Page 39 of Black and Brown

When their glasses were a quarter empty, the maître d’ refilled them without a word and then left.

Mirage met Grace’s eyes, and it felt as if time stood still. Unspoken words of curiosity echoed between them.

Mirage had a vague idea of what was going on, and if he was right, this was a declaration Grace would have to make with words.

Mirage didn’t have tacit body language, and his eyes weren’t as expressive as Grace’s.

He kept his forbidden emotions locked in a vault stronger than Fort Knox.

After another drink of water, Mirage gave a rare demand. “Speak, Grace.”

His partner set his glass down and waited five minutes before he replied.

“I have nothing to say, Mirage.”

Grace hadn’t spoken a word since the two he’d muttered when the debriefing ended three hours ago.

His voice was rough and gravelly from unuse and so goddamn sexy.

“I beg to differ,” Mirage countered.

“You always know what I’m thinking. You tell me what I’m not saying.”

Mirage pushed around the pieces of watermelon and basil salad with his fork—he was never a fan of the palate cleanser course—before he dropped his utensil on his plate and stared at Grace for a long moment.

“There’s confusion in your eyes when you look at me now.” Mirage squinted, studying him. “There is now hesitation in your body when I get too close.”

Grace broke eye contact.

Meaning Mirage was right.

“So, what’s it about? Do you want a different partner? Meridian, perhaps?”

“No.” Grace aggressively wiped his mouth with his napkin before he lowered his sharp tone. “No, I do not.”

“You’ve been different since we worked that job with him last month.”

Mirage struggled to keep the tinge of emotion from his voice.

“I could feel your admiration for Meridian, Grace.” Mirage shrugged. “Hell, what’s not to like? He’s young, fierce, and I know how much you admire capability.”

Grace’s stare cut into him like a sword.

“I don’t and will never want anyone but you, Mirage. Know that, and don’t ever ask that question again.”

Mirage appeared to have hit a nerve.

When Grace spoke in that raw, heated bass, Mirage was reminded of the cold brutality lurking in Grace’s soul.

The quiet between them was intense after such a strong statement…or was it a demand.

The maître d’ had their plates removed, then set a dessert plate in front of Mirage and a Kopi espresso for Grace.

The attentive server didn’t ask how the meal was or if they’d enjoyed the experience.

One, because it wasn’t required. It’d been prepared by a Michelin-star chef. Of course they’d enjoyed it.

And two, the staff understood that Mirage didn’t desire to hear any of them speak.