He didn’t like when she called him that—even in jest. It reminded him too much of MacRuairi, who hadn’t said it in jest. Alex wasn’t moralistic, damn it. Was it so wrong to have honor? To have codes and ideals? To try to do what was right? To want sharing such intimacies to mean something?

“You’re wrong,” he said intently. “I don’t want this.” He held the door open. “I want you to leave.”

Maybe if his mouth wasn’t so white and his jaw so flexed Joan might have believed him. Clearly, he was furious at her for showing up in his room like this and wanted her to go. But just as clearly, he was fighting giving in with everything he had.

He just needed one more push.

She’d known it wouldn’t be as simple as just showing up to his room. Known that Alex’s honor would make things . . . difficult. She’d even realized what she might have to do. But she’d never been the seducer before, and the role didn’t sit well with her.

Could she really . . . ?

She didn’t finish the question. The answer was clear. Yes, she could. She would do whatever it took. Her cousin had been trying to help Bruce—help her—and she wouldn’t let her come to harm.

She set the cup down on the table for a moment, to do what she had to do.

This isn’t me, she told herself. It’s only a role. You are in control.

But it felt very real as she leaned up against him and gave him that push, placing her hand on the part of him that could not lie. A part of him that from her experience thought very little about honor.

It was the first time she’d ever touched a man so boldly—so intimately—and the shock, the heat, the size of him would have made her yank her hand back if he hadn’t made a deep sound low in his throat that was half tortured, half pleasure, and all desire.

It was working, and it gave her courage. “Liar,” she murmured, the huskiness in her voice coming out all on its own.

He reached for her wrist to pull her hand away, but instinctively her fingers tightened around him. It was a good instinct. The hand that he’d wrapped around her wrist froze as he made another sound—this one deeper and more tortured than the last. For one long heartbeat he held her hand to him, maybe even pressing it a little harder against an almost imperceptible movement of his hips.

He liked it. Liked it a lot.