Page 77 of Masquerade

“Hi, yourself.” She’d come home.

“Let’s ditch this mob.” Keeping her tucked against him, he led her out a side exit, down a passage, and then through another door. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Have dinner with me?”

A simple request, but Kate was suddenly breathless, and her stomach was a mass of raging butterflies. Crazy when there was nowhere else she’d rather be. “Yes, please.”

“You’re a nice surprise.” He turned her towards him, his hands resting on her hips. “I wasn’t sure what time you were getting back tonight.” He brushed a kiss across her mouth. A sizzle slid down her spine along with the welcome.

“I didn’t warn you because I didn’t want to promise something that I might not be able to deliver.” Her hands rested on his chest. The steady beat of his heart eased out all the kinks in her temper that missing him had caused. He led her down back alleys heading towards the main road.

Under an overhanging lintel, with frying garlic and chilli scorching the air, she stopped. When he turned to her, she gripped his lapels. “You did great back there.”

“Did you meet your deadline?” His hands settled on her hips again, as if he needed to touch her as much as she needed to be touched.

“I did.” Tomorrow, when she had her first author’s copy in her hand, she’d let him page through the evidence while she told him about her writing. “Was Paul part of the ravening media pack when you stepped aside years ago?”

“He’s persistent and a bloody good investigator.” He slipped her glasses from her nose and tucked them into his pocket. Framing her face with his hands, he touched his lips to her eyebrows. “He recognised me and hunted me down, bringing his mates.” He dusted kisses on her cheekbones. His soft seduction was melting her bones.

“He’ll follow your activities from now on. You know that.” She sighed when his warm lips grazed her forehead. She’d missed his smell, with its tart sweetness and earthy solidity.

“Let’s get out of here and away from this gloomy conversation.” His gentleness was a constant revelation, and she hadn’t understood how much she’d craved it until she met Liam.

Metres from the main road, a photographer stepped into their path. Probably seconds, but to Kate the time passed in slow motion. Liam raised an arm to block the photographer’s shot. The camera flashed a few times. Kate buried her head against Liam’s shoulder. The man disappeared.

“You’re trembling.” He tightened his grip; his body heat the bigger comfort. “Come with me.”

On the street, he hailed a passing cab and bundled her into it ahead of him. Kate opened her mouth to speak, but Liam held up a hand, issuing instructions to the driver. “Tony’s opposite the library on King. Do you know it?”

“No sweat,” the cabbie replied.

Liam leaned forward, lacing his fingers with Kate’s. “Save it until Tony’s.”

Ten minutes later, he pushed though Tony’s door. Kate absorbed the familiar comfort of a cheerful crowd and Sicilian aromas. Tony waved to them.

“Two chilli tomato pastas, salad, bread, a bottle of Montepulciano and absolute privacy. Thanks, Tony.” Liam didn’t wait for a reply, just steered them towards a booth at the back of the restaurant.

“Your wine.” Tony served them himself. “With this crowd, food will take about fifteen minutes.” Then the usually chatty barman retreated.

Huddled into her side of the booth, Kate sucked in a deep breath.

“I’m sorry about the rogue photographer. I should have anticipated an ambush.”

“It was just the surprise. Public space. Perfectly legitimate and legal. Just like us and Montveau. I hate being photographed without my permission. But you know that.”

“Hence your pressure on Niall to tell me about the billboard. And your reaction to me taking shots of our politician and the lovely Selina?” He didn’t reach for her hand and, although she’d been the one to squeeze herself into the corner, she missed his arms around her. “We didn’t pursue Selina and Daniel Elliott. We weren’t seeking to titillate anyone or feed some mindless gossip machine. We didn’t use the photo in the end.” He slapped a hand on the table, his frustration clear. “But you’re talking about the photos taken without your consent, before you and Anna started sabotaging them.”

“You checked.” She pointed an accusing finger at him.

“After your reaction at Montveau.” He was unrepentant. “You look like a startled cat in lots of them.”

“I felt like one.” Kate raised her wineglass in a toast to him. He respected her work, he also clearly respected her choice about whether or when to tell him about her past. Courtesy was a precious gift in a relationship.

“You must have expected me to check.” He studied her.

“I’d be lying if I said no. But we’ve both tiptoed around each other’s privacy.” It was past time to tell him about the gaps in her story. “What else did you find?”

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