“I do, however, spend considerable time wooing his bosses.”
“No one argues with the moneyman.” Rowan thought about her afternoon visit to Gallagher International. “Or the man with the fancy research lab.”
“Spot-on you are.”
“I think I’m beginning to get a picture.” Rowan took another sip of her champagne as she glanced around the room. “You ensure the top museum brass have an unlimited supply of what they need, namely money and access to research services, and in exchange, it allows you to keep tabs on Monroe and his activities.”
“Spot-on again.”
“And keeping tabs also ensures you have a place on the digs, whether Monroe wants you there or not.”
“Now you’re just showing off.” The cocky grin was back, along with that distinct layer of respect in his gaze. “Well, then. Are you ready to go have some fun?”
“At this event?”
“Of course.”
She paused a moment, pleased when Finn’s gaze darkened with that tantalizing attraction that hummed subtly between them. “There’s a phrase in America. It’s called poking the bear in his den.”
“You’re suggesting Monroe’s the bear in this delightful Mark Twain-esque colloquialism?”
“Yep.”
Finn extended his arm and Rowan took it, his hard strength more than evident through the sleeve of his suit jacket. She fought the urge to cling to those delectable muscles, instead nodding in the direction of Baxter Monroe. “Allow me to lead the way.”
* * *
Finn gave himself the momentary gift of simply drinking her in, before he moved them deftly through the ballroom. The woman cut an incredible figure, the black dress clinging to each and every curve she possessed. If her plum suit from earlier had twisted him in knots, the black cocktail dress had him engulfed in flames.
She was stunning. Her pert features—already maximized by the short cap of hair that covered her head—stood out without the need for much fuss. Her makeup was minimal, the natural flush of her cheeks a sign of her vitality. The gamine cut of her hair had a secondary benefit—her neck and shoulders were fully exposed. The slender curve of her neck drew his gaze and he imagined pressing a line of kisses there, flicking his tongue lightly against her skin with the sole purpose of making her shiver.
The image gripped him as he placed his near-empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. Finn laid his hand over hers, pleased by the light jolt that rattled through his body at the contact. The shudder of her arm where it threaded through his only reinforced she was as affected as he was.
He took pleasure from the thought, surprised when a quick flash of memory rose up swift and strong. The same woman, clad all in black, pressing her lips to his.
He wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to see if the lush memory he’d kept all these years was nearly as satisfying as he remembered. Wanted to know if there was a way to replicate something that sweet and innocent, yet carnal and almost desperate with need.
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it.” Baxter’s voice broke the moment, and thoughts of kissing Rowan Steele vanished at the very clear evidence they were both “on.” The hand that had reflexively tightened on his arm with attraction tightened once more, this time in a subtle anger that practically vibrated from her.
He disengaged their linked arms, shifting his hand to the small of her back, and pulled her a fraction of an inch closer, whether in protection or possession, Finn didn’t know. “Baxter.”
Monroe turned to face Rowan. “And Miss Steele? I understand you’ll be joining us in the Valley of the Queens. I’m delighted.”
“Likewise.”
“When did you arrive in town?”
The forced conversation spun out and Finn was amused to watch how elegantly Rowan played her mark. She kept up the polite facade, never breaking eye contact or the subtle hints of flirtation until she went in for the kill. “I understand the site’s discovery was
“No one argues with the moneyman.” Rowan thought about her afternoon visit to Gallagher International. “Or the man with the fancy research lab.”
“Spot-on you are.”
“I think I’m beginning to get a picture.” Rowan took another sip of her champagne as she glanced around the room. “You ensure the top museum brass have an unlimited supply of what they need, namely money and access to research services, and in exchange, it allows you to keep tabs on Monroe and his activities.”
“Spot-on again.”
“And keeping tabs also ensures you have a place on the digs, whether Monroe wants you there or not.”
“Now you’re just showing off.” The cocky grin was back, along with that distinct layer of respect in his gaze. “Well, then. Are you ready to go have some fun?”
“At this event?”
“Of course.”
She paused a moment, pleased when Finn’s gaze darkened with that tantalizing attraction that hummed subtly between them. “There’s a phrase in America. It’s called poking the bear in his den.”
“You’re suggesting Monroe’s the bear in this delightful Mark Twain-esque colloquialism?”
“Yep.”
Finn extended his arm and Rowan took it, his hard strength more than evident through the sleeve of his suit jacket. She fought the urge to cling to those delectable muscles, instead nodding in the direction of Baxter Monroe. “Allow me to lead the way.”
* * *
Finn gave himself the momentary gift of simply drinking her in, before he moved them deftly through the ballroom. The woman cut an incredible figure, the black dress clinging to each and every curve she possessed. If her plum suit from earlier had twisted him in knots, the black cocktail dress had him engulfed in flames.
She was stunning. Her pert features—already maximized by the short cap of hair that covered her head—stood out without the need for much fuss. Her makeup was minimal, the natural flush of her cheeks a sign of her vitality. The gamine cut of her hair had a secondary benefit—her neck and shoulders were fully exposed. The slender curve of her neck drew his gaze and he imagined pressing a line of kisses there, flicking his tongue lightly against her skin with the sole purpose of making her shiver.
The image gripped him as he placed his near-empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. Finn laid his hand over hers, pleased by the light jolt that rattled through his body at the contact. The shudder of her arm where it threaded through his only reinforced she was as affected as he was.
He took pleasure from the thought, surprised when a quick flash of memory rose up swift and strong. The same woman, clad all in black, pressing her lips to his.
He wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to see if the lush memory he’d kept all these years was nearly as satisfying as he remembered. Wanted to know if there was a way to replicate something that sweet and innocent, yet carnal and almost desperate with need.
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it.” Baxter’s voice broke the moment, and thoughts of kissing Rowan Steele vanished at the very clear evidence they were both “on.” The hand that had reflexively tightened on his arm with attraction tightened once more, this time in a subtle anger that practically vibrated from her.
He disengaged their linked arms, shifting his hand to the small of her back, and pulled her a fraction of an inch closer, whether in protection or possession, Finn didn’t know. “Baxter.”
Monroe turned to face Rowan. “And Miss Steele? I understand you’ll be joining us in the Valley of the Queens. I’m delighted.”
“Likewise.”
“When did you arrive in town?”
The forced conversation spun out and Finn was amused to watch how elegantly Rowan played her mark. She kept up the polite facade, never breaking eye contact or the subtle hints of flirtation until she went in for the kill. “I understand the site’s discovery was
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