Possession (26 page)

He shrugged.
"In any capacity. And it seems, madam, that you have helped my
plight."

She didn’t
believe him. He didn’t even know Style was the manager of Lord Hawkesbury’s
Players until she’d told him and now he wanted to work for Style’s company? She
wasn’t a fool.

But why lie?
What did this man have to hide?

And what had she
got herself into by using him?

Whatever it was,
it seemed only fair that he now use her. That would teach her not to think her
schemes through properly before opening her mouth.

The stranger
rubbed his stubbly chin, lost in thought. "Are you going to see Style
again about your play?"

"Yes."

"When and
where?"

"Why?"
A sense of foreboding congealed in her stomach.

"Just
answer the question."

"What if I
don’t want to?"

"Then I
will follow you and tell your father or husband or whoever is head of your
household that you have been consorting with theatrical types."

Her jaw hurt.
She forced it to move so she could say: "Consorting?"

"They can
put their own interpretation on the word." He blinked lazily.

Min wanted to
scratch those too-blue eyes out, wanted to punch him on the chin like an
insulted man would. But she wasn’t a man, and he wasn’t like any man she’d
encountered. "Is your name Lucifer by any chance?"

His cheek
twitched. "No."

She spun round
and strode off, hating God, the devil, and whatever witchcraft had sent this
man to her. Walk away. Walk far away from him now. Yet she couldn’t. Not
entirely. If he was to go to Style and tell the manager he did not write the
play, her last hope would be dashed and it would be Ned Taylor for her. "I’m
meeting Style here tomorrow at this time," she shot back over her
shoulder. By then she would be fully recovered from this girlish folly.

Her dramatic
exit was ruined when he fell into step alongside her. "To make our ruse
seem authentic," he said, "we’d best exchange names. I’m Blake."

A fat drop of
rain exploded on her nose and she swiped it with her sleeve. "Is that a
first name or last?" she said, flipping up the hood of her cloak.

"It’s what
you can call me. And you?"

More drops fell.
She picked up her pace and headed for shelter. The overhanging upper stories of
the houses and shops lining the narrow street provided perfect cover for
London’s fickle weather. The paved surface quickly became slippery and little
rivulets began to trickle between the stones, bringing with it mud, horse dung,
and refuse from nearby Leadenhall Market. Min kept her gaze down and dodged the
worst in her haste to reach dryness.

Suddenly a solid
arm circled her waist and jerked her back into an equally solid body.
"Watch it," Blake murmured in her ear. A barrel-sized man stumbled
past, too intent on his wineskin to notice anyone or anything in his path.

Min looked once
again into the eyes of her savior. No, not her savior. She really must stop
thinking of him as that.

But he had just
saved her from being knocked over and landing on her rear in the muck. And he
was staring at her again, this time with an odd expression that she couldn’t
decipher.

She smiled
tentatively and placed a hand on the arm that still held her snugly against his
body. Beneath the leather doublet, she could feel thick muscle. Or was it
padding? It was hard to tell so she squeezed. Definitely not padding.

He let go of her
waist and smoothed a wrinkle out of her coat at the shoulder. His thumb brushed
against her throat in a movement so exquisitely gentle it made everything
inside Min stop. Her heart, her breath, her thoughts. Every part of her focused
on that thumb and the way it caressed her, moving from her throat to her jaw to
her lower lip. It tickled but there was no way she would pull back, no way she
would break the touch. She couldn’t. She was in his thrall.

A strange hush
surrounded them. She could hear nothing except his light breathing, see nothing
except his face, so intent on his task. It was as if they were floating inside
a bubble; the outside world became irrelevant. It was quite simply magical.

Then Blake did
something unexpected. He smiled. Not a full, beaming smile but more a twitch of
one corner of his mouth. It was accompanied by a derisive curl of his lip and a
soft grunt. He was sneering. He removed his hand and the bubble burst.

She swallowed
and pressed her fingertips to her mouth but it didn’t feel the same. Didn’t
have nearly the same effect.

He cleared his
throat and lifted an eyebrow. She let her hand fall and tried to concentrate on
not looking like a silly female who’d never been touched in quite the way he’d
just touched her. Even though she hadn’t. Nor would she again, a small
insidious voice inside her said. Not if Ned got his way.

Raindrops
splashed off Blake’s shoulders and plastered his hair to his face. "You
should watch where you’re going," he said.

She huddled into
her cloak but it was too thin and had too many holes to be effective against
the damp. "Min."

His gaze shifted
to her. Water dripped from the ends of his hair and lashes. "Pardon?"

"You can call
me Min."

"Min."
She thought he would ask her about her name but he didn’t. He bowed slightly.
"I’ll see you here tomorrow, Min." He turned back the way they’d
come, his stride leisurely compared to the few remaining people who scurried
like ants to get out of the rain.

Min raced off in
the opposite direction, resisting the urge to look back at him. She wouldn’t
give into temptation. She still had enough self-control to resist the blue-eyed
Lucifer.

Her resistance
lasted all the way to the corner where she weakened and snuck a peek.

Blake was gone.

***
Her
Secret Desire
is now available for immediate download from Amazon's kindle
ebookstore. It is not intended to be read by readers under 18.***