“It’s . . . well, it’s . . . it’s discomfort!”
“Really?” Laughter flashed across his face. “How odd. It looks just like passion. And so does this.” His finger was suddenly on her pulse, where it beat frantically in the hollow at the base of her throat. “Such a passionate pulse, Kate.”
Kate stepped back hurriedly. She crossed her arms. “It is not passion!”
James stopped teasing her. “Yes, Kate, it is,” he said, his voice quite serious. “Admit it. We both feel passion. We both desire each other.”
His words chased the heat from her body. Kate stared at him. “You don’t desire me,” she said flatly.
“What? Of course I do! You just have to look at me to know that.”
“Do I?” His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glittered blackly. It could conceivably be desire, but having overheard his words
