Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(64)

But when he did finally look up, and those gray eyes of his snared her, she was held captive there, waiting to see how he would react.

Six months was a record for them, she thought.

Kit could be possessive, sometimes to an overbearing degree, so the fact that he had left her alone over this period of time was a testament of his control.

Or perhaps it was another of his games—he always was the best at playing them.

“Luna,” he said her name softly, like a prayer, and she hated the way she felt when she heard it. She wasn’t supposed to be affected by him, not after what he did, but she missed him.

More than she ever wanted to admit.

“Kit.”

She was glad for once that her voice didn’t waver, that her emotions didn’t betray her. Having spent so long trying to show that she was more than just an extension of him, she didn’t want to crumple the moment she was back in his presence.

“Please,” he said getting to his feet once she reached the table. “Have a seat. Are you hungry?”

He didn’t touch her as he gestured to the other side of the booth for her to slip in—he never touched her without her consent. One of those many rules of his, but it was one that was more for her than him. It gave her some control, even when she felt she had none.

As she glanced down at the place setting in front of her, she was tempted to decline, but knew there was no point in denying him. Somehow, he usually got what he wanted.

“I could eat.”

Kit studied her a moment before calling out to someone, this time a man in a waiter’s outfit came strolling in, pushing a cart along with him. There were a number of covered plates on it. As he went about explaining the dishes that he was now setting before them, Luna tuned his words out, dropping her hands to her lap to keep herself from fidgeting.

She could feel his eyes on her, like a physical touch as he looked at her like it was the very first time. Finally, once the waiter was on his way after pouring them both a glass of wine, Luna could finally ask, “Why are you staring at me?”

“Am I not allowed to look at my wife?”

God, how those words used to turn her into quivering goo. It wasn’t just the accent, she had grown used to that, it was also that Welsh charm.

“Nothing has changed since the last time we were together,” she said, picking up her fork, realizing too late what her words would have sounded like to him.

“Shall we test that theory?” he asked, mimicking her action. “I’m sure I can spot the differences.”

As much time as he spent learning her body, she didn’t doubt that he would be able to detect the smallest of changes on her. “No,” she said, careful to keep her tone light. “I’m not here for me.”

“No?” Cutting into his bass, he speared a bite of flaky fish and extended it across the table.

And before she realized it, she was opening her mouth, accepting what he offered. It was second nature, like breathing.

Focus!

“Then who are you here for?”

“A friend.”

“Named?”

“Celt.”

A brief flicker of jealousy lit up his eyes, and she finally saw that first touch of his temper—and worse, it spiked her own desire for him.

“One of Uilleam’s, I wager?”

She shook her head. “As am I.”

Kit ignored that. “And what is it that this friend of yours wants?”

He didn’t sound particularly upset as he asked the question, so Luna took this as a good thing. Maybe if she kept their conversation on safer topics, this wouldn’t have to end badly. “We need a name.”

“I know plenty of those. Whose name in particular?”

“Gabriel Monte sold a forgery to a shell company based here in New York, but we can’t find the name of the owner.”

“And the name of the company …”

“The Bronson Organization.” His eyes flashed—he recognized it. “Do you know the owner?”

Picking up his wine glass, he swirled the contents, bringing it up to his nose to smell a moment before he finally took a sip. “Tell me. This assignment, did it belong to you or your friend?”

Not sure why it mattered, Luna chose to answer anyway. “Him.”

“And how long have you known him?”

Did they really have to do this? “Years.”

“I don’t recall anyone by that name associating with you until three years after you went to Zachariah.”

Ran from him was the better way to phrase that sentence, but Luna didn’t bother to correct him. “You asked me how long have I known him, not how it compares to my relationship with you.”

Carefully, he set his fork down, clasping his hands in front of him as he leaned towards her. “Is that how you want to play this, Luna?”

“Ask the question you want an answer to,” she said meeting his unwavering gaze, repeating back words he had once said to her.

“You’re my wife and you avoid me like the plague, yet you’ll come because your friend requests it. Why?”

Luna shook her head. “I came because he needed me to.”

“Didn’t I need you?” He asked, and almost looked wounded.

Almost.

Looking at him just then, she could almost fool herself into believing he meant those words. Despite herself, she could still remember the day she left him.