Free Almost a Lady by Heidi Betts

said. “It's just that—to spare your feelings, of course—I overlooked sarcastic. But after both of those rather snide remarks, I think it's only fair that I add it."
    "Very well. Are you finished?” he asked.
    "That's all I can think of for now."
    Brandt rolled his eyes. “I meant, are you finished eating?"
    "Oh.” She dabbed the corners of her mouth with the white fabric napkin. “Yes, I believe so. It was delicious."
    He grunted. His meal had been far from enjoyable. Oh, the food tasted fine and at first he'd been more amused than offended by Willow's remarks. But even the most tender of broiled scallops tended to upset his stomach when he was forced to listen to a long, detailed list of his faults.
    Taking her arm, he led her from the table and back upstairs to her room. At the door he bowed over her hand and pressed his lips to the warm skin.
    "Though the conversation rankled,” he said softly, “the company remained utterly magnificent.” Then he turned for his room across the hall.
    "You know,” Willow said, stopping him, “if I had a list of reasons to like you—which I don't, of course, because there simply isn't cause—but if I did have such a list. . .” Her voice grew quiet. “I would have to put polite at the very top."
    What had caused this sudden about-face? Brandt wondered. Was she feeling guilty for having run him through the wringer?
    He took in her stately figure as she stood unmoving in front of her hotel room door. The lavender blue material of her gown hugged every nuance of her body, every straight line and gentle curve. Her bright eyes shimmered in the dusky lamplight of the hall, deep, dark violet orbs dancing with vivacity.
    With erotic images of a night spent in Willow's bed firmly ensconced in his brain, Brandt stalked forward, closing in until her back hit the solid width of the door with a cushioned thump.
    "Polite, hm ?” He grinned wickedly. Not one to pass up an opportunity when it presented itself, his hands settled on her waist. “What else would you add to that list?"
    Willow held his gaze, her expression giving no hint of the thoughts inside her head. “I would have to say that you can be very charming when you want to be. Of course I can see through the act."
    "What act?” He pressed closer, until he could feel the smooth expanse of her skin through the material of her gown, no stiff corset bones crimping and binding her perfect flesh.
    "Your charm is all an act,” she stated. “You bow gracefully, smile beguilingly, playing the role of gentleman to the hilt. You use your charm to manipulate people—to get your way. And once you have people completely won over, once you've seduced a woman into a swoon, you go in for the kill."
    "Is that so?"
    "I believe so."
    "And have I got you nearly won over?” His hand moved higher on her waist. His fingers brushed beneath the swell of her breast. “Shall I swoop in for the kill?"
    "You can try,” she said, neither putting a halt to his caress nor encouraging it. “But you won't succeed."
    "Why is that?"
    "Because I've got you figured out. Your ploy of honor and chivalry can't work if the prey is wise to the trap."
    "We'll see,” was his only response. He ran the back of his hand across her temple, leaning close enough to smell the rose-scented shampoo she must surely use to wash her hair. His lips grazed her cheekbone, the lobe of her ear.
    "Care to invite me in?” he whispered.
    She turned away so quickly that he stumbled.
    "If we're going to begin our investigation first thing in the morning, I'll need my rest.” Her key turned in the lock. “Good night, Mr. Donovan. Sleep well."
    With that, she disappeared into the room, leaving a disappointed Brandt in the deserted hallway.

Chapter Eleven

    Willow pulled the black knit cap farther down around her ears. With the back of her jacket stuffed with old rags to produce an artificial hump, she stumbled across Broadway, incorporating a rattling, hacking cough to her guise