LITMIR.BIZ

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with Gil, only by that time someone had told my work colleagues about him so the lie continued to grow. Everyone now thinks I’m mourning both Aurora and a fiancé. My colleague Millie went in search of a photo of Gil that I could put up somewhere. To help me grieve, or maybe to help me rejoice in the time I’d spent with him. Something like that.’

      ‘And then?’

      ‘Someone in PNG sent me an office.’ Charlotte risked another glance in his direction. Greyson Tyler was staring back at her as if reluctantly, unaccountably fascinated. ‘And here you are. I’m not usually this …’ She stopped, lost for words.

      ‘Batty?’ he said. ‘Irresponsible?’

      ‘Like I said, your belongings are in the box in the hallway,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll reimburse you for the cost of your airfare and your time. I’ll make a considerable donation to your research fund. There won’t be any more confusion. I’ll be telling my boss and my colleagues the truth of the matter tomorrow. Your PNG colleagues too, if that’s what it takes. And then there’ll be no more lies.’ No more good reputation or friends either, but the devil would have his due and Charlotte only had herself to blame. ‘You’re not married, are you?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Excellent,’ she said faintly.

      He’d heard madder explanations. Not often, but it could be done. Grey vacillated between wanting to comfort the apologetic Charlotte and wanting to strangle her.

      ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ he muttered, and headed back inside towards the box. The tape gave way easily beneath his hands. Probably his temper showing. Clothes came first and he tossed them aside as befitting their importance. Hard copies of various research papers came next—it looked as if they were all there. He pulled out his laptop and his back-up drives. Reference books, all of them. It was all there.

      ‘What’s missing?’ Associate Professor Charlotte had joined him, she of the velvet voice and excessive imagination. The horror of losing work was something she appeared to understand.

      ‘Nothing,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve decided not to strangle you.’

      ‘You’re a rare and generous man,’ she said.

      ‘I know.’

      ‘Humility too.’

      Sexy velvet voices could be dry as dust and still make his blood stir. Who knew? ‘Let’s not get carried away.’ A warning, and not just for her. He started piling books and references back in the box. The good Charlotte retrieved his clothes and handed them to him at the end.

      ‘I’ve packing tape in the library,’ she said, and Grey glanced down the hallway towards the innards of the house. The library. Of course. It was the kind of house that ran to libraries, a billiards room, conservatory, tennis court, pool and gym. Family estate, he figured. Unless she’d made her fortune before embarking on a career in archaeology. Possibly as a novelist. Thaddeus. Grey snorted. Possibly not.

      ‘Don’t worry about the tape. You’d do better worrying about how your work colleagues are going to react when you tell them there’s no fiancé, dead or otherwise. You do realise that your personal and probably your professional integrity is going to be called into question? Assuming you had some in the first place?’

      Charlotte’s eyes flashed. Temper temper, and it looked very fine on her but she held her tongue. Not a big woman, by any means, but fragile wasn’t a word he would have used to describe her either. Slender, she was that, but she had some generous curves and an abundance of wavy black hair currently tied back in a messy ponytail. She also possessed a heart-shaped face and a creamy complexion that would put Snow White to shame. A wanton’s mouth. One that turned a man’s mind towards feasting on it. Big doe eyes, with dark curling lashes. ‘Are you really an archaeologist?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said grimly. ‘And before you start making comparisons between me and a certain tomb-raiding gun-toting female gaming character, I’ve heard them all before.’

      And been neither flattered nor amused, he deduced. He hefted the box. She held the door open for him.

      ‘Do you need any travel directions to wherever it is you’re heading?’ she asked. ‘Provisions, so you can be on your way? Can of drink? Box of crackers?’

      ‘How did he die?’ asked Grey. ‘This fiancé.’

      ‘Heroically. Very honourably.’ No need for details, decided Charlotte. Details were bad. ‘It was the least I could do.’

      ‘Has anyone ever told you that your grip on reality’s a little shaky?’ he murmured.

      ‘Hello,’ she said dryly. ‘Archaeologist. It’s part of the job description.’

      A smile from him then. One that chased the sternness right out of him and left devilry in its place. Charlotte stared, drinking in the details. Greyson Tyler was a dangerously handsome man when he wanted to be. Handsomer than Gil.

      ‘Hnh,’ she said.

      Greyson’s smile widened. ‘You’ll let me know if anything else of mine happens your way?’ he said.

      ‘Of course.’

      His gaze had shifted to her lips and his smile was fading. Something else started moving into place. Something fierce and heated.

      ‘Will you be staying in Sydney long?’ she all but stuttered. ‘Is there a contact number or address I can reach you at?’

      ‘I’ll be here for a while,’ he said. ‘And yes, there is.’ Not that he seemed inclined to part with that information. ‘This predicament you’ve got yourself in …’

      ‘Which one?’

      ‘The fake dead fiancé. The lie that just keeps getting bigger.’

      ‘Oh. Right. That predicament.’

      ‘There is a way around it without necessarily having to come clean about the lie,’ he offered. ‘You’d be indebted to me, of course, but I figure that’s a small price to pay, and I do happen to know of a way in which you could repay me. All strictly above board and harmless, more or less.’

      ‘What are you suggesting?’

      ‘Resurrection.’

      ‘Pardon?’

      ‘You’re not the only one with an ex-fiancé,’ he murmured. ‘Although mine happens to be real and she’s not yet dead. She’s also been welcome at my parents’ place since childhood. She’s part of the family, the daughter my mother never had.’

      ‘No wonder you went paddling up the Sepik afterwards,’ said Charlotte. ‘Who ended the engagement?’

      ‘I did.’

      ‘Were you heartbroken?’

      ‘Do I look heartbroken?’

      ‘I really don’t know you well enough to tell. Was she heartbroken?’

      ‘The engagement was a mistake,’ said Greyson Tyler curtly. ‘Sarah wants a conventional husband. One who’s home more often than not. One who’s ready to settle down and start a family.’

      ‘How unusual,’ murmured Charlotte and wore Greyson’s steel-eyed glare with equanimity.

      ‘That’s not me. I don’t know if it’ll ever be me, only Sarah—’ He gave a tiny shake of his head. ‘Sarah wants to pick up where we left off. With my family’s blessing.’

      ‘You’re a big boy. Just say no.’

      ‘I have. No one seems to believe me. No one wants to believe me. I’m running out of gentle ways of saying no, but maybe you can help me. Maybe I can help you.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘I need a woman at

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