Free Her Little White Lie by Maisey Yates Page B

that is indeed what Ana is getting. And my staff needs to believe it, as well. The last thing I need is for someone to slip up and make a comment that winds up in the paper. I’m not being dragged into a public farce. A private farce, it seems, is unavoidable, but I will not be humiliated in a public forum.”
    “That’s not my intent,” she said. “But hey, as long as I don’t actually have to sleep with you, I’m okay with having to dig through your closet to find my clothes.”
    He wasn’t. He’d never lived with a woman before, had never had feminine things mingling in with his suits. His space was highly prized and this element of their arrangement didn’t sit well with him.
    But while she was comfortable with her things being put anywhere, there was clearly one area that made her uncomfortable. And he had the uncontrollable urge to push at her, just a little.
    “You’re the first woman I’ve ever encountered who was so opposed to sleeping with me she had to remark on it every couple of days.”
    He was rewarded by the flood of color that bled into her cheeks. “That’s not … I’m just clarifying …”
    “One might think,” he said, taking a step closer to her, “that you protest too much.”
    She pulled Ana in tighter to her chest, a tiny, living shield. “Hey now, that is not true. I protest just enough for a woman who isn’t interested in having a … a fling with a playboy.”
    “Playboy,” he said. “Such a strange label, and not one I’ve ever felt applied to me.”
    “You change lovers often enough.”
    “The dates I go to events with are not my lovers. I am very discreet with my lovers. And selective.”
    She cleared her throat. “Well, then, I doubt I have anything to worry about. If you’re as selective as you say, I mean.”
    Paige felt like melting beneath Dante’s intense, dark gaze. She didn’t know what had possessed her to bait him like that. To tempt him to say something derogatory about her appeal. She was aware of how far short she fell when it came to sexual allure.
    The problem was, it wasn’t looks, not specifically. It wasn’t the way she dressed. She’d actually managed to score dates since moving to San Diego; it was just that … when they got that serious look, like they might miss her, she sort of freaked out. The idea of failing again, with someone new, was too painful. The thought of wanting someone who wouldn’t really end up wanting her … she hadn’t been willing to take the risk.
    Which was why she really hadn’t bothered with dates for a long time. Getting herself sorted out was her top priority after all. Finding her way. And anyway, she didn’t need a hundred guys. She only needed the one right guy. And she was certain that one right guy would look nothing like Dante Romani.
    Which was fine. Looks weren’t everything after all. The guy didn’t have to have a square jaw, and golden skin. Or a broad chest with incredible muscles that could not be hidden by the dress shirts he wore. He didn’t have to look like the essence of temptation wrapped in a custom suit. No. There were much more important things than that.
    Like … way more.
    She was sure of it.
    “Is that what you think?” he asked.
    Something in his eyes changed, the look becoming hungry, wild almost, as far from cool, calm, stuffed shirt Dante Romani as she could possibly imagine.
    “I … obviously,” she said, her throat suddenly dry.
    “What is obvious about it?” he asked.
    “I’m … I’m …”
    “Attractive,” he said.
    She blinked. “Even with the pink stripe?”
    “It’s growing on me.”
    “Maybe I
will
get it colored over next time. In that case.”
    “You just like to be difficult.”
    She shrugged. “I’m a contrary beast, on occasion, I admit it.” She was doing it again, deflecting with humor, so he couldn’t see how much it had meant for him to call her attractive.
    “I like a challenge.”
    “I’m not a challenge,” she said, nerves