Page 13 of The Secrets He Keeps

Leaning forward, he noted smoothly, “What of the secrets in your soul? The private longings of your heart?”

Her laugh was harsh and cold. “My heart? That offensive thing? Discarded long ago. And if I’ve a soul, it’s far too blackened to possess any tender morsels for you to feast upon.”

The sound he made was a low hum and his eyes sparked with silent intention as he leaned back again and raised his glass for a long sip of champagne.

She could see he didn’t believe her—that he fully expected to uncover some long-buried yearning she’d yet to fulfill. Then he’d likely press upon that weakness, mold it and reshape it to suit his purpose, until she believed he was the only one capable of filling whatever void he believed to be inside her.

The amount of arrogance men managed to cultivate had long ago ceased to astound her. Yet she found herself disappointed to witness it yet again in this man. Had she actually been hoping he might be different? Smarter. More experienced. Less self-obsessed. Truly interested.

As the lights lowered around them and the curtains drew open upon the stage, Callista shifted her full attention to the scene unfolding before her, intentionally and completely ignoring the man beside her.

The performance was a well-known Italian opera she’d seen many times before. It was a farcical comedy about bedroom escapades and secret lovers and she’d always enjoyed the way it depicted sexual congress as a lighthearted, pleasurable diversion. She never could abide the operas about vestal virgins and perceived betrayals that invariably ended in someone’s untimely death.

She actually loved the opera. It provided one of the rare instances in her life that allowed for true escapism. To her surprise and appreciation, Maxwell was content to allow her to enjoy the performance without overwhelming her with unwanted small talk or attempts at flirtation or other such annoying interruptions. Most men, if they got an object of their desire to join them in a private theater box enshrouded in darkness, would have made definite attempts at furthering their agenda. But Maxwell hadn’t attempted any sly caresses. Nor had he leaned close to whisper in her ear at any point during the performance.

As the curtains fell on the final scene and the lights came up, Callista rose to her feet to applaud the show. The man beside her stood as well. His shoulder briefly brushed hers, but when she turned to look up at him, his face was in profile as he directed his focus to the stage, where the performers were taking their bows.

After a moment, he turned to meet her gaze. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes unsettled her.

“Shall we make our way down?” he asked. “Or would you prefer to wait until the crowd has dispersed?”

“There’s no need to wait.”

There was just a brief pause, then he gave a nod as he gestured for her to precede him from the box. Once past the heavy curtain, he offered his arm once again. She accepted his escort despite the odd tension that had settled in her being. Most frustratingly, she couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of her discomfort.

Becoming lost in her thoughts, as she often did after a particularly transporting performance, it took a bit to sense the subtle shift in the energy of the man beside her. Glancing up at him, she could not detect anything overt in his manner. Still, she sensed an increased alertness in his being. A sharper focus in his gaze as he looked out over the flow of theatergoers making their way from their seats.

When they entered the more open common area, she finally had to ask, “What has you so intent, Mr. Maxwell?”

The look he gave her was one of question mingled with a slight suggestion of concern. “Do they always stare in such a way?”

She cast a dismissive glance about the crowd then shrugged. “I suppose. I don’t typically bother myself with the rude habits of strangers.”

He chuckled. “Have you any idea how many men and women are both covetous and intimidated by just the sight of you passing through their midst?”

Callista met his gaze with a sardonic lift of her brow. “Of course I do. As well they should be.”

“Indeed,” he agreed with a slow smile, “the lady dragon is fearsome and sensual beyond compare.” Dipping his head closer to hers, he added, “I wonder if they see the superior intelligence and unique beauty of the woman within the awe-inspiring creature?”

Arching her brows, Callista replied, “Woman and beast are one and the same.”

He tilted his head and studied her quietly for a moment. “Are they? I am not so sure.”

They reached the cloak room, and when the attendant retrieved Callista’s heavy black garment, Maxwell took it before she could. Shaking it out, he held it up with a subtle light of challenge in his eyes.

Inexplicably, she hesitated. But only for a moment. There was no reason to resist such a gesture. She’d had men touch her in ways that went far beyond this simple act. So why did it feel so damned unsettling when she turned in place, giving him her back?

The sound of her cloak brushing the skirts of her gown told her he was stepping closer, though it would have been obvious anyway by the warmth of his body at her back and the scent of sandalwood drifting through her senses.

The weight of the velvet touched her bare shoulders first, then the gentle press of his hands smoothing the material in place. His touch was confident without being intrusive. The act was not overtly sexual in any way. In fact, it was quite platonic. Yet, for a second, she stopped breathing, wondering if he would use the opportunity to extend his caress, perhaps by sliding his hands down her arms. Or drifting a fingertip across her nape or along the outer edge of her ear. Or he could step closer—press his hard, trim body to hers.

She knew for a fact she’d fit perfectly against him like this. Her back to his chest, her buttocks lush to his groin, her head tipped back against his shoulder so his mouth could access her throat. Perfect.

When he did nothing more than adjust the fall of her hood, she glanced over her shoulder at him, not even caring if her irritation showed in her face.

His smile was slow and knowing, which caused her irritation to deepen.

So, that had been his intention. To make her physically aware of his nearness, his touch, then leave her body wanting more. It was a common ploy. She shouldn’t have fallen or it.

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