He had to stop it. Now.
* * *
‘Are you all right?’
Effie peered at Tak and tried to control her racing heart. The entire evening had been unsettling, from the fancy restaurant to Tak’s too-close-to-home questions. In all her life she had never found it so hard to recite
her practised lies. Never before had she felt such a desperate yearning to throw away her mask and finally let somebody see the real Effie.
But what if Tak hated that person? What if he hated the mess, the ugliness that was her past? And it was so very, very ugly. There was no dressing it up and passing it off as something palatable.
An ache pooled deep in her belly as she watched Tak through lowered lashes. He looked more incredible than ever tonight, in that sleek, smart-casual suit. A lesson in sheer male perfection—all hard lines and intriguing shadows. Solid and utterly, devastatingly imposing.
And he was all hers.
At least he was pretending to be.
And that was the irony of it, wasn’t it? They were out in public so that they could fool other people, but the person most at risk of falling for the charade was herself.
‘I’m quite well, thank you.’
His rich voice glided over her skin like silk.
‘Did you imagine otherwise?’
‘You seem...distracted,’ she offered, before correcting herself. ‘On edge.’
‘On the contrary, I’m feeling very much at ease in your company.’
It wasn’t so much the way he said it—in that throwaway style of his, as though it was an easy compliment but didn’t mean very much at all. It was more the way his eyes darkened sinfully, possessively, almost as though against his will.
Her pulse beat out a thrilled tattoo. She could feel it thrumming in her neck. And she could feel it thrumming somewhere altogether more intimate.
Everywhere Tak went people turned their heads to watch him, to admire him. He inspired admiration and envy alike, and his renowned career made him a man to hold in the highest esteem.
But when he looked at her like that he made Effie feel as though she was the only thing in the world that he saw. The only woman he would ever want. And when he laughed it was as if he’d shot her through with a thousand bright volts. It was heady, and intoxicating, and utterly, completely dangerous.
Because it made her forget that this was all simply a game.
‘So, what’s the plan? We’ve been here an hour already. Do you think the news will have got back to your family, or do we need to do something more memorable?’
‘More memorable?’ he arched an eyebrow. ‘What, exactly?’
‘I don’t know!’ Effie chuckled, for no obvious reason but that he made her feel happy. ‘Maybe... Well, perhaps... Hmm...
‘Causing a scene about the food before sending it back?’ he speculated, making Effie gasp.
‘No. That would be horrible! The staff—goodness the chef!’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? I imagine you’re the kind of person who smiles and says the meal is lovely even if it truly is ghastly.’
She knew she looked sheepish. She certainly felt sheepish. ‘I suppose that is what I do,’ she conceded. ‘Not that I dine out often, that is.’
‘Perhaps we should do something about that.’ He laughed, and then, before she could ask him what he’d meant by that, he changed the subject. ‘So, if not memorable that way, then how?’
It made no sense that her heart should be beating so hard. And this time when she smiled it didn’t feel quite so easy. ‘I don’t know. Forget I said anything.’
‘Do you suppose I should stand up and come around the table? Haul you into my arms before kissing you? Not a light peck, you understand, but a thorough, unmistakable kiss, designed to conquer rather than simply confide.’