Page 19 of Canvas of Lies
I couldn’t quite tear my gaze away from her face. With the sunlight shining in the window, I noted each tiny freckle scattered across her nose, admired the way her long lashes curled against her cheeks, traced that delicious curve of her lips as she smiled over the cards at me.
Stunning.
I wished I had enough artistic talent to recreate that image—what a fitting companion it would be for the painting of my ancestor. From the stories passed down in my family from one generation to the next about Céleste Bicardeau, she was a woman filled withjoie de vivre,in possession of a buoyancy that captivated those around her. That quality was something Kat had in abundance.
By the time she won her third round, I tossed down the cards. “I give up.”
“Uh-uh, Nico,” she sang. “You know what you have to do. Time for the Loser Song.”
The force of my glare should have incinerated her, but she simply folded her hands on the table and waited.
“I amnotgoing through the humiliation you insisted on heaping on me when you were twelve,” I informed her. “There will be no singing, no dancing, and sure as shit no groveling.”
When she pouted at me, I rose from my chair and stalked toward her. Kat eyed my approach, keeping perfectly still exceptfor the flush creeping along her cheekbones. As I braced my hands on the arms of her chair and leaned close, she held her breath and had to tip her head back to meet my eyes.
I captured her gaze for a long moment, enjoying the way her tongue darted nervously out to run over her lower lip, the way her breath tickled my chin. Then I bent lower and slid my cheek along hers to murmur in her ear.
“Oh, Kitten. You are the least gracious winner I’ve ever met.”
A choked laugh erupted past her pretty pink lips, but Kat dropped her head against the seat back and glared as I drew back.
“And you, sir, are a tease,” she said primly.
Though dozens of potential responses floated through my head, all I could think to say was, “Teasing is all part of the fun.”
Kat scowled, but it couldn’t disguise her shiver of reaction. I smirked and, as a result, she closed her eyes until I moved away. When I returned, I set two bottles of water down on the table and slid back into my chair. Her expression changed as she sipped at the water, a calculating gleam appearing in her eyes.
I gazed suspiciously at her as I took a pull from my bottle. “I know that look. What are you plotting?”
She flashed a brilliant smile. “Plotting? Not a thing. So, my father will get his first message from you—then what? When do you demand the trade?”
“Are you that eager to get away from me? I’m hurt.”
“Shut up,” she muttered, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.
I laced my hands behind my head, watching her gaze drop to the sculpted biceps that had most definitely not existed when we were in high school, and grinned at her.
“I won’t know until he responds, but I imagine he’ll want to do some digging first, mostly to make sure you’re actually missing. Then I’ll lay out the terms.”
“So another comfortable night on your trusty sofa, huh?” she asked, her face the very picture of innocence.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I drawled. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking I’d better keep a closer eye on you. Since I’m perfectly capable of keeping my hands to myself, I decided to take you up on that offer to share the bed.”
Kat blinked at me in surprise. “Oh, you think so, do you?” she managed finally, though it came out in a sweet little squeak.
My smile broadened. “I do think so, indeed. I assumeyoucan keep your hands off ofme?”
“I’m sure I can manage.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why the change of heart?”
“We’re both responsible adults. I’ve known you most of our lives. And that fucking couch is the most uncomfortable piece of furniture I’ve ever had the misfortune of sleeping on.”
Though I said it with complete sincerity, I let my eyes stroke over her features as I spoke. By the time my gaze landed on her mouth, lush and rosy, she smiled slyly.
I didn’t trust that smirk for a single second.
There was no doubt in my mind that she was plotting something, regardless of her protests to the contrary. I would have tosteel myself against her considerable charms, keep the ball in my court.
When it came to Katherine Willoughby, that was always the best course of action.
