Page 18 of Afraid to Hope

“Ah, yes.” He held both his hands up in mock surrender, nodding and grinning wickedly. “Guilty. I didn’t expect to be introduced to such a beautiful, sexy, strong woman. Remember, I mentioned how attractive I find you. I reacted as a man, not a professional. I’m late with my apology.” He rubbed at his beard, then thrust his hand forward to shake, his eyes gauging her, his voice sincere. “Forgive me?”

Natasha remained stubbornly still, arms rigidly at her sides, fists clenched. The memory of how he’d affected her the last time—hell, every time they touched—was all too immediate.

“We’re supposed to be working together. Truce?”

Truce. How the hell was she to get to truce? She couldn’t even think when he was around. All her common sense and control fled, as it was doing now. It pissed her off. Mightily.

“Natasha.”

She snapped out of it and took a deep breath.

“Can you meet me halfway?”

Natasha considered as she focused on her geranium-red painted toenails, then tentatively extended her hand to shake his. Her pulse zinged as they touched. If anything, it was worse than the first time. Startled, Natasha looked up into eyes that were a kaleidoscope of color—an ever-changing mix of gold, brown, and green, fringed by thick black lashes. Some would call them hazel; she’d argue his eyes defied description. Entranced, she felt her temper cool and she grew silent and then still, overly aware of something stirring deep within. She sucked in her breath and held it.

“Fuck. This is going to be more difficult than I imagined,” he said quietly and stepped into her space, pinning her with his sexy, thickly lashed eyes, gently lifting her chin. He paused, gazing into her. Her full lips were parted. Waiting. He lowered his mouth to meet hers.

The knocker thumped heavily against the front door, stopping them when they were a mere whisper from each other. They both blinked at the intrusion, the interrupted kiss hanging heavily between them.

“I’ll get that,” she said huskily, moving past him and opening the door. “Well, hello again. Come in, Simon.”

He held Bane’s worn leather messenger bag. “You forgot this.” Simon’s gaze moved between them, clearly picking up the tension that was different from a moment ago. He squinted his eyes as if thinking. “See you both in the morning. Good night again.”

“I’ll show you around, Mr. Rua.”

“Bane. Hell, we almost kissed. Nat—”

“Look. Bane,” she said carefully, drawing out his name. “Nothing happened.” She waved her hands in front of him. “Let it go.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it as her “I dare you to disagree with me” stare challenged him.

She spun and headed out thesetwanand across the atrium into the hall of arches, toward the back with a go-to-hell long stride. Bane kept pace behind her, admiring the enticing sway of her hips.

At the open, carved double doors, Natasha flipped on the light. “Make yourself at home for however long our assignment lasts. Perhaps we’ll return next week. Who knows? The armoire has plenty of space, so you can put your things in there. The bathroom is next to you. Try to keep everything neat and clean. I am not your maid, and we need to keep up the pretense that you and I are married. Extra blankets are in the armoire.”

The bedroom was large, a melody of color, with rugs layering the floor and two leather chairs flanking the king-sized bed, which was covered with a cream-colored bedspread and tasseled, decorative pillows. Beams ofzouaq—colorful hand-painted wood—decorated the ceiling. “You’re not sleeping here?”

“Why are you making me repeat myself? This is your bedroom,” she said, enunciating pointedly.

“Meaning yours is elsewhere? I’m not bedding down with my wife? Sleeping with you makes more sense.” He grinned.

“No, you ass,” she spat out harshly. “I went through this with you just moments ago. Think with the head on your shoulders. You’re not sleeping with me.”

“Whoa.” He chuckled. “That’s an overreaction when your eyes are telling me you desire otherwise.”

“Never.”

“Earlier—”

“You misunderstood—”

He raised his eyebrows, his eyes landing on her pebbled nipples. “I don’t believe I did.”

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest again and huffed then, clearly noticing where Bane’s eyes had gone, then dropped her arms to her sides.“Focus on the mission. Please. We agreed to a truce.”

He mumbled under his breath.

“What?”

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