“No,” Paris agreed bluntly.
“Why?”
“Does it matter? Or is liking you somehow compulsory? Written into the contract? And why on earth should it matter to you what I feel?”
“Because you’ve aroused my curiosity.”
“Rubbish! And even if I had it was hardly intentional.”
“Wasn’t it? Not because you wanted to know what it would be like to be kissed by the great Oliver Darke? Act One, Scene One,” he said cynically, and, before she could stop him, he bent his head and kissed her. With a great deal of expertise. Practiced expertise. And, even knowing that, it made not a darned bit of difference, because, as she had known, his technique was extraordinary.