This is an unedited Excerpt.
“No, my lord, I most heartily dislike you.” Meghan tried her best to carry her grievance with him above the fractiousness of their discussion. But it wasn’t easy. The man had an ego the size of England itself.
Rhys’s eyebrow—the right one—rose slowly. It was an amazing thing to see. She wondered if that was something one had to practice to perfect to the degree he obviously had? His accompanying smile was dangerous in its lethality.
“Heartily you say?” His tone openly mocked her. She hated that. “Should I take that to mean you don’t like me at all, or simply more than usual on this fine evening?”
Meghan gritted her teeth. But not by choice. He was and would always be the most infuriating of men. “At. All.”
His smile remained intact while his eyebrow returned to its original resting place. “I most heartily doubt that.”
He sounded entirely too self-satisfied in all his gloating smugness, which had Meghan seething.
Beyond the pale infuriating.
“Doubt it all you want. It is the truth.” It was amazing she could speak, she was so incredibly vexed.
His gaze narrowed ever so slightly and his voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Truth? I’d give you a dash of the truth if I thought you could handle it.”
He was goading her; fishing for things and hoping she would bite. She was clever, but she needn’t have been to be to clearly see that. But she also rarely turned down a challenge. Especially one filled with such masculine, meant-to-provoke bravado. More likely than not he hoped she’d respond but assumed she would not.
“Your truth or mine?” she asked with a defiant lift of her own eyebrow.
“There is no mine and yours when it comes to the truth. And the truth between us is very simple. You do not heartily dislike me. You don’t even dislike me. In fact, your problem has always been that you like me very much. And undoutedly far too much for you heart to take.”