The London Deception by Addison Fox Page B

Someone told him you’re in town?”
    Rowan was grateful for the easy banter. It allowed her to bluff her way through the sudden heat that warmed her at his simple touch, even as she attempted to forget all the reasons why she was still mad at him.
    “This time it was my brother Campbell.”
    “This time?”
    “My grandfather has a surprising sixth sense about his grandchildren and at any given moment is craftily getting one of us to give up the whereabouts of the others. On the rare thing he misses, my grandmother does a stellar job running interference.”
    “You love them.”
    “To distraction. None of which eradicated my summons to dinner tomorrow evening.”
    “Enjoy the time.”
    “You’re coming with me.” It was only later, as she reflected on the moment, that Rowan could congratulate herself on two things.
    One, that she’d ensured her gaze was level with his as she delivered the news of their impending dinner invitation. And two, that she’d somehow managed to catch Finn Gallagher unawares.
    She knew full well it was unlikely to happen again.

Chapter 7
    H e didn’t do dinner. Not with grandparents. Especially not with grandparents who were considered some of London’s finest citizens and who would likely take him for a fraud at thirty paces.
    Finn was still smarting from Rowan’s pronouncement on the summons from her grandfather thirty minutes later as he laid several quid down to pay for their breakfast. The small café near the Savoy hummed around him, oblivious to his impending inquisition, and he grabbed his takeaway cup of coffee off the table with greater force than necessary.
    He’d spent his life avoiding brushes with every form of authority imaginable and he had no great interest in changing that at this late date.
    Of course, he wasn’t a fraud any longer. He was a legitimate businessman with a successful company and interests that no longer needed to be hidden with secret ledgers or offshore accounts.
    None of it changed the fact that Alexander and Penelope Steele were cut from the highest quality British cloth, while he was the son of a Northside Dublin man, transplanted to London for a fresh start after his wife died far too young.
    A fresh start that had included a surprising number of old ways.
    Rowan returned from the front counter, a box of pastries in her hand for her friend. “You look like you swallowed a mouthful of coffee grounds soaked in lemon juice.”
    “I do not.”
    “You just had a breakfast that could fell a truck driver. How can you be grumpy already?”
    “I’m not grumpy.”
    Her small shoulders—set off by a thin cashmere sweater in pale green—twisted as she dragged on a lightweight jacket. “It’s the dinner, isn’t it?”
    “No, it’s not the dinner.”
    “Of course it is. You’ve been pissy since I mentioned it.”
    “I’m not—” Finn pushed back his chair, wincing as it hit the wall with a heavy thud. “I’m not pissy about dinner. I fail to see why I need to join you at a family function.”
    “I think my grandfather has some notion you’re going to hit on me in Egypt.”
    He gestured for her to walk in front of him through the restaurant, holding his comments until they were once again out on the sidewalk. “I don’t need to go nearly four thousand miles to do that. I already hit on you here in London.”
    “You pretended to hit on me at the museum to fool any onlookers.”
    “Then you weren’t paying very good attention.”
    Rowan stopped and turned toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “You tell me. You were right there in the moment with me.”
    “It wasn’t flirtation. Or...or something more. We’re working together, and by the way, I still haven’t forgotten that you deceived me. It’s going to take me some time to get over the fact you’re not dead.”
    The words were so absurd Finn couldn’t hold back a small grin. “I wasn’t aware my company was so repugnant.”
    She shook her head but he didn’t