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Even without the grin the endearment would have got to her; with it she melted like butter on a hot knife.
He continued to pace for a few more minutes before moving back to the sofa. He sat on the edge, his body curving towards her so that their knees were almost touching. His body language created an illusion of intimacy that made it difficult for Megan to think straight. She had a horrible notion that her feelings were written in letters a mile high across her forehead as she gazed back at him, but she couldn’t do a thing about it.
‘I want…’ he studied her face for a moment before his sensual lips slowly curled upwards into a self-derisive smile while she tensed her body, almost quivering with anticipation ‘…Input.’
Colour flooded Megan’s pale face; the embarrassment and anticlimax was intense.
‘Megan…?’
Megan blinked before arranging her features into something approaching composure. Just what made you think he was going to say I want you? That was the last time she went into fantasy mode. The fact was if Luc had wanted her, he could have had her.
‘Fine.’
His eyes narrowed warily. ‘You don’t sound fine.’
‘Are you going to dissect every inflection in my voice?’ she demanded spikily.
He shrugged, and almost grinned. ‘Point taken.’ He leaned back into the squashy cushions of the sofa and, hands linked behind his head, looked at the ceiling.
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