Standing in the Shadows

The woman she saw in the mirror was another person entirely.

Her pose was aggressively sexual. Pornographic, even. Arms pinned back, face flushed, breasts jutting out. Connor's muscular arm was clamped around her belly. His other hand fondled her, spreading her nether lips gently, murmuring with pleasure at how slick and wet she was. He spread the moisture everywhere while his thumb circled her clitoris, pushing and coaxing her into moaning, shivering madness.

Her real-life Connor was so much harder and rougher and more problematic than her fantasies. Aggressive and demanding, and yet so tender, so ruthlessly skillful. And his appetite for her was voracious. She had never imagined anything like it. She still couldn't.

He slid his longest two fingers deep inside her, hooking them under her pubic bone, and pressed against that sweet hot spot inside her sheath as he pressed his palm down against her mound. He squeezed and circled, his strong hand sliding in her swollen, quivering flesh. She clenched around him, writhing against his pumping hand. The power grew and swelled within her until it became a heavenly torture. She screamed when the tension finally broke.

It throbbed violently through her, charging her with shimmering warmth. When she opened her eyes, she was still sprawled on his lap. He held her limp body securely in place while he petted and stroked her lazily between her legs. Like he was petting a kitten.

She turned her face up to him. He gave her a long, clinging kiss and smiled into her eyes. So smug and satisfied with himself.

She clambered off him, extricating her arms from the nightdress and shimmying out of it. Her desire to cover herself was completely gone. She looked the nightdress over. "You ripped it," she observed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Can you fix it?"

"I think so. It's on the seam. No biggie." She flung the garment in the general direction of her suitcase and looked down at him. She'd left big wet marks on his jeans, and she was not the least bit embarrassed about it. Her inner thighs and bottom were slick and wet. She was thrumming with readiness, and the thick length of his erection was clearly visible against his jeans. She reached for his hand, the one that had pleasured her, and pulled it up to her face. His fingers were still glistening with her juice. She suckled them. Tasted herself.

His eyes widened. "Whoa. Jesus, Erin. I thought you said you were tired. You said you didn't want to."

The feverish heat was burned into her face. "I'm OK."

"OK's not good enough. Do you want me to fuck you?" he demanded. "Don't dance around it. Don't play games with me."

She laughed in his face. "Oh, you're a fine one to talk about games."

"Just say it," he snarled. "I want to hear the words."

She seized a condom from the bedstand and ripped it open with her teeth. "Take off your pants, Connor. Is that clear enough?"

He nodded, and stood up, unbuckling his belt. "You got it."

He stepped out of his pants and stood in front of her, his cock bobbing in front of him. He should be feeling guilty as hell. He had maneuvered her into this. She had to be sore, because he was. But he couldn't resist. She had that wild, sex goddess glow of arousal in her eyes that brought him right to his knees.

She plucked the condom from the foil package, and attempted to smooth it on him. He reached down and covered her fumbling hands.

"That's backwards, sweetheart," he said gently. "Turn it around."

She made a huffy noise and leaned her hot forehead against his chest. She was so cute when she tried to act nonchalant. Her efforts to roll the latex over his cock were driving him nuts.

Ah, mission finally accomplished. She stepped back, gripping him with an authoritative hand. "Just one thing," she said. "Don't drive me to the edge and leave me all alone there. Don't do that to me again."

She punctuated her statement with a tight squeeze of her hand, milking him from root to head. He struggled to remember what she'd said. "What the hell are you talking about, Erin?"

She stabbed at his chest with her finger. "Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about. If you make me lose control, you've got to come with me. All the way. I can't take any more of your dominating, calculated power trips. At least not today."

He tossed her onto the bed, landed promptly on top of her soft, hot, squirming body. "It's not that simple," he growled. "You can afford to lose control. I can't."

She shoved at his chest. "Why not?"

"Because I'm bigger and stronger, that's why. I don't know what you're complaining about. You trick me into losing control almost every time we do it. It freaks me out. I'm supposed to protect you."

She heaved furiously beneath him. "I'm not made out of glass!"

"Thank God." He shoved her into position: flat on her back, legs folded up high, open and drenched and ready for him. "Are you sore?"

"I'm all right," she snapped.

"I didn't ask if you were all right." He enunciated each word with exaggerated clarity. "I asked if you were sore."

"Yes, I am, but I don't care! So don't stop, or I'll have to kill you!"

He couldn't help but grin. "I'll be gentle," he said. He guided his cock to her and slid it over her labia. "Tell me if I hurt you."

"What if I don't want gentle?" she demanded. "Stop being so goddamned anxious! You're driving me nuts!"

That made him laugh out loud. "Oh, God, I love it when you're a heartless, insatiable bitch."

He thrust inside her, hard as he dared. She was wet and hot for him, but she was delicate and small, and he was a big man. She could snap at him all she wanted, but he wasn't going to risk hurting her.

This tart-sweet furious sex kitten persona of hers made him burn with lust. He kept veering back and forth between the screaming berserker who wanted to fuck her brains out, and a shaking tenderness that made him want to cry.

God forbid. That would be all he needed.

He pulled out, gasping as her sheath clutched and hugged him, and thrust even deeper, seeking a gentle, surging rhythm. It was so good. He could do this all day, all night. For the rest of his life.

Erin smiled her fey, mysterious smile and brushing her tingling hot magic fingers over the surface of his throat, his chest, his shoulders. "Let go, Connor," she pleaded. "I love it when you go wild."

She could make him do anything when she looked at him like that. Her eyes glowed like the sun shone behind them and lit them up like stained glass: glowing amber, honey-streaked sunset warmth. Her plump breasts were crushed against his chest, her quivering thighs were clenched around him. She gasped with pleasure with each heavy, gliding stroke. She was working up to another explosion. He could feel it build, and he knew just how to give her what she was whimpering for. He knew it in his bones, in his blood.

It came to him, out of nowhere. He pulled back, held himself motionless above her. "I'm not leaving you alone with Mueller," he said.

She started to protest, but he trapped her face between his two hands and kissed her deeply. "That's the deal. I give you what you want, you stop fighting me. Nod if we understand each other."

She shook her head. "This isn't fair. You can't manipulate—"

"Oh, yes, I can. And I will," he promised. "I will."

She glared up into his eyes, clutching at him in helpless frustration. He rocked against her with soft, licking, maddening thrusts with just the head of his cock when he knew damn well she wanted it deep and hard. His thumb barely tickled over the slick, quivering bud of her clit. Teasing and tantalizing. No mercy.

She threw her head back and cried out through clenched teeth, clawing at his shoulders. "Goddamn it, Connor—"

"Do we have a deal?"

"Yes, just do it! Now!"

He let go, and sealed the bargain with his body. He gave her everything he had, everything he was. It went further than he had planned, further than he'd ever dreamed. It carried them away.

Passion fused them together. All the truths of their hearts were known to each other. Nothing could be hidden, nothing held back. No boundaries, no borders. One being.

They writhed together in the heart of a burning star.

Sometime later, he rolled off her and flopped onto his back. He was chilled by the sweat cooling on his skin. That had been way out there. He was almost afraid to meet her eyes.

"Wow," she whispered. "You don't do things halfway, do you?"

"Never. In my whole life," he said. "Better get used to it."

They subsided into shy silence. Not a word about Mueller. Not a word about that weird, coercive bargain he had struck with her. And certainly no discussion of… of that. Whatever the hell it had been. Souls touching. Yikes. Sounded like New Age bullshit. Better not to even touch it with words. It was made out of emotion and energy. Only the wisdom of their joined bodies could comprehend it.

Erin climbed out of bed. She kept her face turned from him. "I have to get ready," she said hesitantly. "I'll just jump into the shower."

They both needed a time-out, so he waited his turn, and showered after she was done. When he came out, Erin was busy making the second bed. The first one was mathematically smooth and perfect.

He stared at her, bemused. "Why are you doing that?"

"I can't think straight if the bed's not made." Her voice was snippy and defensive. "And I need the space to organize myself. Here, use my comb, and be nice to your hair, please. No ripping or tearing."

He pulled on his chinos and sat down to watch the floor show. Erin was a sight to behold bustling around in her bra and panties. She ignored him as she ironed her things, and then laid her suit out on the bed and held up an imperious hand. "Your shirt, please."

He fished around on the floor until he found it, and handed it to her. "You're sexy when you iron," he told her.

She sniffed. "If you value your life, you will never say anything so stupid to me ever again. Did you know there's a button loose on this?"

"Nope," he told her. "Never noticed. Never would have."

She set aside her iron and dug into her suitcase again, this time producing a big sewing kit. She pulled out spools of thread and held them against his shirt with a worried frown. "I've got taupe, and I've got white, but this shirt is really closer to oatmeal," she fretted. "What I really need is beige, and I thought I had some in here." She upended the whole thing onto the bed and began sifting through the heap.

He gaped at the spectacle. "I had no idea you were like this."

Her eyes narrowed. "Like what?"

"The type that quibbles over taupe or beige. I never would have dreamed that you were so, uh…"

She brandished her needle. "If you say anal retentive, I will stick this needle into your arm a half an inch deep."

He took a cautious step back. "How about obsessive-compulsive?"

"I prefer to think of myself as detail oriented," she said primly. "Take off your pants, please. I want to stitch up that rip in the back, and then they need to be ironed. Badly."

"Detail oriented, huh?" he said, shucking his pants. "Check me out, Erin. I've got a few details I'd like to orient you toward."

She looked, all innocence, and squeaked. His erection bobbed right in front of her, practically at eye level. "Connor, please! You've had your way with me twice this morning! Don't you ever get enough?"

"Once," he said. "It was twice for you. Only once for me."

"Now who's quibbling over details?" she said tartly. "You had your way with me all night long."

"It's not enough," he said. "I'm never going to get enough of you."

The air was suddenly too hot and thick to breathe. His cock stuck straight out, begging for her attention. Damn thing had no dignity at all.

Her lips tightened. "I'm on to you, Connor. You would love it if I was late to this meeting, wouldn't you? Or if I missed it completely. That would suit you right down to the ground."

"I could care less about your meeting, sweetheart."

She turned her head resolutely away. "That's enough of your tricks. I'm in work mode now, and if you value those precious body parts that you are waving around at me, you will wrap a towel around them and hand me those pants. Right now."

He winced. "Ouch. How long does this work mode of yours last?"

"As long as it takes to get the job done," she said briskly. "Right now, my job is to make you presentable. When we get to the resort, I become an expert on ancient Celtic artifacts." She jabbed her finger toward his chest, and he darted back, wary of her needle. "Your job is to be polite and unobtrusive, and not say anything that will reflect badly on me while I do my job. Is that understood?"

His jaw tightened. "My job is to guard you, Erin."

She snatched the pants away from him. "Then guard me politely and unobtrusively, please."

"This work mode of yours is a bitch," he grumbled. "I liked you better when you were in red-hot sex kitten mode."

She harrumphed, and stitched up the rip in his pants with quick, expert skill. "Isn't that just too bad. No masks, Connor. This is the real me, so deal with it. Put a towel over yourself, please."

"What's the matter, Erin?" he taunted. "Is my cock distracting you?"

She snatched up the scissors, and he jerked away. She smiled sweetly, and snipped the thread. "Relax. And don't think I'm fixing up your clothes because I'm playing out some sick domestic fantasy. It is in my own best interests for you to look decent Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly.

She glared at him. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Hell, no. Not while you're holding those scissors."

Erin muttered to herself as she rummaged through the sewing stuff. She held up a spool, her face bright with triumph. "Beige!"

He tried not to laugh. "I'm happy for you, babe."

He was ready as soon as he put on the clothes she handed to him, but Erin's complicated toilette had barely begun. He followed her into the bathroom against her protests to watch. It was so sexy and feminine and fascinating, the way she dabbed at her face with all those tiny tubes and pots and brushes. Best of all was the hair. She brushed it until it was smooth and glossy and swept it up, twisting until it fell into place. Then she anchored the gleaming coils with hairpins. The finished result was a goddamn miracle of engineering.

They were finally ready to go. Connor dismantled the squealers and tossed them into his grip. He stepped out into the hall, looked both ways, and gestured for her to follow. She reached up to stroke back a stray lock of his hair and straighten his collar.

He stiffened. "What? Do I not look OK?"

She touched his jaw and petted the frown line between his brows with her fingertip. "You look very handsome," she said softly.

He stared down at her, at a total loss for words.

When finally he shook off the spell, he gestured for her to precede him down the hall. She glanced at his leg as he fell into step beside her. "You're limping more than before. Are you all right?"

He stabbed the elevator button. "My bum leg's not used to wild crazy sex in the shower."

"Oh," she whispered. "Sorry."

"It was worth it," he said, as the door opened. "Believe me."

She stared, aghast, at how much he ate. A stack of blueberry pancakes, a four-egg omelet, home fries, English muffins, spicy sausage patties. He polished it all off with unflagging zeal.

"Dear God," she breathed. "Where do you put it all?"

"I don't know." He grinned. "Everything just tastes so great." He signaled the waitress. "Could you bring me a Belgian waffle, please?"

Erin hid behind him, blushing and cringing while he took care of business at the checkout desk, and they headed out to the car.

"How far are we from the Silver Fork Resort?" she asked.

He braced himself for trouble. "About forty minutes."

"Good God!" She looked at her watch. "We're going to be late! I had no idea we were so far! Why didn't you tell me?"

"What for?" He opened the car door for her. "They'll live if you're a few minutes late, Erin."

"You really are trying to sabotage me, aren't you?"

The chill that awaited him when he got into the car was his own damn fault, and he knew it, but it was still a big drag. He'd destroyed the equilibrium they had found, and he missed it. Forty minutes of frigid silence as he negotiated the curves of the coastal highway was plenty of time to examine his motives, but when they arrived at the pretentious wrought iron gates of the resort, he still hadn't decided if he'd made her late on purpose or not. Oh well. Big fucking deal. They were only seventeen minutes late.

Erin jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped moving. Connor got out and hurried after her, seizing her arm. "Hey. Not so fast."

"I am furious with you," she hissed. "Don't touch me."

"You're my adoring fiancee now, remember. Don't fight me, Erin, because I don't give a shit what these folks think of me. And I will not hesitate to embarrass you if it suits my purposes."

"You overbearing lout." She wrenched her arm away.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tilting her face up to his. "If you want to argue, let's just get back into the car," he suggested. "I don't care how late you are. We can park on the other side of those dunes and get into the back seat and discuss it. I really enjoy the way we resolve our differences. I'm more than ready for another argument."

"Don't you dare try to intimidate me with sex," she hissed. "That is a dirty, nasty trick!"

He held her perfectly still, and smiled. She went up onto her tiptoes and glared like she was facing down a panther. He was getting hard again, for God's sake. "God, you're so beautiful when you're mad."

"Go to hell. You really do have a death wish, don't you?"

"I wasn't saying that to piss you off," he said. "I'm just stating a fact. You're ten feet tall like this. You're an Amazon. A lesser man would be facedown on the ground gibbering by now."

Erin's lips twitched in spite of herself. "Gibbering?"

"At the very least," he assured her.

She tossed her head and started up the steps. "I will not be won over by cheap flattery," she informed him.

He hurried after her. "What would win you over, Erin? How about four hours of nonstop oral sex?"

"Pig," she whispered back.

He got there just in time to open the door for her. "Oink, oink."

A man and a woman rose to their feet when Connor and Erin walked into the lobby. One was a dried-up, shriveled guy in his fifties with an expensive gray suit. Gray hair, gray eyes, grayish skin. He gave Connor the creeps. The gray guy gave Erin a brief, tight smile of welcome. His eyes flicked coldly over Connor as he shook Erin's hand. "Ms. Riggs. Thank goodness. We were beginning to worry."

The woman, a stunning redhead, stepped forward with a dazzling smile. She had brilliant emerald eyes, flawless skin, a voluptuous body. She was dressed in a snug, costly looking, ice-blue suit.

Erin shook the redhead's hand. "I'm so sorry if I kept you waiting." She nodded toward Connor. "This is my… ah, this is Connor McCloud. Connor, this is Nigel Dobbs, and this is Tamara Julian."

Connor nodded and held out his hand.

Dobbs took it gingerly. "Er, how do you do?" He sounded as if he would really rather not know.

"Doing great, thanks," Connor said.

"Hello, Connor McCloud," Tamara said, in a throaty voice.

Tamara Julian clung to his hand when he tried to pull it back. Her bright emerald eyes swept over him with frank feminine appraisal.

Here was trouble that he did not need. He gave his hand another tug. This time he managed to retrieve it. He looked at Erin. "So? Better get cracking on those artifacts, babe. It's a long drive back to Seattle."

She slanted him a warning look. "It'll take as long as it takes, Connor, as you well know. Did Mr. Mueller arrive safely last night?"

"When I informed him that you would be unable to dine with him, he changed his plans," Dobbs said. "He will meet with you later this week when he passes through Seattle. Had he stayed, he would have been uncomfortably rushed to make his plane to Hong Kong."

Connor let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Oh. I see." Erin's voice was subdued. "I suppose that makes sense, although I'm sorry that I won't be meeting him today."

"Damn shame," Connor said. "Ain't that just too bad."

Nigel Dobbs gave him a freezing look. "Indeed it was."

"You two should have stayed here last night," Tamara said. "It would have been a pleasure to have you both at dinner."

"We wanted to stay in our usual love nest," Connor said. "I can't bear to leave this gorgeous woman unaccompanied." He wrapped his arm around Erin and gave her a squeeze. "I'd pine away without her."

Tamara raised her dark, perfectly shaped brows. "How very sweet," she said. "A model fiance."

"I try," Connor said.

"Keep trying," Tamara said.

"Ahem. Shall we?" Dobbs said icily. "Follow me, please."

Erin tugged at his arm, but Connor was frozen in place, staring at Tamara. "Have we met?" he asked.

Her smile widened, dazzled. "If you have to ask, then the answer is no," she purred. She placed her hand on his chest, and pressed. "Believe me, Mr. McCloud. If we had met, you would remember."

Connor followed them all down the corridor. Erin was freshly pissed off at him again for some reason, but hell, she so often was. He'd better get used to it and not let it block his concentration. Something was nagging him about the redhead.

He'd seen her somewhere. That prickling feeling on the back of his neck was a sure sign. But what Tamara had said was literally true: aside from his weird freak memory, he was a relatively normal flesh and blood guy. No way was he capable of forgetting that face or that body.

So what? So where? How? Damn.

He stared at Tamara's back as she marched ahead of them, heels clicking against the pavement. He deliberately unfocused his eyes and brain and threw out the net in his head, to reel in vague, half-formed connections, memories. They flashed by like silver fish, at the blinding speed of thought. The color of her suit jacket melted, blended like ocean foam. A vague pattern began to form. He was reaching for it, grasping—

The vicious elbow jab to his ribs took him by surprise. "Oof!" he grunted. "What the fuck was that about?"

Erin's face was pink, her lush mouth compressed into a furious line. "Could you be slightly less obvious in your ogling, please?"

Then it sank in. Ogling. Tamara. His vacuous gaze while he fished in his mind, probably focused on Tamara's ass.

Whoa. This was beautiful. Erin was jealous.

His mood soared. He rubbed the sore spot on his ribs, grinning. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"You are vulgar and crass, and I am going to make you pay."

He swooped down and landed a smacking kiss close to her mouth before she had a chance to jerk away. "I can hardly wait, babe."

If Tamara Julian and Nigel Dobbs overheard their whispered conversation, they made no sign. Connor groped around in his mind for the ephemeral, half-formed pattern, just for the hell of it, but it was long gone, and the space in his mind that it had risen up from was now shut up as tight as a clam. Damn. Nothing to be gained by pounding around for it and wrecking his focus now. He'd have better luck just letting go of it, waiting for it to pop up later in some distracted moment while merging on the freeway, or taking a shower.

It was maddening to have lost it, but almost worth it just to know that he was capable of making Erin Riggs jealous. What an ego rush.

Dobbs and Tamara stopped at a handsome carved door. Dobbs unlocked it and waved them in. They entered a room with a long gleaming wooden table upon which were arranged several swatches of black velvet. Each had an object lying on top of it.

"Ms. Julian laid out the folders with the provenance information for you already," Dobbs said.

Connor felt the change in the quality of Erin's attention as he would have felt a dramatic shift of temperature. She pulled a tape recorder out of her purse, and walked the length of the table. In one swift, photographic glance, he took in a jewel-studded bronze shield, a big silver cauldron covered with relief panels, a bronze helm with a weird, stylistic bird perched on top of it, a bunch of shiny golden collars, bracelets, and brooches. "Testing," Erin said absently. "Testing," her sweet, low, recorded voice said back to her.

He was all alone in that room, with Dobbs and Tamara. Erin was elsewhere, all her energy focused down to a fine, cutting point.

He didn't like it. She'd forgotten that he existed. She was a thousand miles away, thousands of years away. Her eyes glowed with highly organized mental activity that he could not fathom. If he grabbed the redhead and French-kissed her, Erin would never even notice.

Detail oriented did not even begin to describe it.

Erin sank down onto a rolling chair and pulled herself close to the first object, the bronze shield. She flipped through the papers in the folder, and began to speak softly into the tape recorder. "… oblong bronze shield, first century B.C.E., decorated with red enamel, garnets and amethysts… vegetal style… British insular… arabesque motifs…"

He'd gotten accustomed to her full, undivided attention. Now he was the one who was jealous. Of a bunch of old artifacts. How pathetic.

The three of them watched her for a while. Dobbs shot him a sly look. "She's quite something, no?. Such amazing focus. The rest of the world just doesn't even exist for her. It's like a trance."

He gritted his teeth at the smug, proprietary tone of the guy's voice. So happy for himself, just because he had a handle on some part of Erin that Connor did not know. "Impressive," he grunted.

"Mr. Mueller was so looking forward to seeing her in action."

"Poor bastard," Connor said. "Unlucky."

Dobbs's eyes narrowed to pale, pinkish slits. "I gather you've never had the opportunity to watch Ms. Riggs ply her trade."

Connor gave him a toothy grin. "First time for me. Big thrill."

"A remarkable young woman. As you will discover." If you get the chance before a high-class woman like that dumps you back into the gutter where she found you was the screamingly obvious subtext.

"Looking forward to a lifetime of it," Connor said, teeth clenched.

"Indeed." Dobbs sounded amused. "I wish you luck."

"It's fortunate that she can surprise you." Tamara's voice was seductively husky. "Or don't you like surprises, Mr. McCloud?"

"That depends on the surprise," he told her.

"Surprise is the element that keeps passion fresh. Are you capable of surprising her, Mr. McCloud? Have you even attempted it?"

Nigel Dobbs made a shocked noise. "Ms. Julian, if you please! Don't embarrass our guest with inappropriate personal comments!"

Tamara let out a throaty laugh. "Something tells me that Mr. McCloud doesn't embarrass easily."

He looked the taunting bitch straight in her tilted emerald eyes, and noticed two things. The first was that she didn't flinch, which was to her credit, and very unusual. Most people looked away very quickly, when he gave them the death-ray look.

Then they backed away.

The second thing was that her eye color was fake. He would give a great deal to know the original color. Something pale, like blue or gray, or the green wouldn't glow so bright and pure.

Silver fish, flashing by in the azure depths at the blinding speed of thought. Too swift to grasp and hold.

He thought of Erin's shock when he grabbed her in the airport. Of his own, when she jumped out of the bathroom at him buck naked.

Yeah, they knew how to surprise each other. No problems there.

"I don't embarrass easily," he told her. "But the way I surprise my girlfriend is nobody's goddamn business but mine."

Her eyes widened, and then dropped. There was an awkward silence. "I, ah… beg your pardon," she murmured.

"It's OK." He gave her his hard, impenetrable cop smile.

Her lashes fluttered winsomely. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"No offense," he said. "No embarrassment. Just the facts."

She crossed her arms over her impressively stacked bosom, her composure firmly in place again. "Such directness is startling."

"I thought you liked surprises."

Her mouth curved in an appreciative smile. "Touché."

Dobbs cleared his throat aggressively. "Ms. Julian. If you please. Could you entertain Mr. McCloud while Ms. Riggs is occupied here?" Dobbs asked. "Get him an espresso at the bar, or show him the view from the veranda. We don't want him to be bored and restless."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Tamara said warmly. "Ms. Riggs always takes quite some time to conduct her—"

"By all means, Connor," Erin cut in.

They turned, startled. It was her ringing, intergalactic princess voice, the one that always sent a surge of raw heat to his groin. "Go right ahead. I would hate to bore you with Iron Age Celtic grave goods. Let Ms. Julian get you an espresso. It's a perfect opportunity for the two of you to discuss all the places where you might have met."

Erin's agate-brown eyes blazed. She wanted to rip his head off. Even in high-octane work mode, she was tracking him, recording everything he said. Which was a twisted compliment in and of itself.

A stupid grin was spreading all over his face. Everybody was looking at him, waiting for the next line in the vaudeville routine. He planted his ass in a chair and folded his arms over his chest. "I can't imagine anything more fascinating than Iron Age Celtic grave goods, sweetheart," he said. "I'm not missing this show for any money."