Page 13 of Hard Deal
“I didn’t attack you.” She tried to pull her hands back, but he held her tight. “I attempted to retrieve stolen property. You’re a thief.”
“And you’re a spy. Do you even have a ticket to this event?”
Her olive green eyes blinked and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Well...of course I do.”
Did Prim Miss Hargrove sneak into the Carmina Ball? The night was getting more and more interesting by the second. Her skin flushed pink and she stopped wriggling against him.
“I call bullshit,” he said. “And there’s a quick way to find out if you’re telling the truth.”
She swallowed, the delicate muscles in her neck pressing momentarily against her fair skin. “If you hand over my phone, I’ll leave now.”
“I’m not so sure I want you to leave. I could get used to being manhandled by a gorgeous woman.”
She rolled her eyes. “You can’t even see my face. Your flattery means nothing.”
But she was no longer struggling against him—her arms were soft in his, not straining or pulling. Her lips were parted and her tongue darted out to moisten them. Caleb had to force himself not to rub up against her.
“I don’t need to see your face,” he said. “Besides, it’s the whole package. I find feisty women incredibly attractive.”
“You think I’m feisty?” She cocked her head.
“Feisty, sexy. I bet you have men beating down your door.”
She snorted. “You’d be surprised.”
He would. Imogen might be a little—okay, a lot—tightly wound, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hotter than the gates of hell. Besides, today had proven there was a whole lot more to her than met the eye. And he was going to make it his mission to get to the bottom of this new side of her.
“Still want your phone back?” he asked.
“I do.”
“What do I get out of it, huh?”
She narrowed her eyes. “How about the opportunity to keep your man parts intact?”
“Always appreciated.” He nodded. “But you’ve put me in a tight spot. I’m pretty confident that you’ve snuck into this ball, which isn’t allowed. People pay a lot of money to be here and if I let you go, I’m aiding and abetting a criminal.”
“I am not a criminal.”
“Just amateur paparazzi, then? You know there’s a strict no-press policy for this event. Privacy is a huge concern for the attendees.”
“I wasn’t planning to sell the photos, for what it’s worth. Can’t we go our separate ways and forget this ever happened? You don’t have to hand me over to the masquerade police and I won’t tell anyone you kept me hostage.”
She was hardly being held hostage. Sure, Caleb had her wrists in his hands but if she’d showed any signs of distress he would have let her go. Besides, her knees were nestled next to his “man parts” so if she’d intended on doing any damage, it would have happened already.
This was a game of cat and mouse, and Caleb intended to win.
* * *
Now Imogen had messed things up. Big-time. What were the odds that two men would have the same “one of a kind” mask? Where was the artistic integrity?
Although, if she was being totally honest, this wasn’t the most unpleasant situation she could have landed herself in. Held captive by a man with a deep, sexy voice and hands that were made to roam a woman’s curves? Not bad at all. But she had the niggling sense that something was off—there was something about the man that had her intuition all fired up. He sounded familiar, and also like he was trying to disguise his voice by using that growly, cha-cha-melting whisper.
Focus, Hargrove. This isn’t a mission to reclaim your mojo. Priority number one is escaping without getting arrested.
But she couldn’t leave without her phone because it would give her identity away. If she could convince the man to hand it over, she could hightail it out of the ball without anyone knowing her name.
“My arms are getting tired,” she said. “And we appear to be at an impasse. I have nothing to offer other than a promise to delete the photos I took.”