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courier, an errand boy.
    He walked to the place where she sat screened by foliage from the bustle of the lobby. Screened, but obviously not hidden. Not from Cole Blackburn.
    There was no hesitation in Cole’s stride when Erin came to her feet and stood waiting for him. He’d had no trouble picking her out of the crowd. Her natural auburn hair burned like a campfire amid the pale candles of the rinsed, bleached, and dyed jet-set women. She was dressed in a black cotton blouse and slacks that had the relaxed appearance of clothes just taken from a suitcase. The contrast of black cloth with red hair and pale, smooth skin was arresting, but Cole would have bet good money that the clothes had been chosen for their ability to travel rather than for how they looked.
    Erin nodded as though to confirm that she was his appointment. Then she walked toward him and Cole cursed silently, feeling like he’d just walked into an ambush.
    The still photo of Erin had told only a tiny portion of the truth. There was a quality to her movements that put Cole’s body on full sexual alert. He’d felt nothing like it since Chen Lai, with her black eyes and golden skin and hidden laughter. Chen Lai, the honeyed snare he’d barely escaped intact, because he’d given Lai more of himself than he should have, mistaking simple lust for the complex emotion of love. It was a mistake he would never make again.
    As they approached each other, Cole studied Erin, looking for some sign that she was conscious of the elemental sexuality in her movements. If she was, she didn’t show it. There were no sidelong looks to see how the men around her were reacting. There was no careful polish of the female surface—no artful makeup, no gleaming-red nails, no tousled hair or undone buttons.
    Lai’s sexuality had been calculated to the last fraction. Erin’s wasn’t, which only increased its allure. And her eyes were the same incredible green of the diamond that men had died for in the past and would doubtless die for in the future.
    The idea made Cole smile crookedly. He’d seen men die for much less tangible, much less beautiful things than a diamond that was the color of every summer God ever made. Ideology, theology, philosophy—none of them could be cut and polished and set to shimmering and dreaming in shades of green on a man’s palm.
    “Erin Windsor? I’m Cole Blackburn.”
    Her eyes widened as she realized how big he was, like an oak taking root in front of her.
    Cole was used to the reaction. He kept his hand extended until she recovered enough to take it.
    “Mr. Blackburn,” Erin said, releasing his hand immediately. “I was expecting someone—er, different. Mr. Rosen, my lawyer, called you a courier.”
    “I’ve been called worse. Is there a place where we can talk privately?”
    “Is it necessary to be private?”
    He shrugged. “Not to me. I just thought you’d like to be alone when I hand more than a million dollars in rough diamonds to you.”
    “You’re joking,” she said, startled.
    “Do I look like a stand-up comic?” He lifted the hand that held the briefcase, showing her the chain and handcuff that leashed it to him. “You can see the diamonds right here if you prefer, but I’d advise less witnesses.”
    Erin made her decision quickly, on the basis of survival instincts she’d developed in the arctic. Considering who and what Cole Blackburn was, the risk involved in being alone with him in her hotel room was less than taking possession of a fortune in rough diamonds in a very public lobby.
    “My room is on the ninth floor,” she said, turning and walking toward the elevators.
    Cole followed, telling himself he was past the age to get aroused by something as trivial as the arc of a woman’s hips. His body silently, violently, disagreed.
    The elevator doors thumped softly closed, shutting out the hushed seething of the lobby. Erin gave the machine a destination. Instantly it began to rise.
    “What did your lawyer tell