of eating a plate of pasta at two in the morning, but when Duncan set the plate loaded with plump ravioli, red sauce, and a generous dusting of savory pecorino, something inside me stood up and cheered.

We ate in silence, consuming every last bite. Afterward, he quietly watched me finish my wine. His unwavering gaze made heat rise in my face.

“I expect you’re going to want a shower, after a day like this,” he said.

I nodded.

“The best one is off my bedroom,” he said. “Come this way.”

Ah. Well, he could hardly be blamed for assuming, I thought wildly, as I followed him and my suitcase down the hall. Was this what I had intended? And if not this, then what? Get real. Calm down. Go with the flow. Don’t be a baby.

He showed me through a vast, minimalist bedroom with a wall of glass that revealed the entire island of Manhattan, and from there to a huge, fabulous en suite bathroom—the shower big enough for an orgiastic army, jets of water pointing in ridiculous directions. He found me a couple of big, fluffy towels, indicated the shower soaps and shampoos, gave me my own personal scrubby sponge—and left. Not joining me in the shower.

Part of me was relieved. A stronger, louder part of me was flatly disappointed. Where was his overbearing alpha male vibe when I needed it?

But he’d gotten all careful and respectful. Probably treating me like blown glass because of my trauma. It was a good sign, actually. He was a good guy. He had self-control. Yay, him.

I stayed in the pounding hot water, wishing sharply that he’d joined me. Looking at him naked and wet would be the most potent distraction I could imagine.

Duncan Burke was all wrong for me. I’d known it even back before he ever spoke to me. His mind was wired in a way that was alien to me. He would annoy, insult, and disillusion me. He already had, and he would do it again. It was a sure thing. A death-and-taxes sort of sure thing.

This, set against the fact that he aroused me to a screaming pitch of excitement. The man was an incredibly gifted lover. There was also the fact that he’d saved my life tonight. He’d used his own body as a shield. That guy had been pointing a gun at us, and Duncan had shoved me behind him. That was something important to factor into the equation—that he was a heroic guy beneath his blunt edges. Brave, valiant, self-sacrificing. Incompatible with me or not. Insensitive to my silly romantic notions or not.

I wanted him. By the time I got out of the shower, my decision was irrevocable. I toweled off, shook my hair free of its clip, and shook it loose.

I hung the towel back on the rack and looked at myself in the mirror, naked but for my ruby pendant Lucia had given me, hanging between those large, full breasts that had always embarrassed me. I’d felt since I was twelve as if my curvy body were flaunting itself against my will, demanding attention that I did not actually want.

But Duncan seemed to like my figure. Finally, the boobs were good for something.

I reached up, touching them gently. They were much more sensitive than usual—goosebumped with delicious anticipation at the thought of what lay ahead.

My nipples tightened in excitement, and I walked out into his bedroom naked.

Duncan had showered in another bathroom and wore a terrycloth robe. He glanced over at me, and gasped.

“Holy God,” he said hoarsely. “You’re just … look at you.”

“Did I get around to thanking you for saving my life?” I asked him.

He looked alarmed. “I don’t think we discussed it, but you certainly don’t have to thank me by?—”

“Hold it right there,” I cut in. “Not another word. There is no exchange being made here. No trading. No payment. This is just me, asking something from you that I want, and hoping I get lucky. So make love to me. Before I lose my nerve.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” He took a step toward me.

“I know this is a mistake,” I said.

He stopped short, looking perplexed. “What? Why? How do you figure?”

“It’s a mistake,” I repeated. “But I don’t care. Life’s too short. I realized that when those guys shoved me into that car, and I thought it was over for me. Everything could go away so quickly. And I like the way you make me feel. I want to feel this.”

He reached me, touching a gentle finger to my lips. “Don’t work yourself into a state,” he said. “Hey. How much wine did you drink?”

“This is not about the wine I drank!” I said savagely. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Duncan Burke! Don’t you dare condescend to me!”

“I would never dare,” he said forcefully. “You are terrifying.”

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