Kissed By Moonlight

by Adrianne Brooks

“I like not being in jail,” Evans’s comment was slow and golden with pleasure.

  “Jail likes not having you,” I assured him, feeling rewarded when he turned and smiled at me.

  “Miss Conners,” he said slowly, stepping all up in my personal space to grip my hands in his own, “that was cold, calculated, and devious.”

  “Thank you,” I said, truly touched.

  “No, thank you.” Lifting my hand, he pressed warm lips against my knuckles, his eyes trained on me the whole time. It brought on a little shiver that I hadn’t felt in a long time, and, to my surprise, I felt heat rushing to my face.

  The dimples appeared, but before I could swoon at the sight and make an ass of myself, Marcus cleared his throat. Funny. I’d completely forgotten that he’d been standing there the entire time.

  Shooting him a look of pure irritation, Evans released me.

  “I’d like to take you out.”

  “Like. For dinner?” I squawked. Jeez. I’m so smooth.

  He laughed. “Yes. For dinner. As a thank you. You have no idea how important this was.”

  He was right. I didn’t know. And the reminder that I’d been planning on digging the information up somehow at a later date, took away a lot of my pleasure at being asked out. Going out with him, being alone with him, liking him, was wrong on so many levels, even if I was just who I was pretending to be.

  “There’s no need for thanks,” I told him, unable to squelch the disappointment in my voice. “I was just doing my job, Mr. Evans.”

  I’m not sure what expression came over him at that, because I’d already turned my back on him to gather my purse from the now abandoned conference table. But if the uncomfortable way that Marcus shifted was any indication, it wasn’t at all pleasant.

  “Fine,” he said, his voice overly careful. “Another time then. And please, call me Gabriel.”

  From most men it would have sounded like a polite suggestion. From Gabriel Evans it bordered on an outright order. It was all about inflection I supposed. I swung my purse strap over my shoulder and turned to him with a smile.

  “Of course. And you can call me Phaedra.” I wrinkled my nose. “‘Miss Conners makes me sound like an elementary school teacher.”

  My attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. He just looked at me, amber eyes quiet and thoughtful, and head cocked to one side.

  “Phaedra,” he breathed, voice like music against the syllables of my name. Turning it into something magical and unfamiliar. “Phaedra.”

  Hearing him say my name like that, as if it were something sweet to roll around on his tongue and savor, had me shivering again, and wide-eyed I found myself looking to Marcus for help.

  “Come on, big guy,” he said, slapping Evans on the shoulder and bringing him out of whatever spell he’d fallen under. “The lady is heading to lunch, and you and I have another meeting to go to.”

  It was like someone offered a kid a puppy and then told them they couldn’t touch it. His expression was a paroxysm of disappointment, before he sighed and straightened his shoulders.

  “Enjoy your lunch Miss—” Hesitation. Then, mischief and a naughty, naughty smile. “Phaedra.” He purred darkly.

  My back went ramrod straight, and my nose went in the air, but no matter how quickly, or stiffly, I moved, I couldn’t get the sound of his chuckles out of my head or make the red fade from my face. I marched out of his office wondering if I could somehow convince Dawson that I wasn’t a coward for canceling the investigation because the mark made me react like a pre-adolescent girl with a crush.