LITMIR.BIZ

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to her—something like that. So why you think you deserve to have it back at all is—”

      “Nothing was free where Isobel was concerned.” Cooper knew he sounded sarcastic. He didn’t much care; it was true. “She got that box through deceit and extortion.”

      Hannah’s daintily-arched eyebrows climbed. “Not much of an extortion scheme,” she murmured, “if the prize was worth five hundred dollars, tops.”

      “If that’s your way of warning me that you’re even better at extortion than Isobel was—”

      In a flash, her eyes went from clear to turbulent, from a millpond to a storm-tossed sea. “If you expect me to sit here and listen to you, you’d better be careful about throwing accusations around.”

      “But if you walk out on me now, you won’t get anything at all. If you name a price we can agree on, you’ll be that much better off and you won’t have to deal with me anymore. So give yourself a break, Hannah. How much do you want for the box?”

      “Why are you so sure I’ll take money for it? Maybe, if you tell me how Isobel got her hands on it, I’ll feel sorry for you and give it back for nothing.”

      And donkeys will fly, he thought. He hadn’t intended to sit around with her long enough to explain it all, but he supposed there was no real reason not to tell her the Winston side of the story. It might be interesting to find out how it compared to whatever Isobel had told her. “All right, you asked for it. The Captain brought the box home from a trip to the Orient as a gift for his bride, and from then on it was passed down through the generations, given to the oldest child on his or her wedding day.”

      “The Lovers’ Box,” she said softly. “Why not call it the Bridal Box?”

      “Since I wasn’t there when the name originated, I have no idea. At any rate, the box became a sort of talisman, because through all the decades, none of those marriages failed.”

      “And now I suppose you’re planning to get married, so you want it back. That will disappoint Kitty Stephens. You didn’t even give her a fair chance—”

      “I have no intention of getting married.”

      “Well, that’s a relief.”

      Cooper eyed her warily. “Why’s that?”

      “Oh, not because my mind runs along the same channels as Kitty’s does,” she assured him airily. “It doesn’t matter to me whether you get married. But you see, I’d have bet you weren’t the superstitious sort who would care about either a trinket or a legend—so it’s a relief to know my prophetic abilities haven’t gone completely on the fritz. You’ve left the question unanswered, of course. If you don’t want the box for yourself, why is it so important?”

      “The Lovers’ Box should have gone to my mother on her wedding day. Instead, not long before my parents were married, Isobel persuaded my grandfather to take the name literally and give the box to her instead.”

      Hannah’s eyes weren’t stormy anymore, but they were darker than Cooper had ever seen them before—like deep, still pools at the edge of a quiet lake. He could almost feel himself teetering on the shore. A man could drown in those eyes if he wasn’t careful.

      She was frowning. “I don’t quite see—”

      “They were lovers,” he said grimly.

      “Isobel and your grandfather were—No.”

      Cooper nodded. “Paramours. Hanky-panky partners. Cohorts in the horizontal waltz. My grandfather had a sweet tooth, and Isobel was the little cookie he chose to satisfy it. How many ways do I have to say it?”

      “Cookie? Are you sure you haven’t got Isobel mixed up with someone like—oh, Kitty Stephens, say? Isobel was the farthest thing from a cookie that I can imagine.”

      “You’re thinking of Isobel at eighty, and I admit it’s a little difficult to picture her inspiring a great passion.” He paused, and added thoughtfully, “Except perhaps for inciting someone to murder her. She could do that without even trying.”

      “You didn’t, did you?” Hannah sounded suspicious. “Murder her, I mean.”

      “You surely don’t expect me to dignify that with an answer.”

      “I guess not,” she mused. “I probably wouldn’t believe you anyway.”

      “Thanks,” Cooper said dryly. “At any rate, to get back to the story…Try to imagine Isobel at—your age, say. What are you? Twenty-seven?”

      “Isobel was never my age.”

      “When she was young, that tongue of hers probably seemed witty instead of sarcastic and callous. She’d have been exotic, slightly shocking—and never boring.”

      Hannah shook her head, but Cooper thought it was more in resignation than denial.

      “And I’ve seen pictures of her then,” he said softly. “If you can look past the crazy fashions and the strange hairstyles, she was really quite beautiful. Enormous eyes, widow’s peak, interesting cheekbones…rather like yours, as a matter of fact.”

      Cooper didn’t realize he’d reached out till his fingertips brushed the hollow of Hannah’s cheek. He heard her catch her breath and told himself to stop. But his hand didn’t seem to get the message. His fingers slid slowly, barely touching the flesh, along her jawline and down her throat. “The long neck, the white throat, what they used to call a bee-stung mouth…” The pad of his thumb tingled as he brushed it ever so softly across her lower lip. “I can understand why my grandfather lost his head.”

      The hell of it was, he really could understand. If Isobel had been half as appealing in her prime as Hannah was…

      He watched the rise and fall of Hannah’s breasts under the trimly tailored green jacket as she tried to control her breathing, and he knew that his own was just as ragged. What in damnation had he been thinking? This woman wasn’t some cookie. She was dangerous—even more so, in her own way, than Isobel had been.

      He picked up his glass and tossed down the rest of his wine. He could smell the musty scent of her perfume on his hand, as if simply touching her had marked him. “Anyway, that’s how Isobel got the box. Along with a whole lot of other things—the condo, the pension fund…”

      “How do you know Isobel demanded all those things? Maybe your grandfather was so besotted with her that he’s the one who insisted on setting her up for life.”

      “Maybe you’re right—about the condo, at least,” Cooper said deliberately. “From his point of view, it would have been pretty clever to put the love nest right downstairs from his own place, so he didn’t even have to put on an overcoat to go visit his charmer.”

      Hannah frowned. “He lived at Barron’s Court, too?”

      “In the penthouse I inherited from him. Now that I think about it, perhaps Isobel was the inspiration for his whole scheme to turn the old Barron’s Hotel into condos in the first place. Before that, my grandparents lived in one of the big old mansions south of Grand Avenue—and he could hardly have installed Isobel in the guest room without Gran noticing. But we’re drifting from the point.”

      “The Lovers’ Box.” Hannah touched it with a fingertip.

      “I want the box so I can put it back where it belongs, Hannah—in my mother’s hands. I’m willing to pay good money for it, just as I was willing to pay Isobel.”

      “Oh, really?” Skepticism dripped from Hannah’s voice. “Then—if Isobel was so mercenary—why didn’t she sell it to you?”

      He’d thought until then that he was making progress. She’d been softening, he was sure of it, until he’d gotten careless and made a misstep. What was wrong with him, to make him forget that she was a demon of a negotiator?

      “Because it wasn’t

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