Read Online Her Quicksilver Lover: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 6 by Lynne Connolly - Free Book Online Page B

but the hard note in his voice made her even more nervous than she’d been when she entered the room. Any more and she might be sick in front of him. Unthinkable in this perfect space.
    He moved then, walking slowly toward her, his face coming into clearer view. He was watching her, his eyes darker than usual—or was that because of the dazzling light he’d exposed her to by moving away from it? His jaw was tensed, his walk that of a stalking beast, one concentrating on its prey. She’d seen cats with that expression, intent and watchful. His heels struck the bare floor with a sound that tolled her doom until he hit the oriental rug she stood behind. Any minute now he would tell her to leave his club and not return.
    “It’s kind of you to think of me,” he said. He moved closer still, until he stood before her. Their bodies did not touch, but if either of them breathed too deeply, they would.
    Reaching up, he tugged the string of her cap undone, his movement so economically swift she could do nothing to prevent it. Her hair, already tousled by her run, fell down, her tight bun not as firm as usual. Some remained pinned up, but enough fell to curl on to her shoulders.
    He caught his breath, the gasp mingling with her harsh breathing.
    He removed her glasses, his fingers brushing her cheek. She flinched back, then stared at him, heat rising to her cheeks.
    “I knew you were a beauty,” he said. “Why else would you make such efforts to disguise your looks?”
    She swallowed. “You cannot mean that. I pass unremarked and disregarded. You should not—”
    “ You should not try too hard to appear nondescript. You are a beauty, I say, and I am a connoisseur.” His lip twisted at the corner, deepened, and a crease appeared beside it. “I have known many women in my time, so do not deny it to me.”
    But she did. She had to. “I’m no beauty. I’m a normal person.”
    “Do not contradict your master.”
    “You’re not my master.” She put up her chin, meeting his eyes boldly. “No man masters me.”
    “We’ll see about that.”
    The inherent threat should have alarmed her, but it only made her more determined not to let him cow her. Warmth filled her mind, from a source she could not detect, as if it had come from outside herself. She did not recognize it. Then it was gone, like an inner blush that left without trace. “I take it you no longer wish for my services?” It would come as a relief not to see him every day. Already she was dwelling too much on him. “Sir,” she added, gazing straight into his eyes.
    He lifted his finger again, stroked her cheek very slowly. “You’re telling the truth,” he murmured, so close the heat of his breath warmed her face. “But not all of it.”
    “Nobody tells all the truth.” She thought of her father, who developed the truth, coloured it, and sent it out in the world to earn his living. But she said nothing of that. She would leave and take her secrets with her.
    “You’re right, nobody does. But there is a difference between not telling the whole truth and deliberately holding back secrets.” He watched her, but she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him stare her down.
    Throwing her head back, she met him, stare for stare. “I do not. I have not lied.” Although he was right, she had not told him everything. This man was dangerous, far too much for her to play with him. She would not. She would find easier prey.
    “Is your name really Joanna?”
    She blinked. “Yes.”
    “Joanna Spencer?”
    “Yes. I thought…” She didn’t know what to think. His proximity confused her, sent her mind into a spin, spiralling down her body to the juncture of her thighs, where she heated and dampened.
    He smiled and stroked her cheek again. It was all she could do not to press into his touch, to beg silently for more. His heat seeped through her, warming any residual chill, but the nervousness remained. She could not move.
    “Your skin is so soft,”