Shana Galen - [A Lord & Lady Spy Novella] Read Online Free PDF Page A

her.
    “But you gave me no opportunity.” He moved closer, and she could smell the clean scent of his soap. It had a hint of pine or evergreen, and underneath, there was his smell—the smell of home. “I am here as Herr Hoch.”
    “A German?”
    “Why not?”
    “Do you speak German?”
    “Of course.”
    She hadn’t known that. She could add the fact to a list long enough to fill the pages of a book. She had known he could play the pianoforte. He’d all but seduced her with his playing when they’d first met. But he was not perfect. He couldn’t sing. He could barely carry a tune. She supposed somehow that small imperfection made him more human in her eyes.
    “I fail to see what the Teatro di San Carlo has to do with your precious Barbican group. We aren’t spies here. Only singers and actors.”
    “I’m not at liberty—”
    She waved her hand, cutting him off. She had heard all of this before, and she wanted him to leave. The room was stifling with him in it. Her face felt warm, and her heart was beating too quickly. “Do not bother. If you have come to my room to ask me to keep your secret, have no fear. I will not reveal your true identity.” And she would keep her secrets as well. She was not anxious to be the source of theater gossip about her failed marriage. Once she had lived for drama, but now her own personal drama left a bad taste in her mouth.
    He was looking about her room, studying it, seeing God knew what in every little crevice. He turned, and she studied his broad back and slim waist. While her mind screamed that he was dangerous to her, her body screamed desire. Her lips tingled as she imagined tracing a light path down that muscled back with her mouth and tongue. She clutched the arm of the chair and made herself focus.
    “Is that all?” she asked pointedly. Why would he not leave already? She could play the role of stranger to her husband in public, but obviously she was not so good an actress as to play it in private. A few more moments, and her resolve would break.
    He looked at her then, really looked at her, and she felt the air catch in her lungs. Her belly tightened, and she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. When Blue looked at someone, really looked at them with those piercing sapphire eyes, the effect could be unnerving.
    Or incredibly erotic.
    “You are no longer drinking.” It was a statement, not a question. She felt as though he could see directly through her, to her innermost wishes and desires. Could he see how she trembled on the inside from the intensity of his gaze?
    She clapped because she needed something to occupy her shaking hands. “Bravissimo! You are indeed a spy. Though I do not think it would take a spy to discern the truth in that statement.”
    “Why?” He waved his hand at her annoyed look. “Why did you stop?”
    “I wanted to.” It was a childish response, but she felt suddenly defensive. She did not want to discuss this with him. It was too personal, the memories too painful. She wanted to surround herself with people who hadn’t known her before. She did not want this intrusion into who she was now from who she had been then.
    “I was always under the impression you wanted to stop before. You told me as much. On numerous occasions.”
    She opened her mouth to explain, but no words came. How could she explain without saying so much more than she wanted? Without apologizing? Without blaming? “I do not wish to discuss this. You have your secrets. I have mine.”
    “My secrets are related to my work. But who I am, my life, is open to you and always has been.”
    She wanted to laugh. His statement was so far from the truth, it was ludicrous. Sadly enough, he probably believed it. She could have responded in so many ways. She settled for the most diplomatic reply she could think of, hoping he would leave her in peace now. “Your life has always been, and will always be, the Barbican group.”
    “Once I had hoped that would not be the