Joshua stared at her for so long, his eyes shuttered, his stony expression indecipherable, that the rescission of her offer hopped on the tip of her tongue. But as she parted her lips, he asked, “Will what you find out end up in the Chronicle?”
She extinguished the bright flash of irritation and offense that flared in her chest. Part of her understood his caution and suspicion. But the other half... “I’m not offering my help as part of some tell-all article,” she ground out.
God, he really didn’t think too much of her.
Which was fair because she didn’t trust him, either. From her experience, most men—especially those with something to lose—did everything in their power to protect themselves.
Several more taut seconds passed, but Joshua finally dipped his head in a short, abrupt nod. “I appreciate your offer, then. If there’s even the slightest chance that I could be a father, then I owe it to myself—and that little girl—to find out.”
A rush of warmth flooded her.
Those aren’t the words of a deadbeat father.
Her subconscious taunted like the know-it-all it was.
But her experience with Laurence had hammered home the truth that nothing—or no one—was as it appeared on the surface. Especially someone who had so much to lose like Joshua did—reputation, money and the added burden of a child. Though he managed to keep his private life more contained than others in his position, she’d still gathered images of him and gossip about him with socialites, some A-list actresses and businesswomen.
No middle-class, student-debt-ridden peasants. In other words, no one like you.
Oh, shut it.
Awesome. Now she was arguing with herself. She really needed to get the hell out of this office. This building. This side of town. The more space between her and Joshua right now, the better. If not, she might do something really inane and unforgivable. Like hug him.
Suddenly wary of herself, she turned, retracing the few steps back to the coffee table and couch. Clearing her throat, she sank to the cushion and, tucking a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear, closed her laptop. “I’ll start looking into it on my end tonight.” With hurried movements, she slid the computer into her bag and stood. Fixing a smile on her lips, she lifted her head and met his impenetrable gaze again. God, the man could give the Sphinx lessons in stoicism. “Thank you for the tour today. I really appreciate it, and I learned more about Black Crescent that I didn’t know. That I’m sure many people aren’t aware of. If I have your permission, I’d like to share the information in a follow-up article.”
“Why?”
She frowned, stilling midprocess of slipping the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Because the public deserves to know about your philanthropic programs and generosity to the community. I get your reason for staying mum on the subject, but—”
“No.” He cut her off with a hard shake of his head. “When I invited you here I knew it was for a follow-up article. I meant why are you volunteering to help me?”
Because you looked so lost, and I want to bring home what will make you whole.
The explanation lodged in her throat, stuck. And she didn’t try to free it. One, he wouldn’t appreciate her reason. Wouldn’t believe her. Two, she was disgusted with herself for thinking it. For thinking she could give him anything, much less peace and comfort.
Yes, Joshua Lowell had the whole brooding, tortured millionaire thing down pat. His cold mask of reserve had slipped enough times that she glimpsed the dark mass of emotions he concealed. She shivered, unable to restrain the telltale reaction. What would it be like to be on the receiving end of all that unleashed passion? Because she sensed that when or if he finally let it all loose... It would be a thing of wild, raw beauty to witness. Like a roiling, ominous thunderstorm threaded with lightning. And when those bolts struck the earth? Electricity, heat, smoke.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. She couldn’t deny it; she hungered to be that rich, open earth electrified by him. But he would assuredly leave her scorched beyond recognition afterward. And while her body might crave that burning, her scarred heart feared it.
Inhaling a trembling breath past the constriction blocking her throat, she shrugged a shoulder, grabbing for nonchalance and praying she accomplished it. “Because I’m an investigative reporter, and that’s what I do. Investigate.” Hiking her purse strap up, she again curved her lips into a polite smile that she—please, God—hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt. “I need to head out so I can get back in the office to take care of a few things.” Dear Lord, she was babbling and couldn’t stop. “Thanks again, and I’ll be in touch.”
Crossing the room, she extended her hand toward him even though her mind screamed, What the hell are you doing? Don’t touch him!
But her body had a mind of its own. And as his strong, elegant fingers—an artist’s fingers—closed around hers, she cursed the voltage that sizzled from their clasped palms up her arm, down her chest and belly to crackle between her legs. If he dipped his eyes, he would catch the hardened tips of her breasts that were probably saluting him from beneath her dress. No more lace bras around this man. Definitely not enough coverage.
Every primal, self-protective instinct within her had her muscles locking in preparation to jerk her hand free. But pride overrode the need, and she met his hazel stare with a steady one of her own. To prove how she refused to let her body’s obviously questionable taste rule her, she even squeezed his hand.
But when his nostrils slightly flared and his eyes darkened to an emerald-flecked amber... Oh no, she’d miscalculated. Flames licked at her flesh, and in that instant, she had a vivid premonition of how he would look in the throes of passion. Hooded, but glittering eyes,
