Prince of Secrets. Lucy Monroe

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      “Yes, it is. That is why I am here.”

      The smile she bestowed on him was brilliant, her gray eyes lighting to silver. “It is. You’re going to make it possible for us to extend the parameters of our current study.”

      “That is the plan.” He’d determined that approaching her in the guise of a corporate investor was the quickest way to gain Chanel’s favor.

      He’d obviously been right.

      “Why are you here?” she asked.

      “I thought we’d been over that.”

      “Most corporations donate without sending someone to check our facility over.”

      “Are you offended Yurkovich Tanner did not opt to do so?”

      “No, just confused.”

      “Oh?”

      “How will you know if this is a good setup or not? I mean, even the most fly-by-night operation can make their lab look impressive to a layman.”

      “The University of Washington is hardly a fly-by-night operation.”

      “No, I know, but you know what I mean.”

      “You really have no filter, do you?”

      “Um, no?”

      “You as good as called me stupid.”

      “No.” She shook her head for emphasis.

      “The implication is there.”

      “No, it’s not. No more than I consider myself stupid because I could stare at my car’s engine from dawn to dusk and still not be able to tell you where the catalytic converter is.”

      “It’s under the engine.”

      “Is it?”

      “Point taken, but you knew your car exhaust system has one. Just as I know the rudimentary facts about lab research.”

      “I know about the catalytic converter because my mother’s was stolen once. I guess it’s a thing for young thugs to steal them and sell them for the precious metal. Mom was livid.”

      “As she had a right to be.”

      “I suppose, but getting a concealed weapons permit and storing a handgun in her Navigator’s glove box was taking it about sixty million steps too far. It wasn’t as if she was in the car when they stole the thing.”

      Demyan felt his lips twitching, the amusement rolling through him an unusual but not unwelcome reaction. “I am sure you are right.”

      “Is English your second language?”

      “It is.” But people rarely realized that. “I do not speak with an accent.”

      “You don’t use a ton of contractions either.”

      “I prefer precise communication.”

      Her storm-cloud gaze narrowed in thought. “You’re from Volyarus, aren’t you?”

      He felt his eyes widen in surprise. “Yes.”

      “Don’t look so shocked. My great-great-grandfather helped discover the oil fields of Volyarus. Did you really think I wouldn’t know that the Seattle office of Yurkovich Tanner is just a satellite? They paid for my university education. It was probably some long-ago agreement with Bartholomew Tanner.”

      She was a lot closer than was comfortable to the truth. “He was bequeathed the title of baron, which would make you a lady.”

      “I know that, but my mom doesn’t.” And from Chanel’s tone, she didn’t want the older woman finding out. “Besides, the title would only pass to me if I were direct in line with no older sibling.”

      “Do you have one?” he asked, knowing the answer but following the script of a stranger.

      “No.”

      “So you are Dame Tanner, Lady Chanel, if you prefer.”

      Her lovely pink lips twisted with clear distaste. “I prefer just Chanel.”

      “Your mother is French?” he asked, continuing the script he’d carefully thought out beforehand.

      Demyan was always fully prepared.

      “No. She loves the Chanel label, though.”

      “She named you after a designer brand?” His investigators had not revealed that fact.

      “It’s no different than a parent naming their child Mercedes, or something,” Chanel replied defensively.

      “Of course.”

      “She named me more aptly than she knew.”

      “Why do you say that?” he asked with genuine surprise and curiosity.

      He would have thought it was the opposite.

      “Mom loves her designers, but what she never realized was that Coco Chanel started her brand because she believed in casual elegance. She wore slacks when women simply did not. She believed beauty should be both effortless and comfortable.”

      “Did she?”

      “Oh, yes. Mom is more of the ‘beauty is pain’ school of thought. She wishes I were, too, but well, you can see I’m not.” Chanel indicated her lab coat over a simple pair of khaki slacks and a blue T-shirt.

      The T-shirt might not be high fashion, but it clung to Chanel’s figure in a way that revealed her unexpectedly generous curves. She wasn’t overweight, but she wasn’t rail thin either, and if her breasts were less than a C cup, he’d be surprised.

      That information had not been in her dossier, either.

      “You’re staring at my breasts.”

      “I apologize.”

      “Okay.” She sighed. “I’m not offended, but I’m not used to it. My lab coat isn’t exactly revealing and the men around here, well, they stare at my data more than me.”

      “Foolish men.”

      “If you say so.”

      “I do.”

      “You’re flirting again.”

      “Are you going to try to ignore me like the delivery man?”

      “Am I going to see you again to ignore you?”

      “Oh, you will definitely see me again.”

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