by Nana Malone
I sidled up to him, patting his jacket with my right hand. “Well, I was instructed to apologize. So I came here to do that.”
His grin was quick and devilish. “Bullshit.”
Absolutely bullshit. I’d touched him very specifically to distract him as I reached into his opposite lapel and planted the bug. I might not have my father’s support, but if I came with hard proof, he couldn’t deny me. And East Hale was going to give it to me.
My smile dimmed somewhat as he studied my face carefully. I’d covered the bruise with makeup, but there were still some remnants of the deep purple from when I’d fallen with him the night before.
He raised his hand for a moment, and I thought he was going to caress my cheek, but he only moved a strand of my hair out of my face.
I frowned at him. "You should probably wait until I give permission before you enter my personal space."
His answering smile was lopsided. "Noted. Does this include when you beg me?"
I lifted a brow. "Oh, I don't beg."
An intense smolder entered his eyes even as the smile remained. "Something tells me I would enjoy making you beg."
I shook my head. "Oh God, save me from arrogant men. If I went my whole life and never once met another arrogant man, I swear to God, I would be a very happy woman."
This was fun. Why was this fun? He was quick-witted. Charming. So beautiful it hurt to look at him. Those green eyes of his were bright and intelligent. Without a doubt, they saw everything. And those lips. God, those lips.
"So what are you really doing here? I don’t believe your attempt at an apology. I’d like the truth. You were willing to fight for what you actually wanted. So tell me, Miss Kincade, why are you really here?"
Don't fall for it. You'll get stung.
"Well, Mr. Hale, this has been lovely, but I have to get going.” I put forth my shiniest smile. “I have a date waiting for me."
He lifted a brow as I passed him, and his fingertips brushed my elbow, the delicious shivery sensation pausing my forward motion without him exerting much force. It was more a sensation of being able to feel the waves of dominance he emitted. "Who's your date?"
I grinned at him. "Wouldn’t you love to know?"
"I would, actually.” His gaze held me in place. “I have the feeling you’d enjoy yourself more with me. Leave with me. We have so much to talk about. We can even have dinner.”
"And if I told you I don't do dinner?"
"You have to eat some time." He lifted a brow and cocked his head, an easy flirtatious smile playing on his lips. "How about breakfast?”
"I don't eat breakfast with men I barely know."
The smile widened into a cocksure grin. "Then get to know me. I have the distinct impression that I could change your opinion about the London Lords if you got to know me."
I shook my head. "Sorry, but I have to go."
He finally let me pass, and I breathed a soft sigh of relief. Being close to him felt dangerous somehow. Like I was playing roulette with my life. My heart hammered against my ribs. My breathing was far too shallow. The hairs along my arms stood on end as if alerting me to some impending doom. But it was just East Hale watching me.
I wasn't afraid of him. That wasn't the right emotion. But I was just too aware of him being too aware of me.
Your father is going to kill you.
Admittedly, this was a risk. I knew what I’d been told. But I also knew what my gut was telling me. I knew something was up. All I needed was proof. And I was going to get it. If the bug yielded nothing, then I’d stop.
Do you think you can?
I tried to make my way through the crowd, around the women in their elegant evening gowns and the men in their shiny oxfords and tuxedos. I'd almost made it to the door when my phone rang. "Jesus Christ, Amelia, now is not the time."
"Oh, this isn't Amelia." The voice on the line was deep. Husky. Lazy, like a drawl, but accented. French? Maybe Portuguese, but I wasn't super familiar with that accent.
"Who is this?"
"It's someone who wants to see you succeed."
"Look, I have my hands full with creepers and arseholes. You have the wrong number, and you should know that you’re calling an Interpol agent. So if you were trying to harass me or anything of that sort, you will be sorely disappointed."
"I know exactly who I'm speaking to. Agent Nyla Rebecca Kincade. All you have ever wanted in your life is to please your father. I am about to give you that opportunity."
Icicles formed in the lazy rivers of my blood as it traveled through my veins and arteries. “Who the hell am I speaking to?” I quickly glanced at my phone before replacing it at my ear. Had I been hacked? Was this some idiot hacker's way of attempting to get money from me? I had none to give. I was paid civil servant wages.
"Oh, perhaps you'll forgive me. It's been so long since I've spoken to a beautiful woman."
"Right you eegit, this conversation is about to be—"
"How would you like the biggest arrest of your career, Agent Kincade? Francois Theroux."
I choked out a laugh. "You’re not serious."
“I am, in fact, very serious.” There was something so melodic and soothing about the voice.
“Everyone on the planet has looked for Theroux, and you want me to believe that you can find him. Also, you could just have him pay you off. Why turn him in? Why would you do that?”
“I have my reasons.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I understand your trepidation.”
I wove through the crowd. “What’s in it for you?”
There was a momentary pause. “There is plenty of time of time for that. I’ll be in touch. Think your answer through very carefully.”
“So you’re going to dangle a carrot and not tell me what the stick is or what human I’m going to have to sacrifice? Who the hell are you?”
His chuckle was low and melodic. “It seems I can rectify the first part of your hesitance. My name is Francois Theroux. Welcome to my game. Chat soon, Agent Kincade.
Then the line went dead.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
I scowled at my phone. As I stared, a text came up from a blocked number and it contained one image.
A man only partially in shadow sat forward. While his hair was all white, his face was handsome and barely lined. Strong jaw. Cleft chin. A nose that was the definition of Roman, and full lips.
Everything about his countenance screamed gentleman.
I knew exactly who he was. Francois Theroux. And on the table next to him sat the newspaper. I zoomed in and then my breath caught and lodged in my throat.
That was today’s date. He wasn’t lying. I’d just spoken to Francois fucking Theroux.
The hairs on the back of my neck tingled, and as I turned slowly around, my gaze collided with East’s. What was it about that man? Even as I turned from him in the crowd, eager to get as far away from him as possible, I could still feel the heat of him behind me. The pull toward him. I tried to keep my eyes on the prize as I focused on the exit and getting the hell out of there.
But I underestimated him. Out of the banquet hall, I made a right down the hallway, and he just came out of nowhere, tugging me into a little alcove next to the restrooms. "Agent Kincade."
I jerked my body straight, desperate to get his hand off of me so I could avoid that zinging pulse of electricity. He released me easily, but we were still close. Too damn close. I felt his heat wrapping around me like a warm cocoon, promising stress release and safety, and many, many orgasms.
I shook my head a little to try and clear the fog. "What is it you want, Mr. Hale?"
The corner of his lips tipped into a wry smile. "So formal. Mr. Hale, or Lord Hale, is generally my father. My friends call me East."
"Are we friends? Is that what this is?"
"I don't know what this is. I feel like once you fight someone you have a window into their soul. I think we got off on th
e wrong foot. Maybe we can start over?"
I swallowed hard, trying to get a clean crisp breath that wasn’t pine and leather and didn’t make my head spin. "I just—I don't know. I find you lacking."
This time, he treated me to a full-blown grin. Christ, I was so screwed. Because with that easy smile and that peek of dimple in his naturally tanned skin, I was dumbfounded. Unable to breathe, unable to move. That was his true secret weapon. The smile stunned you. And then he went for the strike.
I forced my chin to tilt up. "Again, let me ask you, Mr. Hale, is there something you need?"
He chuckled softly. "Honestly, when you took off running, I didn't think we were done. I had to come and find you and talk to you at least. Clarify things. And I also wanted to return the shawl you left at the bar and see you to the door."
"There's no need for that. We didn't come together."
"And isn't that a crying shame?"
I should have moved away. I really should have, but there he was. He didn't even need to take a step toward me to crowd me. Just him standing there all tall and taking up space was all it took. He stole my breath right out of my lungs. “You know, Mr. Hale, I've met your friend."
"Which one? I have lots of friends." He cocked his head innocently.
"Oh, you know which one," I said. "Mr. Covington, like yourself, presents a pretty picture. And his girlfriend… Well, I guess, his fiancée now, I actually kind of like her. She's sassy. Direct. Takes no shit. I think they're a good match."
He nodded slowly. "I agree. But that’s their story. Don’t try and evade, Agent Kincade, how about us? Don’t you think we should pick up where we left off? For a start, will you come to their wedding with me?"
I blinked rapidly and jerked back. "What?"
"I’ve asked you on a date. Generally, how it works is one person asks the other one to accompany them. You know, to something like dinner or a movie or in this case a wedding. Which are boring, quite frankly. But I figure, since my friends are getting married, I could use a date. I don't usually take real dates to something so personal, because well, you never know what's going to happen with the bridesmaids. But since I know the bridesmaids pretty well this time, I think a date is in order."
"So, you're inviting me because you can't shag the bridesmaids this time? Is that what I'm getting?"
He shrugged. "It's as good a reason as any. Besides, you're beautiful. But I think you know that already."
I shrugged that off. My father had told me my whole life that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. And one day, someone was going to behold me that didn't find me beautiful, so I had better be smart. I had better be cunning. I had better use all the tools in my toolshed and not just my face or my body.
I hadn't really understood as a child. Mostly, back then, I’d just wanted my father to tell me I was pretty. It wasn't until I became an adult that I really realized why he couldn't say it. It was because I looked like her.
Exactly like my mother. And he must have still been mourning her. It probably hurt him to see me every day. But that was neither here nor there. Hearing East Hale tell me that I was beautiful did something to my insides. And if that something meant making my panties wet, then ding, ding, ding.
I licked my lips. "That's very kind of you to say, but looks don't matter."
"You're right. Looks don't matter. Some of the most beautiful people have the ugliest souls. But that's not the case with you, is it, Nyla Kincade?"
I cocked my head. The way he said my name sounded like something warm and sexy and throaty. Especially when he added that husky rasp to it. He made me want to peel off my panties and give them to him.
Stop it. Focus. Get the hell out of here because right now, Amelia is listening on the goddamn com device, and she's getting all of this.
If my embarrassment over the fact that my best friend listening in wasn’t enough, the fact that I wasn't really wearing any panties probably should have been my next clue.
"Well, Mr. Hale, while this has been quite interesting, I’m afraid I have to leave right about now. I have more important things to get to."
As I turned, he gently reached for my elbow and flipped me back. "Oh, not so fast. I did ask you on a date. And from the look in your eyes and the way you licked your lips when you looked at me, I know you want to say yes. But I really rather prefer to hear the words."
Words. He wanted words. Which words?
See, that was the problem with men as good-looking as him. They made you lose your train of thought. I focused on the only thing that I could manage, my shawl in his hands. I reached out and took it back, wanting to wrap it around my shoulders again. "I'll take that."
He lifted a brow. "Is that a no?"
"Why are you asking me, Mr. Hale? Clearly, I am not the kind of woman you’d normally ask out on a date, so I guess I'm just curious. What is it you want from me?"
He moved then. Closing the space between us, blocking out the passersby in the quiet hallway of the venue.
"What do I want? With you, I'm not quite sure yet." He leaned forward ever so slightly. Then he breathed deep.
I blinked rapidly. "What?"
"Your scent, it intoxicates me. There's a light floral in it. But mostly you smell like honeysuckle in the summer breeze. What is that perfume?"
I swallowed hard. For the last five years, I'd been using the same perfume every day. It was the slightest hint, and he'd gotten it right. Honeysuckle. God, what was wrong with me?
Step away from that beautiful man. It's safer that way. Amelia is listening.
I told myself I was going to step back out of his gentle grasp. I was going to walk away because this was a dangerous game, and I was not supposed to be there. But still, there I was, taunting, waving the red cape in front of the bull, trying to get answers, unable to make sense of anything. This was probably what my father was talking about. My impulsivity. I didn't always think these things through.
But how was I supposed to know what to expect from East fucking Hale? Or Bridge Edgerton? They were the kind of men that could melt your panties from their sheer hotness. And while Bridge Edgerton was the kind of broody, dark, good-looking, sexy man, there was something about the way East smiled. That fucking dimple. No man should have dimples. Honestly. They should be reserved for children and women because men would use them for evil. Like what he was doing right now.
"Miss Kincade, if you tell me you don't want to go to the wedding with me, I am more than happy to let you go. I don't pursue women who aren't interested. But I keep waiting for an answer, and you keep not giving me one."
Answer. He wants an answer. Right. To the question. Just tell him now.
I tilted my chin. "Now, you and I both know you don't really want to take me to a wedding."
"Your answer isn't telling me what I want. I feel like I need to lay it out because clearly, you’re having a little brain glitch in that pretty little head of yours."
Oh, son of a bitch. He turned that grin on full blast, and there were two goddamn dimples.
Knickers down! Knickers down!
You're not wearing any.
No. No, I wasn't. That warm pulsing rush between my thighs was going to make them sticky. I shifted on my feet, pressing my thighs together in the hopes that despite the tightness of my dress, he was not going to notice any embarrassing spots.
Jesus Christ, next time wear fucking panties.
"Go on, say no. I'll walk away. Just say the words, Nyla."
I wished to God he would stop saying my name that way. Like we were in bed and it was a hushed whisper that was half-reverence, half-curse.
"I—"
I couldn't finish what I was saying because he leaned ever so closely and then tucked his body against mine, and I felt the full press of his muscles through that outstanding suit. "Say the words, Nyla. Say, 'No, East. I don't want to go. I don't want to attend the wedding with you.’”
"You recognize I'm an Interpol agent who plans on bringing you down?"
<
br /> His grin was slow. Sexy. Determined. "And what will you do when there’s nothing to find? Will you regret wasting time we could have been shagging?"
"Honestly, I—"
And then his lips pressed to mine, and his tongue swooped in, licked into my mouth, and God help me, I moaned.
The sound was low. Throaty. Desperate.
Oh hell.
He kissed like he moved. With a command and a distinct lack of patience. But there was also a surprise in his kiss. A gentleness. A coaxing that was at war with his pure power.
He dipped down further, his big hand slid into my hair and angled my head by sliding his fingers along the base of my neck and into my hair, tugging ever so gently and turning my head as he stroked his sure tongue into my mouth.
I couldn't help it, my hips sought out his with a jerk. The motion made him growl deep and press into me. The sound of his low rumble made my knees week and my skin too hot. Like it was stretched all over my body.
Heat and slick moisture pooled at the juncture of my thighs. The slickness was accompanied by this throbbing ache. Hell, I was quite certain there was a wet spot on my dress.
With one kiss, a stroke of his tongue, the press of his body and a gentle rocking of our bodies together, and I was so screwed. I wanted him. More than I’d ever wanted anyone in my life. I tore my lips from his and staggered back. Well, as much as the dress and the wall would allow. My gaze snapped back to his. "I have to go."
He nodded slowly and then stepped back. "I'll take that as a yes, Agent Kincade."
When I was a step further away from him, I could breathe a little bit better, and I could think. "I’ll have you know, Mr. Hale, I will not be going anywhere with you. I don't date men I’m investigating. I don't date men who are clearly trouble. I don't date men who are on a power trip."
"I'm not on a power trip. You can't be on a power trip when you have it already."
I had no choice but to run. I called it self-preservation. It wasn't until I was outside running down the stairs, sucking in deep gulps of air, that I realized I’d dropped my shawl again. I considered going back for it, but hell no. The further away from East Hale I could get, the better.
