Jess Michaels Read Free

were well-trained on that score. Despite the impropriety of the situation, a shiver she couldn’t suppress worked its way along her spine.
    “I have done reasonably well for myself, yes,” she answered, chewing her lip nervously.
    “Come now, Miss Willows.” He moved toward her again, rapidly closing the distance between them. “Let us not have false modesty.”
    He stopped just inches away from her and Cassandra was forced to tilt her head to look up at him. And look she did. The previous day in the hallway she hadn’t dared to stare, but now she could look to her heart’s content.
    Dear God, but he was still handsome. He always had been, but the years away had made him fully into a man. Hardened him in all the right places, put an edge to his gaze, a harshness to his jaw. But his lips were the same—full and abundantly kissable.
    Hot images of every kiss they had ever shared darted through her mind, making her dizzy and achy. With a start, she turned away. There was no use thinking of those things.
    “I have been fortunate,” she whispered, willing her hands to stop shaking.
    She felt him move even closer. He was just behind her now, his hot, hard chest brushing her back, his breath against her neck as he leaned down over her.
    “You used your talents well, Cassandra.”
    Steeling herself to her ragged emotions, Cassandra forced herself to pivot slowly and face the man who had haunted her dreams—her life—for so many years. She stifled a moan as they stood chest to chest, almost touching, but not quite. It was torment to be so close to him—a stark reminder that all her hottest fantasies still starred him.
    “Why are you here, Nathan?” she whispered, staring directly into his startling blue eyes, even when she wanted to turn away from his stark disdain.
    One corner of his mouth tilted up and she noticed a tiny scar there that stood out faintly against his dark skin. That was new, and she briefly wondered how he had gotten it—a fight, an accident, or maybe some grand adventure?
    “Perhaps I wish to order one of your specialties,” he said, his voice impossibly hard and rough with anger, but also with what she fully recognized as desire. In some way she was relieved that he felt the same sexual connection that she still did. Even if neither of them wanted it, at least it put them on equal ground.
    “You wish to order a gown?” she asked with a smirk of her own. “I think blue would be your color, but I’m not certain you will like this Season’s cuts.”
    Years ago, her comment would have made Nathan smile, but now he didn’t react at all. Cassandra felt her heart sink. Things had changed irrevocably. Truly, he did hate her. She had known that for a long time, but seeing the final evidence still stung.
    “I don’t mean a gown, my dear,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I mean your real specialty—those interesting little toys you design for men of the ton, their mistresses, and the more adventurous wives.”
    Cassandra’s lips parted in shock. If he knew of her quiet side business, the one that brought in nearly twice as much money as her services as a seamstress, he truly had been watching over her all these years. Her toy designs were done very discreetly, through specific channels in order to protect her precarious reputation.
    But now she felt naked and vulnerable. And when Nathan stared at her, a sneer of disdain on his handsome face, she almost felt shameful.
    No. She shook away that emotion. In four years, she had never felt ashamed of the work she did, of the fact that she had taken lovers, or of the way she had used her abilities to protect herself and better her situation. She wouldn’t allow Nathan Manning to stride into her life and make her feel less worthy because of the things she had done. He had no idea of her life since his departure, no matter how many spies he had hired or accusatory comments he made.
    Pushing past him, Cassandra paced back to her worktable and picked up