Bea’s heart thundered.
‘I have some conditions of my own.’
His finger lingered on her lips. She was glad; already she feared its removal, her own rules be damned.
‘Yes?’
‘This is a ball. You will need to dress appropriately.’
More heat stole through Bea. A ball was so far down on her list of favourite ways to spend time, she practically classified it as a torture technique. She gritted her teeth. For the good of the company and all that. ‘Fine.’
His finger drifted slowly across her lips, moving sideways, travelling down to her chin and lifting it slightly.
‘I have drawn a line in the sand under yesterday. We do not need to discuss it again. Come tonight, be a charming date on my arm and I can promise you there will be no ramifications for the unprofessional mishap.’
She went hot and cold all at once. Bea had no doubt he knew exactly what he was doing—incentivising her cooperation with the most lightly delivered threat. But why would he care so much about having her accompany him?
His fingers stayed on her chin, the touch light, so she wanted more, and that very idea had her lips parting. ‘You’re already breaking rule one.’
Was it her imagination, or did Ares move closer? ‘You think this is flirting?’ he asked huskily.
Her heart skipped a beat. She nodded, dislodging his finger and telling herself she was glad.
He frowned. ‘You’re wrong. This is business, and it’s best you don’t forget it.’