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She took another sip while she collected her wits and considered what part of the truth to tell him. “Necessity.”
“You had no choice but to write novels under a fake name?”
Paris laughed. “Are we talking about me, or philosophizing about free will?” She shrugged. “I thought it was necessary. It’s even more necessary now.”
“Why?” He leaned toward her, elbows on the table, his chin resting on his fists while still clasping her hand. As he slowly rubbed his chin along their joined hands, the slight prickle of his evening beard grazed her fingertips and his breath mingled with her skin. His earthy scent teased her, sending her head swirling to dizzying heights.
His appearance was innocent, like a fascinated student caught up in the wonder of learning. The effect was anything but innocent. Paris couldn’t escape her body’s reaction. Her palms were damp, her stomach fluttery. She wondered if he could see her tight nipples under the thin black dress.
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