“You haven’t answered my question.” She was never sure what went on behind that mask of his, but just now, when Harry had called her his wild Scottish thistle, Elise would have sworn he still cared—at least for her physical well-being.

He scanned her face, his eyes hooded, but the flash inside them turned her insides to porridge. When he looked at her like that, memories brewed quicker than a storm blown in from the sea, and she yearned for things best left unexplored.

Harry stirred her heart, yes, but his thoughts remained his own. Until she was sure of him, she kept him at a distance and hugged her secret to herself. She still cared for him—had never stopped really. When she had heard his voice last summer for the first time in nine years, it had spooked her, stirring her locked emotions.

Harry was a man, a father, and a self-assured agent. He was nothing like the young man she had dated at university who had a good mind, no assets, and a heart full of ambition. Back then, he was brimful of raw talent and had little else to recommend him.

A decade later, he had returned a decorated military hero and was now a vetted undercover agent for HM’s Secret Service—his body a lethal weapon. Rumors had circulated among her old university crowd that Harry had invested in Nick’s financial empire from the ground level and now had a healthy portfolio of his own. After her parents’ arm-twisting, Elise was secretly proud of all Harry had achieved.

His wife’s running off must have done some damage though. After his divorce, she had caught sight of Harry on the London scene, a new lady on his arm at every outing. Then Nigel had assigned her to train him. And poof—Harry abandoned the social pool as quickly as he had appeared.

Shortly before the explosion that had broken her pelvis, Harry had turned up at her flat unexpectedly a time or two to talk shop. But the vibes coming off him were anything but business-like. After the accident, he had haunted her hospital room until Nigel had sent him to Africa.

Now that they were no longer partners, they were free to date, but since Harry’s return from Lebatu, he had blown hot and cold. The more aloof he behaved, the more her curiosity roused. If he should ask her on a real date, she might accept—just to find out what kind of man he’d become.

Tonight, she had begged him to be her escort to the Jumpers Ball. What had gotten into her? No man in his right mind accepted a date with the woman who had dumped him.

“If you’d prefer not to attend the ball, Harry, I do understand.”