Hot Picks: Secrets And Lies. Dani Collins

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      At the same time, his hands rolled of their own accord, silently inviting Cinnia to come to him.

      She didn’t move, only hugged herself and flicked her glance to his phone. “Who was that?”

      “Gili. Angelique. My other sister.”

      “You’re very close to your siblings.”

      “They’re the only people I trust completely.”

      She looked at her bare toes. “I speak French. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I heard a little.”

      “And?”

      “And nothing.” She shrugged. “I feel bad for your sister. I don’t imagine something like that is anything you get over. I mean, I still cry about losing my dad and it’s been over a decade, but it sounds like she’s quite haunted and I’m sorry she’s still affected.” She glanced up, expression so soft with compassion it cracked things inside him. “I know you lost your father, as well. I’m sorry for that, too.”

      “You’re sorry for a lot of things.” Deepening their relationship would come with many types of risk, he realized. Long-term relationships demanded more of this sort of thing. He was not eager to open up to her, but he hated the distance she was keeping between them right now. The physical distance, at least.

      “Are you sorry about last night?” he asked, trying to understand why she wasn’t rushing into his arms.

      “A little,” she mumbled.

      “Why?” he demanded, not pleased to hear it.

      She kept her head down, but he could see her growing red. With embarrassment?

      He swore and went to her, tugging her close with gentle roughness so they knocked together and she threw back her head to scowl at him.

      The vulnerability in her eyes made his heart swerve. He was not the only one disturbed by the level of intimacy between them. He found himself rubbing his thumbs against her upper arms where he gripped her, trying to offer reassurance.

      “We gave each other a great deal of pleasure. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

      She swallowed and hid her thoughts with a lowered gaze. Her mouth pouted, maybe even showed a hint of bruising from their thousand rapacious kisses.

      Oddly, that hint of injury was the turning point, allowing him to make his decision. They needed time so they could pace themselves. Otherwise, they were liable to kill each other.

      “I like that you held nothing back,” he told her. “Quit being shy about it or I’ll do all those same things to you right here on the floor in the lounge. In daylight.”

      Cinnia was tempted to scoff and say, “You can try,” but she had a feeling he would.

      And she’d let him.

      He started to kiss her, but the knock on the door interrupted. “Breakfast,” he said with a small grimace, releasing her to let in room service.

      She touched fingertips to her tingling lips, scolding herself for being disappointed. She was achy and exhausted, very tender in delicate places, and all she could think about was how much she wanted to feel his touch on all those sensitized places again.

      Other staff came in with the wheeled table of covered dishes. A woman brought an assortment of outfits and held up each in turn for approval.

      “Not that one. It’s hideous,” Henri said as the woman showed them a green dress. “Why does it even exist? That one, the blue. To match your eyes,” he told Cinnia.

      He accepted a striped button shirt and the boutique owner left clean underthings for both of them. Cinnia waited until everyone was gone to check the price tags.

      “You’re not paying for those,” Henri said, barely glancing up from the plates he uncovered.

      “Neither are you. I guess I’m going home in last night’s dress.”

      “You’re my guest. I will provide everything you need while you’re with me.”

      Something in her midsection did a little curl and twist, anchoring and panging inside her. Get what you can.

      “Are you going to join me? Surely you’re as hungry as I am.”

      “Are you going to keep teasing me about it?” she demanded.

      “Last night? Did that sound like teasing? I mean it as praise and gratitude.” He looked at her and his shoulders relaxed as he gave her a perplexed look. “Vraiment, why does it bother you that we spent a night making love?”

      He had stripped her bare, not just physically, but down to her soul. She was never going to be the same. He would always be the man who had done those things and made her feel that way and he would always know it. She would always know it and compare future lovers and feel wistful. Cheated, even.

      “I told you,” she muttered, moving to sit across from him, absolutely starving from her expenditure of calories, but feeling defenseless and needy. Tired, she assured herself. She was just tired. And filled with impossible yearning. “I don’t do this.”

      “If you think last night was common for me, you’re overestimating my libido.”

      “Oh, I have a healthy respect for that animal, believe me.” Coffee. She poured a cup for each of them with shaking hands and quickly doctored hers, sighing with her first sip even though it burned her tongue.

      When she glanced at him, he was watching her with an enigmatic look.

      “You’re also underestimating your effect on me. We have a unique connection.” He seemed to choose his words very carefully. “We could leave things here and go on with our lives. I would probably call you the next time I was in London. I will optimistically believe you would be available and want to see me.”

      That was what was killing her right now. She had been able to put him mostly out of her mind after the first time because she’d been angry and genuinely hadn’t thought she would see him again. For him to show up and pursue her so blatantly, however, set her up for believing he would do it again in the future.

      She would counsel any girlfriend or sister to never wait on a man or give him so much power over her personal happiness, but here she sat, looking into her coffee because she didn’t want Henri to see that he already held her on the end of a leash and all he had to do was tug for her to come to heel.

      That’s where her shame was coming from. Her eyes stung and she made herself blink to stem the tears of humility at being his sexual pet.

      “What do I assume by your lack of response, Cinnia? That you would be agreeable to that arrangement?”

      “I’m not going to hold a reservation for you,” she lied, setting her cup into its saucer with a hard clink and a little slosh of coffee over the rim.

      “Exactly what I thought you’d say.” He braced his elbows on the table, hands loosely linked above his plate. “Much of your appeal for me is that you expect so little of me. You’re very independent. But I do not care to take my chances with your accessibility. I would like to propose a different arrangement.”

      When she glanced up, his gaze was waiting to snare hers. The hazel-green tone was very, very green. Avid in a possessive, masculine way. Mine.

      Her stomach swooped and she scented danger, yet it was the lofty danger of swinging out on a rope over a cliff on a bottomless lake. Life threatening, but exhilarating.

      “A retainer?” she mocked.

      “Of a sort. I’ve never had a mistress, but I begin to see the benefits.”

      She was knocked speechless. For a few painful heartbeats, she could only stare, then pointed