Liar Liar

‘Oh, sh—sugar!’ I find myself grabbing his forearm in both of my hands, holding it between us. ‘I’ve got to go.’

Before I can pull away, he captures my hand, his fingers looping around my wrist to draw me closer to him. ‘We are not done.’

‘Aren’t we?’ I pull against his hold. ‘I’ll miss the staff bus if I don’t get there in five minutes.’ And it’ll probably take me all of those five minutes to find my way out of this labyrinth of a building. Shit! Fee said the staff drivers are ruthless when it comes to the timetabled pickup times.

‘The bus?’ he replies, his brow creasing.

‘Four wheels? Takes multiple passengers, usually for a small charge? Maybe you know it better as the peasant wagon?’

‘I’m aware of what a bus is,’ he replies silkily, resisting my attempted tug. But as his thumb feathers the underside of my wrist, I find I’m not struggling anymore. How can such a small touch feel so calming, so intimate? ‘Your heart is beating so fast.’ His eyes rise from where we join, his expression almost provocative. ‘Why is that, do you think?’

‘Because I’m anxious I’m about to miss my bus.’

‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘You know, I have no idea how I came to get this job, but I’m pretty certain you’re going to explain it to me sometime.’

‘Is that a fact?’

‘Yes, it is. But for now, I have a bus to catch. A bus I can’t afford to miss. For one thing, I’m not even sure exactly where I live.’

‘I’m sure I can help find you a place to stay.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ I find myself chuckling at the man’s audacity.

‘I could make a call. Find out where you live.’

‘Knowing where I live isn’t going to get me there.’ Though I’m no longer trying to tug away my hand, a tiny breath catches in my throat as he lifts it to his lips, pressing them to the back of my hand. It’s not a sweet gesture, not by any stretch of the imagination. Not the way he watches me.

‘I don’t want you to go, Rose.’

My name is a temptation, and his lips so sure and so firm and little more than a breath away. I try not to stare as I wonder if Remy would kiss me differently in this alternate reality. Would his kiss be more, here in his natural habitat? Would it be harder? Commanding? Would he hold me tight against him? Would I let him?

Like those are even serious questions.

Liquid heat courses through my veins, answering the almost magnetic pull of him.

‘Do you know Emile Durrand?’ he asks, the question a dangerous sounding purr.

‘As in, Emile Durrand, the founder of Wolf Industries?’

His thumb resumes its feather-light caress. ‘You’ve met him?’

‘Only between the covers of the company magazine.’ Emile Durrand founded Wolf Industries. He’s also Remy’s father, according to the articles. ‘I read the back catalogue while HR was deciding what to do with me. I guess you don’t offer many of your so-called conquests jobs, given how they struggled to keep me occupied. Should I be flattered? Because, honestly? I’m just confused.’

‘Conquests?’

‘So-called,’ I correct. ‘One night in my bed doesn’t mean you own me.’

‘What about one night in my bed.’ His fingers tighten around my wrist, his expression shuttering quite suddenly. ‘What do you think that would earn me?’

Probably a stalker, I don’t answer.

‘You say you’ve never met him?’

‘I have not met your father,’ I reply imperiously. ‘And, according to those magazines, I’m not likely to now.’ Unless I’m living in a bad telenovela because Emile Durrand died over two years ago.

‘Non,’ Remy replies, this time making me roll my eyes. Sexy French accent be gone. ‘I didn’t think so. He liked them un peu docile.’ He holds his thumb and forefinger a pinch apart.

‘Whatever.’ I glance away. No way I’m touching that. And to hell with docile. ‘And now I’ve missed my bus.’

‘Do you know your eyes turn gold when you’re annoyed?’

‘It’s my special superpower.’

‘I disagree. Your talents lie elsewhere.’

‘I preferred it when I didn’t understand what you were saying.’

‘You don’t like my voice?’

I don’t answer. I like his voice plenty, especially when it’s addressing me in that low, bedroom-y tone with the hint of his accent rounding the words.

His hand trails up the inside of my arm, the pads of his fingers heating my skin. I find my nipples standing to attention under the thin layers of my dress and hope he doesn’t notice.

‘Rose.’ He elongates my name almost chidingly as he lifts my chin, turning me to face him. ‘We both know you appreciate the things my mouth can do.’

Oh, my. He is relentless.

I know I should come up with a rebuttal, some kind of put down—and maybe I would if my head was on straight. I should resist the pull of him, deny his arms as they slide around my waist, but I find I can’t. Even if, at the last minute, I turn my head.