LITMIR.BIZ

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went on, “But it does talk about the history of the house. Everyone seems to think Matilda and the women who’ve inhabited the place since are witches.” His eyes locked into hers. “Are you?”

      “You’re a doctor. A scientist. You should know better.”

      “So, you think my framework of knowledge is limited to microbes and cells?”

      Her lips suddenly twitched, as if the banter was threatening to make her smile against her will. “That was my hope.”

      It was a risk, but he inched closer, near enough to catch a whiff of her perfume. “The way you seem to affect me, you’re testing my deepest convictions.”

      “A man should always keep his convictions.”

      He kept his voice steady and bemused, even though she was doing wild things to his blood. “Why?”

      “It shows character.”

      Chuckling, he shrugged. “An overrated virtue.”

      The scent of her perfume was soft, faint and floral, but he could smell something else beneath it that stirred him. He could sense so much in this woman. Old wounds that ran deep. A river of pain, maybe. But he wanted to ask her a thousand questions, starting with how it felt to grow up in a place that was apparently considered to be the local haunted house.

      Taking a deep breath, she blew out an audible sigh. “To be honest,” she murmured. “I don’t want the CDC here.” She frowned. “Really, it’s nothing personal.”

      “It’s always personal.”

      “I don’t know if it was in your…uh, dossier.”

      “It’s not a dossier. Just so you know, the CDC doesn’t really keep files on citizens. It’s America, and we do have civil rights, you know.”

      “I work for a Pittsburgh TV station,” she began. “And next week, during the Harvest Festival, a cameraman’s coming from Charleston, to help me tape a feature spot. It’s a big chance for me. I don’t want anything blowing it. I definitely don’t want the World Health Organization coming into town during the shoot, much less the military.”

      He was impressed. “The plot thickens.”

      “Meaning?”

      “I thought you were home for a family vacation.”

      “That, too.”

      But she had ambition.

      “And in addition to keeping you off my turf,” she continued, “I need to find a missing recipe book. It’s old, treasured by my family. It contains all Matilda’s recipes, was written by her own hand. People have tried to steal it for years, as my grandmother suggested downstairs, but now, someone’s broken into the safe, and taken it.” She paused. “So you see,” she finished, “I don’t have time for flirtation.”

      His heart missed another beat. “Flirtation wasn’t really what I had in mind.”

      “No?”

      He slowly shook his head. Primal heat flared inside him. Barely able to believe he was doing it—he was usually a little more suave—he glanced pointedly toward the bed. “Flirtation,” he murmured, raising a finger to touch her cheek once more. “It does seem like a waste of time.”

      She blinked, as if she couldn’t quite believe the conversation they were having, then answering desire sparked in her eyes and she said the very last thing he expected. “Then let’s not waste any more of it.”

      Scarcely believing his ears, Rex leaned across the scant remaining foot between them, circled an arm around her waist and drew her against himself, almost gasping as they made contact. She had a strong body. Probably, she worked out, and the muscles and bones felt equally hard, and yet she yielded to him, too, with a female softness. He arched to her, and as his mouth covered hers, she lifted her hands to his shoulders.

      His tongue pushed apart her lips, and belatedly, he realized his kiss was too hard, too demanding. He didn’t even know her. They’d met only moments before. Maybe Romeo was in the water, after all. Maybe he’d become infected as he’d splashed in the chlorinated pool. Why had he gone swimming? Usually, he was much more rigorous at a possibly infected site. But it had seemed so hot, and the proprietors hadn’t been around, and…

      Jessica would kill him if she knew.

      But right now, he didn’t even care. His hands tightened around Ariel’s back, urging her closer, as her tongue moved against his, feeling silken, hot and delicious. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, then he felt them on his bare back, moving toward the elastic band of his trunks.

      He wanted to remove her jacket again. And as he imagined using his teeth to unbutton the flimsy silk blouse, and his tongue to lick inside the lace of the bra, blood engorged him.

      When she broke the kiss, he was half-glad. At least one of them had come to their senses. Except that, honestly, he wanted to spiral back downward into the whirlpool of the kiss and spend all night drowning in it.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, breathlessly. “I don’t know what…came over me.”

      If he reached for her, she’d let him kiss her again, right now. He knew it and she knew it. Even as she took another self-protective step backward, she was licking her lips, tasting his moisture.

      “I do,” he managed to say huskily, slowly shaking his head, barely able to believe the kinetic heat that had ignited between them. “We want each other.”

      Her skin was flushed, her breath short. “Like I said,” she continued, her voice holding a quiver that indicated she was just as shaken as him. “I’m worried about my project. And you’re only here overnight. Before dinner, you can take your samples of the water.” She pointed through the window. “Those steps take you right down to the spring.”

      “I have to take them from other locations as well,” he found himself saying, the words seeming strangely inane in his mouth. Why were they talking at all? The way she’d felt in his arms, and tasted on his lips, they should have wound up in that huge bed making love.

      Tonight, she’d come to him. He knew it like his own name. And right now, if someone told him he’d become clairvoyant, he’d have believed it. He could see her in his fantasies, naked and sudsed in the bathtub…how he’d slowly dry each inch of her before pulling down the duvet and laying her on sheets.

      Her voice still held that crazy-making quiver. “You’ve got a few hours until dinner.”

      With that, she turned to go. He could only watch in disbelief—and need. Every swish of her hips felt like sheer torture. His hands ached to mold the curves of her hips. Instead, he said, “I’ll be leaving in fifteen minutes. Think you can be ready?”

      At the threshold, she turned. Everything in her gaze said she felt they’d better stay as far apart as possible. “Ready?”

      Determined to ignore the fact that he was standing there, barefoot with a hard-on, in nothing but wet trunks, he said, “In case the World Health Organization really does wind up involved in this. It might affect your story.”

      Looking torn, she considered the truth of it. “Okay,” she finally said. “Fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you downstairs. We’ll take my car. It’s the silver Honda Accord.”

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