LITMIR.BIZ

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wanted to scream. He was toying with her, playing a game of aren’t-I-the-calm-clever-one? Exasperated, she shook her head, intending to leave before her composure cracked. Elijah surprised her by grabbing her arm and tugging her against him. He was all muscle and sinew, deliciously lean sensual male. Shocked by the unexpected feel of him, she froze.

      He lowered his head and claimed her mouth in a soft, exploratory kiss. Warm, gentle. Nothing like she would have expected. Before she could fully comprehend what had happened, he released her with a smile.

      “See you at dinner.”

      The door snicked closed. Stunned, Reagan stared at the wood. A minute passed before she felt the slow burn of heat on her face. He’d done it again. Made a fool of her; and she’d let him. What was she thinking? The man was a–a–child!

      With a PhD, a silent voice mocked. He was damned attractive, and she knew it.

      Disgusted, she dug her fingernails into her palms. Is this how he planned to charm Livy Franklin? It wasn’t Brody with his blond good looks and suave manner she had to worry about. It was Elijah Cross. Despite her better judgment, despite their age difference, she couldn’t get him out of her head.

      Or erase the feel of his lips on hers.

      Panicked by the realization, she kicked the door as hard as she could. Pain spiked from her ankle to her kneecap. She spat an unladylike curse and hobbled in a circle. A glance down the hall told her no one had witnessed her ridiculous fit of temper. All she needed was the arrival of golden-girl Livy or model-perfect Monica to make her humiliation complete. Muttering, she limped into her room and slammed the door. A painting wobbled on the wall.

      She glared at it, as if it had questioned her integrity. She could still feel the heat of Elijah’s lips on hers, a sensation that left her unnerved. Did she want to wring his neck, or invite him for an encore? The resurrection of her bewildering attraction sent her over the top, and she did the only childish thing she could think to do. Stomping into the bath, she locked the adjoining door, permanently barring him from the shared room.

      * * * *

      Elijah grinned when he heard the loud thump against his door, Reagan’s curt response to his spur-of-the-moment kiss. Maybe it had been a stupid thing to do, but he couldn’t get the woman out of his head. It wasn’t as if he’d never felt instant attraction before, but this went beyond normal male hormones and the allure of an impromptu fling. He clicked with Reagan and liked the rarity of that. Most of his relationships went belly-up once a woman realized how exhausting his mind could be. Even at sixteen he’d been involved with older women, a side effect of rarely having been with people his own age. He knew women found him attractive, but once the novelty of his intelligence and looks wore off, they grew bored with what remained. A fish out of water.

      Elijah paced to the window and laced a hand through his long hair. He’d grown up in a hurry, forced into awkward social situations before he was ready. Intellectually, he’d been ahead of the game, but had lacked the maturity of his much older peers. To cover his insecurities, he’d developed an off-the-cuff attitude. It was a role he’d grown comfortable with over time. Too comfortable.

      He shouldn’t have behaved the way he had with Reagan. Anyone with a smidgen of common sense would have let the attraction develop at its own pace, but, idiot that he was, he lived life in fast-forward. He didn’t know how to slow down and handle circumstance the way the rest of the world did. He’d always been one step ahead, the brilliant academic breaking records, blazing new boundaries.

      And falling flat on his face.

      What was so brilliant about aggravating Reagan? They’d been on rocky ground from the start. He probably alienated her for good with the stunt he’d just pulled, but–damn–all he’d cared about was kissing her! The temptation of covering her moist, full lips with his had shot his sanity to hell. He’d been blindsided by her from the moment they’d met. Her insistence on strict professionalism only made him want her more.

      He thought of her lips, lush and smooth, and how they’d molded perfectly to his. He could still feel her heat smoldering beneath the surface, so rocket-hot it made his groin ache. He had it bad. Dr. Elijah Cross, noted PhD, thinking with his libido. He was doomed, plain and simple.

      He sprawled in a chair and glanced about the room. It was spacious and neat, decorated in warm shades of russet, olive and gold. French doors led to a sundeck overlooking a barren stretch of beach to the rear. Through the glass he could hear the roar of the surf as it crashed on rock and sand. The duffel bag he’d jammed full of clothes and toiletries sat at the foot of the bed, courtesy of Sothern’s house staff. His lone suit had been hung in the closet.

      Expelling a breath, he slouched lower in the chair. He’d have to do some fancy apologizing before the day was out if he wanted to put his relationship with Reagan back on track. Originally, when he’d agreed to help Gavin Cassidy, all he’d cared about was learning why the Twelfth Sun sank. Rook’s journal would end two centuries of theory and debate. As intriguing as that was, it took a backseat to Reagan and her tight little behind. Stifling a groan, he dragged both hands over his face.

      Red hair, green eyes and a body with enough curves to make a man forget his own name.

      The woman was gorgeous. Not just passing pretty, but stop-a-man-in-his-tracks-gorgeous. Too bad she considered him little more than an overgrown schoolboy. So what if there was a gap in their ages? He wasn’t a wet-behind-the-ears teenager and she a tottering old grandmother. It was the twenty-first century, for crying out loud. Didn’t she realize older women with younger men were in vogue? She’d certainly had no qualms about flirting with Brody.

      Elijah snorted.

      Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been flirting exactly, but they’d been awfully cozy. He scowled, knowing his sometimes friend, more often rival, had been blessed with a healthy dose of good looks and charm. Determined to keep Reagan away from him, he pushed from the chair and headed for the door. He had a day and a half to convince her he wasn’t a bookish egghead, good only for mucking through maritime histories. He knew his way around the bedroom every bit as well as the lab. With any luck, she’d let him prove it.

      * * * *

      Reagan took her time unpacking. When she was done, she wandered through the house, adjusting to the scope of the mammoth estate. A man given to eclectic tastes, Sothern had installed everything from a fully-equipped photographer’s dark room to an artist’s gallery on the main level. A greenhouse, conservatory, library, and formal dining room in a glass-enclosed rotunda, overlooked the rocky beach. The circular dining room, Pellar had called it. It was stunning and elaborate, designed to take advantage of breathtaking ocean views. Yet it was the small-scale planetarium, offset from the main house she found the most intriguing. Who the hell had a planetarium in their house?

      Curious, she wandered inside. The room was dark, illuminated only by a glittering array of star constellations scattered on an overhead dome. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the eerie lighting. Feeling her way among the seats, she moved to the center of the room and slipped into a padded chair. She tilted her head back, enthralled by the icy gleam of stars, so life-like she expected to feel a nighttime breeze on her face. With a start, she became aware of another presence. Someone had been in the room before her and was seated a few rows to her right. In the limited light, the form was without shape, a lump in the darkness. She sensed when the person looked in her direction.

      “Beautiful, isn’t it?” The voice was husky and low. It could have belonged to a man or a woman.

      Reagan squinted, straining to see through the darkness. Eventually she gave up and looked at the stars clustered overhead. “What are they?”

      “Constellations of the southern hemisphere.” The form shifted, manipulating something unseen. A beam of blue light danced across the dome, outlining a single cluster. “This is Crux, the Southern Cross. It’s guided sailors for centuries. Twelve point four five hours right ascension, minus fifty-nine point nine seven degrees declination. Visible from latitudes south of twenty-five degrees North. To us, completely invisible,

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