“Oops. Slipped.” Hooking her thumbs in her pockets, she strolled into the living room. “Just where we left them,” she said with a nod at the paintings. “And you know what, I don’t see anything different about them either. Job’s done for today. Let’s go shopping or something.”
“I want to do a more thorough study of them, and I want to go through all the research notes. But there’s no reason for you to hang around.”
“I promised Flynn.”
“Flynn’s a worrywart.”
“Well, yeah, but I promised.” Sensing movement in the doorway behind her, she stiffened. “And unlike some, I keep my promises.”
“And hold a grudge with equal fervor,” Jordan commented. “Hello, ladies. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to go over the paintings and my notes again,” Malory told him. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Who’s he to mind? It’s not his house.”
“True enough.” Jordan, tall and tough in black jeans and black T-shirt, leaned against the doorjamb. “Help yourself.”
“Haven’t you got something better to do than lurk?” Dana tossed out. “A book to pretend to write, a publisher to skin.”
“You know us commercial fiction hacks. We just knock ’em out in a couple weeks, then lounge around on our royalties.”
“I don’t mind if the two of you want to fight, really, I don’t.” Malory dumped her briefcase, fat with notes, on the crate. “But maybe you could take it to another room.”
“We’re not fighting.” Jordan replied. “This is foreplay.”
“In your dreams.”
“Stretch, in my dreams you’re usually wearing a lot less. Let me know if I can help you out with anything, Malory.” He straightened, then strolled away.
“Be right back.” Dana was after him like a rocket. “In the kitchen, hotshot.” She streamed by, then gritted her teeth while she waited for him to catch up.
He moved at his own pace, she thought, and always had. Her temper sparked as he wandered in. She was readying the first salvo when he stepped right up, gripped her hips, and covered her shocked mouth with his.
The blast of heat blew straight through her.
That had always been, as well.
Fire and flash and promise all balled together in some sort of molten comet that exploded in the brain and left the system wrecked.
Not this time, not this time. Not ever again.
With considerable force she shoved him back a step. She wouldn’t slap. Too predictable and female. But she very nearly punched.
“Sorry. I thought that was what you called me out here for.”
“Try that again, and you’ll be bleeding from various fatal wounds.”
He shrugged, sauntered over to the coffeepot. “My mistake.”
“Damn right. Any rights you had to touch me expired a long time ago. You may be part of this thing because you happened to buy that damn painting, and I’ll tolerate you because of that. And because you’re Flynn’s friend. But as long as you’re here, you’ll abide by the rules.”
He poured two mugs of coffee, set hers on the counter. “Spell them out for me.”
“You don’t ever touch me. If I’m about to step in front of a damn bus, you don’t so much as reach out to pull me back to the curb.”
“Okay. You’d rather be run over by a bus than have me touch you. Check. Next?”
“You’re a son of a bitch.”