That resonated deeply with Cora; she couldn’t help making a throaty noise of agreement. “Did it work?”
“In some ways,” he said, lifting the cup to his lips and taking a drink. “As a boy, there were laws preventing media from covering us except at official events. Once we were teenagers, those laws no longer applied. While my brother was raised to rule, I was more…” He cradled his cup, frowning as he searched for the right word.
“Outgoing,” she supplied after a moment, a droll smile tilting her lips.
He arched one thick, dark brow. “Liberated,” he corrected.
“And with that came a degree of public interest, I suppose.”
“You could say that.”
She considered him a moment. “Did it bother you?”
He lifted his shoulders. “No.”
Cora’s eyes dropped to the tray of coffee, her own hatred for publicity swirling through her. Then again, she hadn’t hated it at first, either. Not when she’d been the media’s darling, a golden girl who could do no wrong. But the divorce changed that. It wasn’t that she was blamed, but rather, the publicity focussing on such an intensely personal and sad time in her life had made her realise that these people weren’t her friends, that the publicity wasn’t a game she could kick around with.
“That surprises you.”
She pulled her hair over one shoulder and eased back in the sofa, crossing one leg over the other with unconscious grace. “I don’t know why, but I imagine you to be someone who values his privacy.”
“Are you sure this isn’t because you already have an encyclopaedic knowledge of me while I do not know even your name?”
She sipped her own coffee, the familiar flavour reassuring. “So, you do prefer privacy?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
Cora thought of her friends from her old life. People she saw rarely now, but still counted as friends by virtue of years of shared experiences and the fact she had only kindness in her heart. Then, she thought of her brothers and cousins who were the opposite to those friends, who guarded their privacy with diligence.
“You asked if it bothers me. It doesn’t. But I prefer to live my life outside of the public glare, as much as possible.”
“Ah, you caught me out on a technicality,” she murmured appreciatively.
“Nuance is everything.”
She blinked her wide, dark eyes across the room, unaware of the effect they were having on him, of how fascinating he found her. He moved to the seat opposite and sat down, legs wide, elbows resting casually atop his knees. He was like a sculpture, an ancient statue she just wanted to stare at, to absorb all the details of.
“Give me a clue.”
“I really feel that I already have,” she said with mock sternness.
His laugh was deep and throaty. “Refresh my memory.”
“Well, I’m half American and half Greek.”
He stared at her blankly. “And from this I’m supposed to intuit your identity?”
“Well, not from that alone, I suppose.”
“Then give me something else.”
“Oh, not just yet,” she pulled at an invisible piece of thread on her dress. It drew his gaze downward, his eyes shifting from hers, slipping lower, to her décolletage and then to the hint of cleavage exposed by the scoop of the neckline. Her body fired to life, cells she’d forgotten existed began to reverberate inside her, blood boiled, and her pulse screamed through her ears. It was a slow and deliberate inspection, a look that offered promise and pleasure.
Her tongue felt too thick to work. His gaze was one of total ownership, a concept that Cora found academically offensive but totally seductive in that moment. He looked as though he had every right and heaven help her, that was an incredible turn on.
“Careful,azeezi.” He drawled, hooded eyes finally lifting back to her face. “You are going to give me little choice but to torture the information out of you.”
Her pulse rose even higher, her eyes finding his, searching them, holding his gaze even as he stood, placing his coffee back on the tray, a small smile tilting his lips as the tray wobbled slightly. He moved closer; she stayed perfectly still, half-paralysed by the tantalising prospect of his closeness.