Page 16 of A Caribbean Heiress in Paris
“Not that it is remotely your business, but yes, I am completely andquite happilyunattached.”
“That’s good, very good.” His voice had suddenly gone smoky, making all the air leave her lungs at once. The effect he had on her could not possibly be good for her health. This much agitation was not sustainable.
“I don’t know what games you’re playing at, Braeburn,” she told him, rising to her full height, though her nose barely reached his bearded chin.
He was too tall, damn him.
“If you’re implying that I am a spinster, you don’t have to tiptoe around it. I am very proud of that fact. I have no desire to marry.” She paused, remembering the situation with her inheritance, and for a second a cold panic gripped her.
No, she wouldn’t think about that. Childers would come around.He had to.
“I cherish my independence. It’s the only weapon I have.” The admission slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. Horrified, she felt the prickle of tears in her eyes. She could not remember the last time she’d felt this inadequate, this exposed.
No, that was a lie. She recalled it perfectly. It was the day she’d overheard two of her father’s friends talking about her. More like laughing at the idea any man could want to “take her on.” What would anyone do with an “opinionated, combative hellion” whose only virtue was “her mystifying gift for business”?
“It’s Sinclair.” Evan’s deep voice brought her out of that horrible memory, and she focused back on him, somewhat confused.
“Pardon?”
“My name is James Evanston Sinclair,” he told her in a soft voice she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Evan to my friends. And my proposition was regarding your casks.”
Evanston. Evan. That was theEinES, then. It suited him. She silently said his name and almost smiled as it occurred to her that it sounded the same in Spanish.
“Casks,” she repeated as she returned her gaze to his expectant stare.
“Casks,” he confirmed so very pleasantly, making her feel warm and soft, when only a minute ago she’d been ready to swipe that sardonic smile from his face. Luz didn’t think she’d ever had so many opposing feelings at once. From moment to moment she went from wanting to murder him to fighting the urge to climb all the way up to that arrogant, hard face and kiss him senseless.
“My partner, Mr. Kapadia, said that he sampled your rum and would like to use your casks to proof our next batch of Braeburn Special Reserve. I thought I’d offer you a deal. Casks for facilitating an audience with Miss Cisse-Kelly.”
“I see.” The one time someone had actually come to her for business since she’d set foot in France and she’d made an utter fool of herself...in a brothel.
He kept those hypnotizing eyes pinned on her, an unnerving and relentless examination. She felt that undivided, focused attention down to the tip of her toes. She was rooted in place, could not make herself move.
“Raghav is quite taken with the rum,” he mused in that smooth, addling voice of his. Heat ran up her spine like tendrils of fire. “He said it was good.” He used the wordgoodlike he had his doubts on whether Mr. Kapadia understood its meaning. “Not as excellent as the Braeburn, of course. But pleasing to the palate.” That damned smirk was back, and she shivered from the way those rolledRs scraped over her skin. “For a rum.”
For a rum? Este comemierda.
She opened her mouth with every intention of giving him detailed instructions about what he could do with his opinions on her rum, but then Sinclair—Evan—derailed her again by leaning closer, until his enormous hand was pressed to the wall over her head. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a leather-bound flask as she trembled from head to toe. His handsome face had a boyish expression that made an image of him waving a white flag at her come to mind. But she was not foolish enough to relax under that friendly stare. This was not a man to play games with.
“Dram?” he offered. She shook her head.
“No, thank you.”
He quirked an eyebrow as he took a sip. “You don’t want to know what the competition tastes like, then?”
She scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“Competition would imply we’re in the same category.”
He barked out a laugh, and again the sound reverberated through her like rolling thunder. That playful regard spurred her on, urging her to meet the unspoken challenge. It didn’t feel like mockery anymore, but like a very tempting invitation.
“I’ve got my own.” Luz lifted the right side of her skirt and fished for the flask pressed to her thigh. She grinned as he choked on a mouthful of whisky when he lowered his gaze to where her hand had gone.
“That’s convenient,” he said hoarsely, sounding impressed.
“I have a pistol on the other leg.”
That brought on a coughing fit. She unscrewed the slim bottle in her hands, extremely pleased with herself.
