Must Have Been The Moonlight by Melody Thomas

that he might think her dull. “Mr. Cross isn’t quixotic. He’s merely kind. Harmless.”
    “No man is harmless,” he scoffed.
    “Are you referring to yourself?”
    “I’m not one of your beaux, Brianna.” His voice was almost gentle. “And what you have on your mind is a very bad idea.”
    “Maybe I’m not looking for a beau.”
    She hated that his gaze caught the subtle shift of her hands as she pressed one over the other to keep them from trembling.
    His silvery eyes lifted to hers. His features could have been hewn from granite. “There’s not a whole lot in my future that would interest an indelible romantic. But don’t think I’m not tempted.” He lowered his voice. “If I thought you knew what the hell you were doing.”
    Her mouth opened. Right before her eyes her prince had turned back into an obstinate toad, and she couldn’t think of a single adequate word that would refute his comment. She’d finally gotten the nerve to throw herself into the fire, and he was leaving her to burn.
    “You are such a hypocrite, Major Fallon,” she whispered.
    “Am I?” His teeth flashed predatory white.
    “Maybe you’re the true flirt here.”
    “You’re dangerous, Miss Donally.” He took a deliberate step around the chair, then pressed his hands to each edge, trapping her. “If you come near me again, it won’t be conversation we’ll be having against a chair. Or a wall, or maybe even the floor.”
    He was absolutely crass, and she laughed, taking care not to avoid his eyes, intending once and for all to banish any thought from his mind that she was a child. “Maybe I’m no more interested in conversation than you are, Major.” She’d forced the breathless words to sound casual. But there was nothing casual about her intent.
    Their gazes tangled, locked, and turned hot. Her lungs felt restrained by her corset, unable to inhale. She forgot where they were. Forgot that her brother was upstairs and that someone could step into the room at any moment. His hands remained on the chair’s edge at her back, his fingers long and tanned, his broad shoulders blocking the window. Neither moved as his gaze lowered to her mouth, and the whole world faded to the desire that stormed his eyes, that imprinted itself on her lips, to the one possibility that he would kiss her.
    “So you think you want to be my lover?” His tone was deceptively casual.
    Her heart raced in panic. Or was she caught by that secret thrill of discovery that someone would enter the room? She felt six years old again when she’d stood dressed in a chemise at the pond out back of her house and let Frankie Carre, the seven-year-old son of a neighbor, see her. Her mother had caught her and sent her to her room without dinner. But it had not removed the wicked thrill of doing something forbidden.
    What did it mean to be a man’s lover?
    “Are you afraid, Major?” The words were a question, but her tone was a dare. No less the challenge that he’d once thrown at her.
    He seemed to contemplate her with a steely-eyed glance, as if to assess not only her, but himself in her eyes. One would think it was commonplace for a woman to throw herself at him, and she didn’t understand his hesitation. Any more than she understand her own motivation to do what she shouldn’t even be thinking about doing.
    “I’m not afraid,” he mused, “but you should be. Nothing stays secret in Cairo for long, amîri .”
    He’d just put a step between them when a feminine voice hailed from the doorway. “Major Fallon?” It was the consul general’s wife.
    Brianna felt the surge of blood rush through her veins.
    “There you are,” Lady Bess said when he turned to politely greet her. “I thought that I saw you earlier.” Trussed in copper-colored taffeta that matched the color of her hair, she extended her hand to him. “We’ve seen so little of you since your return.”
    Grateful for the interruption, Brianna walked to the window behind her, hoping