(Two students of the Liar's Club spy school, both skilled,
both intelligent--battling each other and their own
unadmitted desires. He is an aristocrat. She is a former
housemaid. Two people from backgrounds too different to
offer any hope of a future, their feelings are doomed
before they ever begin. Only the most powerful love could
ever overcome such obstacles...)
She'd won. Again. Rose went to the weapons rack to hang up
her sword. Only this morning she might have fetched
Collis's to the rack as well, trying in some small way to
lessen the sting of his losing. Her shoulders straight
despite her weariness, she turned to face him.
"Are we quite finished?"
He closed his open hand into a fist. "What's the matter,
Chamberpot? Left the dusting undone again?"
As quickly as the simmering anger within her came to a
boil, Rose reached behind her to the rack and sent a
throwing blade spinning through the air to thud quivering
into the straw-filled mat between Collis's feet. He jumped
back. "Bloody hell!"
"What's the matter, Blueblood?" she drawled. "Have you
never seen a knife before?" Less than witty, but she was no
good at trading cutting remarks. She settled for raising
one eyebrow. She knew Collis hated that, which was why
she'd practiced it before her mirror until she'd perfected
it.
Collis saw that blasted eyebrow rise all right. He felt his
face flush as he bent to pull the knife from the mat. "My
turn to choose." He approached her slowly, never taking his
eyes from hers. It was beneath him to enjoy that flicker of
intimidation he saw there. Low and dishonorable. But sweet.
He came so close that he could smell the clean, floral
scent of her hair. She smelled so damned good--
Sometimes it was hard to remember why he disliked her so.
Then again, as he thought of his humiliation in the weapons
arena this morning, sometimes it was very easy. She didn't
move a muscle as he reached behind her to hang up the
knife. He smiled slowly and to be honest, not very
nicely. "And I choose..." He let his voice trail off to a
whisper as he stepped closer still.
Surprisingly, Rose didn't so much as twitch. Most women
would have giggled or quivered or otherwise reacted to him
being so close. Then again, the other women of his
acquaintance were ladies. Rose was as common as a weed
growing between the cobblestones of the London streets.
Rose steadied her nerves with all the will in her soul. She
would not react, would not give the advantage. This was
simply another sort of attack, after all. Collis Tremayne
kept the world at bay with his charm and kept his secrets
safe behind his facade of roguish flirtation. Besides, she
was every bit as practiced in the art of concealing her
emotions.
Except for that tiny portion of her that vibrated to his
closeness, that noted the virile scent of well-warmed man,
that longed to push that single dark lock back from his
forehead to reveal the lonely depths in his eyes, that was
achingly aware of his near-nakedness...
Rose pulled herself from that fruitless world of fantasy
with an exertion of will. "Having trouble finishing a
sentence, Tremayne?" She affected a bored tone. "Then
again, the aristocracy doesn't precisely breed for brains,
does it?"
One corner of his mouth twitched at that. For a moment, she
thought he might actually laugh. Then his expression
returned to that manipulative smirk that swayed so many
women but only left her cold. But then he leaned closer,
until his breath tickled her ear and she could feel the
heat of him on her skin. "I've an idea," he whispered.
Rose had a few ideas of her own. Most of them had to do
with following that path of fine dark hair that trailed
down over the ridges of Collis's hard stomach. Her fingers
twitched with the desire to touch his warm skin.
"Rose." His breath just barely stirred her hair as he
whispered. "Why don't you wrap your hands around my
thick...hard..." He plucked a weapon from the
rack. "Staff?" Dancing back a few steps he assumed attack
position with a six-foot oak staff in his hands. Still dry-
mouthed and dazed from arousal, Rose barely had time to
fumble behind her for another before the swish of his first
blow went past above her head.
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