I’m not sure I want to answer that, so I don’t. But Ward’s just getting started.
“Haymore getting to you?” he guesses.
“No,” I say. “I mean, of course he is. But…”
“But that’s not what’s eating you right now.” He takes a swig from the bottle. “Is it related to work at all?”
“Look, I don’t want to—”
“Trouble with a friend?”
“I really don’t—”
“Guy problems?”
“Just DROP IT, okay?”
“Ahh,” he says, and I realize too late that I’ve given it away.
“Look, can’t we just drink and enjoy ourselves?” I snatch the wine back from him.
His gaze burns into me, sending all sorts of inconvenient sensations through my skin. And no wonder he’s confused, considering all the weird mixed signals I’ve been giving him this past week: throwing myself at him, running from him, throwing myself at him again. I didn’t mean to make things this complicated.
“It’s not about you,” I assure him. “I promise.”
But instead of that settling things, I see something flash in his eyes. He reaches out and drags the wine bottle back over to him.
“And the plot thickens,” he says, amusement thickening his words. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
I can’t tell if he’s being serious. But I’m not going to discuss this with him.
“You don’t know him,” I say. “And it’s not important anyway.”
“Does he know you’re going around sticking your tongue down other men’s throats?” He says it with a laugh, like it’s a joke, but it hits its mark.
“I’m not a cheater, if that’s what you’re trying to say,” I snap. “He and I aren’t… I mean… it’s complicated. But it doesn’t have anything to do with you. And I don’t know why you care.”
Suddenly he’s too close to me, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Maybe I don’t like to share,” he says in a tone that makes my insides turn to mush.
There’s a challenge in his eyes. He wants me to acknowledge what happened between us. Twice. He wants me to admit that there’s something between us.
But I still have some control of my wits, despite the wine buzz slowly filling my brain.
“But you’re allowed to fool around with every Gracie who throws herself in your direction?” I say, reminding him of that whole mess. “I don’t like double standards. And I don’t owe you anything.”
I slide back from him again. It’s my turn at the wine, and I take my time drinking. He’s still staring at me, I can tell, but I don’t turn back toward him. If this is a battle of wills, then I’m not letting him win this time.
And then—shockingly—he laughs.
“You are one confusing girl, you know that?” he says. “One minute you can’t keep your hands off of me and the next you act like I’m the one responsible for all of this. Am I that irresistible?”
“Please. I just needed a distraction and you were there.” It’s strangely liberating to admit it out loud. “Don’t read any more into it than that.”
“A distraction, huh? From what, exactly?”
“No. We’re not going back to that. And don’t act like I’m the only one with problems.”
“Whoa.” He throws up his hands and gives another laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That whole Carolson thing.” I wave my hand at him. “Storming out of the luncheon. Acting like rich people are the devil. What’s he ever done to you personally?”
Ward’s humor evaporates in an instant.
“I don’t want to talk about Carolson,” he says, his voice tense. “Can’t we just forget about that asshole for one night?” He yanks the wine out of my hand.
Geez. I watch him as he chugs from the bottle. I knew Carolson was a sore spot for him, but I never suspected I’d hit quite a nerve.
“Fine,” I say when he finishes his drink. “We won’t talk about him. But only if you stop asking me about my problems, too.”
He makes a defeated sound, but some of the humor has come back to his face. “I was just trying to figure out why Haymore’s assistant would risk her job by stealing something like this. You don’t seem like the kind of girl who goes out looking for trouble.”
“Maybe I’m the kind of girl who likes getting away with trouble.”
“Are you trying to prove something?” he says. “Or is this some sort of self-destruct mission?”
“Excuse me, but I think we said no more talking about that. Besides, I’ve had a little too much wine for this sort of serious talk.”
“I think we’ve had exactly the right amount of wine, actually. You’re tipsy enough to be honest, but not so drunk that you’re likely to pass out halfway through your confession.”
“Not talking about it, remember?”
“All right. Tell me something else then. One of your other secrets.”
“I don’t have any other secrets.”
He laughs. “A girl who throws herself at strangers and steals wine? You probably have as many secrets as this house does.”
It must say something about my current level of tipsy-ness that I don’t even flinch at how close he’s come to the truth. Instead, I find myself leaning closer to him. The wine must be messing with my balance.
“What about you?” I say. “Do you have secrets?”
His mouth curls up. In the moonlight, his blue eyes look black, but I can see something gleaming in their depths.
“Of course,” he says, his voice a touch lower than usual.
“Then you go first. Tell me a secret, and maybe I’ll tell you one of mine.”
His grin widens. “Just one?”
“One for one,” I promise. “Just one little confession.”
“All right.”
He looks at me for a long moment without speaking. His eyes catch mine. Even here, in this light, they carry a sort of energy that shoots straight into me, all the way down to my toes. I freeze, and my breath catches on the tip of my tongue.
Ward leans nearer. Not too close—just close enough that I catch a whisper of that delicious scent that belongs distinctly to him. My eyes are drawn against my will to his lips, which part slightly under my gaze.