Untamed Billionaire, Undressed Virgin. Anna Cleary
the curves of her waist and hips, and she burned for more. She let go of all her reservations about him and surrendered herself utterly. Lost in the escalating sensation, she hardly noticed a sharp little tweak of the shirt at her waist until she became aware of the scrape of his knuckles on the skin of her midriff. Then his hands came up to her shoulders, and he pushed her away.
The sudden cold shock left her gasping and adrift.
As she stood struggling to adjust to reality, her blood still heavy and inflamed, Connor stepped away a pace. He was breathing hard, his darkened eyes ablaze. An angry quirk curled his mouth. He held up his passport and waved it at her.
‘Did you really think you’d get away with this?’ The clipped words were like a face-slap.
‘Oh. Oh, that.’ Impossible, considering how flushed she must have been already, but she felt her ears grow hot enough to spontaneously combust. ‘Look, I did intend to put it back, but you—you came in too soon.’ As his expression impinged on her brain her breathless, husky voice grew more strained. ‘I couldn’t think of what else to do with it. Sorry.’
‘Sorry.’ Several conflicting emotions warred on his handsome face. Astonishment, bemusement and—judging by the compression of his stirringly sexy mouth—contempt. He gave a sardonic shrug. ‘Well, I hope you were satisfied with what you discovered.’
Stung by his disdain, she was reminded of his callous behaviour when she’d been so anxious over her letter, the letter he’d stolen, and felt her own anger flare.
‘Well, I’m not satisfied,’ she snapped. ‘And I won’t be satisfied until I get my letter back.’
‘What?’ He stared at her, then his face changed and his dark eyes lit with amused comprehension. ‘Oh, your letter. Of course.’ To her absolute fury he had the insensitivity to laugh. ‘Still searching for that, are you?’ His smile slowly faded and his gaze softened as he read her hot, flushed face, her heaving breasts. ‘Ah, but it was worth getting caught, though, don’t you think?’ He reached forward and brushed her mouth with his finger. ‘Delicious, Sophy.’ His deep voice was velvet with sensuality. ‘You must come and search again.’
She felt the strongest desire to murder Connor O’Brien.
She turned on her heel and yanked open the door, and had to restrain herself to walk with dignity and not run. When she reached the clinic, she strode blindly past Reception without seeing a soul, then stalked through her room to the window, where she stood gasping in air and trying to cool her face.
She was in a confused daze for minutes, then thoughts finally seethed to the surface in her brain. She absolutely loathed that man. She would get her letter back. And she would make him suffer.
Later on, though, after she’d cooled down and had time to analyse her feelings, she realised her humiliation was not so much about being caught. She didn’t feel as guilty as she should about breaking in. The circumstances had demanded a bold move and the opportunity had been too good to throw away. She didn’t really even feel bad about the passport. That had merely been the result of an unfortunate sequence of events.
The thing that was tearing at her, eating her up, gnawing at her soul—was that kiss.
She covered her cheeks with her hands. If she hadn’t responded to him… She felt herself grow hot all over again at the thought of her undeniable enthusiasm. She hadn’t seemed able to help herself. And he… He had seemed equally involved during the—event. She couldn’t forget, though, how quickly he’d regained his cool, while she’d still been so hot and aroused to the bitter end.
What was truly humiliating was not knowing why he’d kissed her.
Had it only been because he’d known she had the passport?
Or—because he’d wanted to?
Connor finished shelving his books and closed the glass doors. The latest developments in his field as they applied to the rules of war had been his daily practice for years. Now, seeing the tomes lined up so proudly, his curiosity was aroused about what might have changed in human rights practice on the domestic front. This would be a good opportunity to catch up.
He glanced about him with satisfaction. His short-term hired furniture looked quite impressive. He could almost imagine what it would be like to set up here for real, with Sophy Woodruff in the room next door.
She was a puzzle. If Sir Frank’s suspicions had any foundation, she was the most unusual operative he’d ever encountered.
He made a wry grimace at himself, still getting over his astounding lapse of judgement in leaving his passport unsecured. All at once Sir Frank’s warning about him reaching his use-by date had a prophetic ring to it.
He would have to assume she’d have noticed the difference in his passport, forcing him now to some further embroidery of his cover story. Still, the lapse could work in his favour. Only a man with nothing to hide left his office door unlocked.
He smiled to himself, remembering her petrified expression in the first instant he’d surprised her search. Her clear blue eyes, alight with mingled horror and shame—that hint of a laugh dying to break out.
The question was whether she was inept, or very, very clever.
Whatever she was searching for now assumed crucial dimensions. With her being prepared to risk being caught in his office, she had to be near desperate, although there was no doubt she’d played her role of nervous bravado to perfection.
Of course, she still might have done if she were Sir Frank’s other possibility—a rapacious predator seeking to lift a besotted middle-aged man from the marital nest.
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