Free An Affair of Vengeance by Jamie Michele

to toast her memory with her favorite drink.”
    “I’m very sorry.” His light-brown eyes darkened. “I can’t relate. My mother’s choice of oblivion was slightly less sophisticated.”
    She didn’t know how to take that. Was it a brush of honesty, or a play for her sympathy? “I’m afraid it’s my turn to not relate. My mother didn’t drink to oblivion.”
    “Our mothers would have had nothing in common,” he said darkly, but then seemed to make an effort to brighten his tone. “But yours had excellent taste. Drink her a toast for me.”
    “Who should I say wishes her well?”
    Whatever smile may have been loosening his mouth vanished. “Call me a fellow lover of fortified wines.”
    Of course he wouldn’t give her his name. She hadn’t planned on any of this, but she was nothing if not opportunistic. The surveillance op had turned into a potential recruitment. Mason would be pleased. She pointed to the black bottle, which still rested in his hands. “I was thinking of having it as a cocktail, before dinner. Care to join me?”
    His jaw loosened. Surprised. “Join you?”
    “Yes. For cocktails.” She liked his perturbation. It gave her confidence to see him off balance. “Are you free tonight? We could meet. Say, around eight?”
    He coughed a brief, hard laugh. “You are a cocky little sparrow, aren’t you?”
    “C’est grossier!”
Evangeline gasped, commenting on his rudeness. “What do you mean by that?”
    “Enough,” he said, stepping closer. “We are not strangers. I saw you at the hotel. I recognize you from last night. And I don’t believe in coincidences.”
    So it was as bad as that. Blown, both times. She didn’t move backward but stared up at him through her eyelashes. The recruitment might have to be a crash, rather than a slow seduction. But she would try to keep her options open by convincing him that she was what she claimed to be. “The hotel? You were at the Metro?” She tapped her lips with her forefinger. “Where did you see me?”
    “I’m not playing this game. You were in the lobby, talking to those two blondes.”
    She laughed. “No wonder, then. Those girls never shut up long enough to breathe, let alone let me see who else might be wandering around. Sorry, must have missed you.”
    “And last night, at La Banque?”
    She arched an eyebrow. “I work there. Still waiting for my tip, by the way.”
    “You don’t get much for bread and water.”
    “I’d have brought you anything you wanted.” In the silence that stretched between them, she realized the implications of what she’d said.
    He watched her for a second, and then grabbed her long ponytail and stroked it to its tip. “Your hair. It’s different.”
    Her breath hitched as his hand on her hair drew tension through her neck. “I hate doing anything the same way twice.”
    His eyes narrowed. “And why were you in my hotel?”
    “They do a great fake high tea. We were in the mood for scones and Devonshire cream.” She tossed her head, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Are you done with the twenty questions?”
    “Just one more.” His lips nuzzled her neck as he leaned close and set the wine back on the shelf behind her. “Why are you following me?”
    “Please. I don’t even know you. Hell, as far as I can tell, you’re
    the one following me.” She brushed her cheek against his and
    whispered, “Are you spying on me?”
    He pulled back and laughed, but the sound was harsh and
    lacked amusement. “Spying on you? No, I was not spying on you.”
    The sensual angle was working. It felt natural, and if she had no further hope of staying beneath his attention, at least she had his interest. So she pressed on with it. “Too bad. I like being spied upon.”
    He eyed her speculatively. “You American girls are aggressive.”
    “The ones who choose to waitress in dirty European cities are.”
    “Only when they choose to follow men like