Page 36 of The Wrong Husband
She blinks, then shakes her head. “Wow, okay. Now, you shatter my poor opinion of you with an apology.”
I laugh. “Good, right?”
“Wait, is this a game for you?” She scowls.
I sober. “I’m as serious as a ruptured abdominal aortic aneurysm.”
She gapes—then lets out a reluctant laugh. “How do you even know to call it that?”
“I might have been reading up on medical terminology,” I admit.
“Hmm.” She narrows her eyes. “Am I supposed to be impressed by that?"
I shake my head. “I did it because… I wanted to understand the world you live in. I wanted to get a feel for how it is to work in the ER.”
“Why is that?” Her voice softens.
Because I want to know everything about you. Because I’m haunted by images of you when I close my eyes. Because I want to understand this very important facet about your life.
But I can’t say any of that. Not yet.
So, I go with the safer version:“It’s part of the research I do when I surveil someone. I read up about their profession. It helps me tailor my approach.”
Our gazes meet and hold again. The chemistry sizzles. The air between us shimmers with lust and need.
I sense that connection between us, the one which has thrummed between us from the moment I first saw her. And from the flush in her cheeks, I know she feels it too.
Is it possible she reciprocates my feelings?I almost reach for her hand, but the waiter returns with my coffee.
I blink; so does she. On her face is that punchy, bowled-over expression which must mirror the one on my face.
The waiter pours her some wine to taste. She sips and pronounces it satisfactory. He tops off her glass and retreats.
"Coffee?" She stares at my cup.
"I’m still on duty." As soon as I say that I realize it wasn’t smart to point that out to her. Me, the undercover spy who’s adept at taking on new roles, is making rookie mistakes.
That’s how unsettled I am in her presence.
She narrows her gaze on me. "I plan to confront my brother about that."
"I assumed that when you chose his restaurant for dinner."
She sips from the wineglass. Sighs. Some of the tension I’ve noticed in her shoulders since the first time I followed her seemsto bleed out. I can take credit for that. And damn, if I don’t feel happy.
"What happened at the bar fight?" She looks at me with frank curiosity. "Your enemies catch up with you?"
"Actually, yes," I concede.
“So, you’re a spy, and your foes are onto you?" She waves a hand in the air. "Seems a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?"
"I can assure you, it’s true."
"What does that have to do with me?"
I drain the cup of coffee, needing that burst of adrenaline from the caffeine. My heart begins to thump in my chest. My pulse rate spikes. Damn, I’m nervous. In none of my missions where I’ve been in life and death situations have, I felt this unsure of myself. I shake off my anxiety, forcing myself to adopt a casual tone. "I have a proposition for you."
"Proposition?" She places her glass of wine on the table. "What do you mean?"
