SMOKE AND MIRRORS
Silhouette Intimate Moments #1146
April 2002

“Ah, Fearless, there you are.”

“Hello, Derek,” Cass greeted, turning toward him. He stood decked out in his trademark black, his olive skin looking darker than usual. “I was just leaving.”

“We need to talk.”

“Not tonight.”

“Tonight.” He shot Gray a look of dismissal. “You’ve been less than truthful with me, doll, and I want to know why.”

A rush of adrenaline spurted through her, and she sensed her partner tense as well. “Oh?”

Another sharp look, this one also at Gray. Then Mansfield took her hand and led her away. In some distant corner of her mind she laughed at that, first Gray, now Mansfield, both dragging her around like a rag-doll.

But it was all part of the guise, so she stumbled after him. She didn’t think her cover had been blown—there’d been too much amusement in the deep blue of his eyes.

A leafy ficus tree stood sentinel by one of the private offices under the curving staircase. Mansfield swung open the door, ushered her inside, then sealed the room off from prying eyes and ears. He turned to face her, his hand still curled around her fingers.

“Why the questions, doll?”

“Questions?” she asked nonchalantly. “What questions?”

“Did the other night leave you curious? Did you not understand what I was trying to tell you? I would have thought you’d be steering clear by now.”

“Like a smart woman?” she asked, recalling one of their initial conversations. “Is that what you were trying to do by putting your hands all over me? Prove a point? Show me why a smart woman stays away?”

“You really think I’m that noble?” he asked darkly. “Maybe I just can’t stay away from you. Maybe you intrigue me, make me wonder what makes you tick.”

“Ah, that sunshine and moonlight bit? How romantic.”

His expression darkened. “Trust me, there’s nothing romantic about it.” Everything about him looked sharper, more fierce. His eyes. His cheekbones. His mouth. “Brent tells me dinner with you was like facing the Pardon Board, only I was the derelict in question.”

“Oh?” Anxiety tightened through her. She’d thought her questions innocent enough, that Brent would have no reason to replay them to Derek.

“You’ve got questions about me, you ask me.”

She had questions, all right. Starting with his son. “I—”

“Better yet,” he murmured, leaning closer, “we can cut the foreplay and get down to business.” 

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