Page 21 of Masquerade

Tony wandered towards their table. “Ready?”

“A bowl of your chilli tomato pasta, please.” She closed her menu.

“Sure, Katie. You want salad and bread as well?”

“Just the salad today. I’m not very hungry.”

Tony guffawed as if she were making a huge joke, then yelled the order through to the kitchen. “You want pasta, mister?”

“I’ll have the pasta, salad and bread. Any recommendations on the wine?”

Tony beamed at having his advice sought. “We do a good Montepulciano by the glass.”

Liam shifted his gaze to Kate and saw her nod. “Two glasses, please.”

Tony ambled back to the bar, yelling towards the kitchen. “Another pasta and salad. This one with bread.”

Liam leaned forward to whisper. “Who’s in the kitchen?”

“His wife of thirty years,” she whispered back.

“Any bambinos?”

She giggled and some of the constraint, born of an incendiary kiss between them, evaporated. “Six. Some of them have started on the next generation.”

“Does he always bellow the orders?”

“That performance was for your benefit.” She giggled again, a carefree sound.

He wanted to kiss her again. His brief taste had given him an appetite for more. Blood rushed to his groin remembering her whispered moan, the way she’d wriggled against his body as if she couldn’t get close enough. Crazy, when not ten minutes ago, they’d agreed there’d be nothing between them.

“Let’s set some ground rules.” She should have suggested rules of engagement before he had his hand on her butt.

“Straight to business.” He nodded his thanks when Tony delivered two glasses of wine. Rules might control his actions, but hell, she’d fired his imagination with her fantasy.

“Business is why we’re spending time together.” She’d reverted to prim, but he’d learned prim was only one part of the mysterious Kate Turner.

“We both agree no fraternising on the job.” He insisted more forcefully than he’d intended. An attempt to save himself. Damn it, he could smell her. Faint now, but her light scent had surrounded him when he’d had her in his arms.

“What a wishy-washy euphemism,” she snorted. “Neither of us wants a relationship, but that’s not a ground rule. We’re consenting adults who make choices.”

“Good to have our status clarified,” he muttered. If she wanted to share another fantasy with him, he’d consent. He needed to get this conversation back on track. “When do you don your Anna disguise?”

“When it’s necessary.” She tucked a loose curl back into her plait. “How long does this stay confidential?”

“As long as necessary.” Liam relaxed against the soft leather of the booth, repeating her condition. “Certainly while we approach the local team and see how much of our help they want.” He brushed his foot deliberately against hers.

Her eyes widened at his naughty move.

“They’ll want your help.” The lady wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended.

“Lovely colour.” He held his glass to the light. “I’m inclined to agree. Plus, I went to school with one of the protest organisers.”

She sipped her wine, fiddled with her knife and fork, aligning them with the edge of the table before moving the serviette to the side.

“Say it.”

“I’m going to cross a line in our professional relationship,” she stated bluntly.

---