Lucy Monroe - Prince of Secrets

“I assure you, the effort will not be minimal.” Sensual promise vibrated in every word.

Chanel felt his promise to her very core and her thighs squeezed together in involuntary response, not because she feared what he wanted but because it made her ache with a need she’d never known.

“That’s not what I meant.” Her voice cracked on the last word, but she pretended not to notice.

The slight flaring of his nostrils and the way his eyes went just that much darker said he had, though. “What did you mean then, little one?”

“I’m hardly little.” At five foot seven, she was above average in height for a woman.

“Do not avoid the question.”

“I wasn’t trying to.” She’d just been trying to clarify, because that was familiar territory.

The rest of this? Was not.

Only he knew how tall she was, so if he wanted to call her little one , maybe that was okay. “I suppose I do seem kind of short to you. You’re not exactly average height for a man in North America, though maybe I should be comparing you to Ukrainians, as that’s your country’s formative gene pool.”

In fact, he was well above average height, certainly taller than most of the men in her life, and that gave her a peculiar kind of pleasure. Which, like many things she’d discovered since meeting him, surprised her about herself.

She’d never thought she would enjoy feeling protected when she was with a man, or that the difference in their height would even succeed in making her feel that way. Maybe it wasn’t just that difference but something else about Demyan entirely.

Something intangible that didn’t quite match his casual designer sweaters and dark-rimmed glasses.

“You do not seem short.” He tugged at one of her red curls, a soft smile playing about his lips as if he could read her thoughts and was amused by them. “You are just right.”

This time there was no conflict between the words and sincerity in his manner.

But it put the times there was in stark relief in her mind. “I can’t make you out.”

“What do you mean?” He looked surprised again and she got the definite impression that didn’t happen a lot with him.

“Sometimes I think you mean everything you say, but then there are times, like at dinner tonight, when it seems like you’re saying what you think I want to hear.”

“I have not lied to you.” Affront echoed through his tone.

“Haven’t you?”

“No.” Dead certainty, and then almost as if it was drawn from him without his permission, “I have not told you everything about myself.”

“I didn’t expect you to bring along an information dossier on our first date.” Of course she didn’t know everything about him; that was part of the dating process, wasn’t it? “You don’t know everything about me, either.”

His gaze turned cold, almost ruthless. Then he adjusted his glasses and the look disappeared. “I know what I need to.”

Sometimes there was a glimmer of another man there—a man that even a shark like Perry would swim from in a frantic effort to escape. Then Demyan would smile and the impression of that other man would dissipate.

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