“Angelstone.” She said it softly, so that he was compelled to look at her face. Calmly, to hide the churning inside her. Desire twined with loss. Lust merged with the need to belong. The smile she sent him was full of invitation, the finger flicking at her bodice a deliberate temptation. “Are you ready to dance?”
His eyes went dark. Jaw clenched. A quick indrawn breath rippled the air.
And then she was desirable.
“Indeed?” she mused aloud. He had seemed difficult to read, his thoughts hidden behind a wall of charm and the impassive mask of a spy. Apparently he had lost his ability to hide his thoughts. Desire was something she recognized plainly enough, and it sent a wicked thrill singing through her. It was good to feel that way again, however fleeting.
It wasn’t the brandy that caused the reciprocating desire coursing through her. She’d found him attractive before. The brandy only stripped away her better judgment. Falling in lust with Angelstone—a spy—would be the height of folly.
At the moment, it seemed the most reasonable thing in the world.
“Do you know the worst part of this entire situation?” After setting down her glass she moved slowly forward, watching him watch her.
“I can’t imagine.” Tawny eyes gleamed, stalking her every move.
“I spent six years of my life making love to a man, and I barely knew him. I don’t know if his love for me—his desire for me—was real or an act.” She couldn’t move backward in time to find out. But she could move forward. She needed to move forward. She needed to erase six years of uncertainty.
Angelstone was just the man to do it.
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