Page 120 of The Wrong Husband
He notices me staring and his lips curl into a smirk. “What’re you thinking about?”
My cheeks grow warm. “You’re very handsome, Husband,” I say truthfully.
"You think so?" He smirks and I roll my eyes. Then, his mouth curves in a genuine smile. “Thank you.”
His features light up with pleasure and, damn, it only makes him so much more appealing. That familiar chemistry crackles between us, turning my blood into a river of desire. I clear my throat and try to find some composure. I decide to ask him a question that's been on my mind.
“A biochemistandan undercover agent? Strikes me as a strange combination."
"Is it?" he asks, a hint of humor in his eyes.
"Being a biochemist feels so very scientific. And nerdy. While an undercover agent brings to mind a dashing, alluring figure."
"I can’t be both?" His eyes gleam.
"I guess?" I tilt my head. "Why biochemistry?"
"Came across the model of DNA in high school. Found out the genetic coding for the entire human body is contained in it. The thought blew me away. And I was hooked. But I also loved sports."
"Let me guess, captain of the school cricket team?" It’s my turn to scoff.
"Also played in the national football league. And won a few university level Jiu-Jitsu championships." He raises his shoulder.
"Wow, an all-rounder?" I ask impressed.
"Helped me get a scholarship to Oxford to study biochemistry. And while I was there, the MI5 recruited me.Turns out, being able to work as a biochemist made for a great front when I was on an undercover mission."
When he puts it like that, it begins to make sense.
“Were these assignments dangerous?”
He hesitates. “Most of what I did meant I had to be in enemy countries, playing a role. So if I were discovered”—he taps his knuckles on the table—“let’s just say, it would not have done me any favors.”
My chest seizes up. The thought of this vital man hurt in any way makes me feel like I’m choking.
He must notice the anxiety on my features for his soften. “Not that there was any danger of that. I am very good at my job.”
The quiet confidence in his words abates my worry somewhat.
He flashes me a smile. “Besides, I know how to maneuver my way out of difficult situations.”
He rises to his feet, takes our now empty plates inside to the galley, and returns with one plate, which he places on the table in front of him.
"Dark chocolate délice with a blood orange sorbet," he announces.
"It’s almost too pretty to eat." I stare at the beautifully arranged dessert. "But why is there only one plate?"
"Because you know what I’d really like to do?" he asks in a voice so dark it pulses liquid honey through my veins.
"What?" I clear my throat.
"I’d like to eat it off you"—he licks his lips—"if you’ll let me?"
That pulse in my lower belly catches fire. It’s as if the honey in my veins turns to gasoline, and the fire zips out to my extremities. My scalp tingles. My nipples turn into pebbles of need.
"Will you, Fever?"
I nod. The images he paints in my head are so striking, so erotic, I need to find out how it’ll be to live them.
