Free Femme Fatale by Virginia Kantra, Doranna Durgin, Meredith Fletcher Page B

sitting cross-legged and casual, by the time she paused in her examination of the above her and spotted him, her tiny flashlight wavering. Ahh, an expression to treasure. The way her deep turquoise eyes, shadowed to darkness by the cavelike circumstances, widened with startled surprise. The way her mouth, sleek and quirky and darkened with some kissable shade of lipstick, dropped open just long enough to betray the depth of that surprise. And even the twinge of annoyance that flared across her face and dropped away, replaced by a distinct refusal to be impressed. And the way he was in the perfect position to look right down her—
    “Lovely dress,” he said, keeping his voice low although he wasn’t terribly concerned about being heard over the general conversation level in the room. “Shame to use it as a dust mop.”
    “I’m testing the material for durability,” she said, not missing a beat now that she’d gotten her initial astonishment under control. She flicked her flashlight back up at the underside of the table. “It’s a private test. Go away. You’re disturbing my dust.”
    Even as she spoke, another look crossed her face, one that had nothing to do with him at all. She turned the flashlight on the floor between them, then on the space she’d already traversed. “Damn!”
    He passed a fingertip over the floor directly in front of him; it came up dusty. “I don’t know why you’re here,” he said, “and I don’t know why you’re here, under-the-table here, but…it doesn’t look like anyone else has been arranging assignations under the wine lately.”
    She gave him a grumpy look, aiming the flashlight back up at the table. “Neither have we. This is a one-woman show. I believe I told you to go away.”
    “I don’t believe I ever said I would.”
    She scowled fiercely at him. “You’re in my way. You’re quadrupling my chances of being caught under here. Go—”
    “No.” He really regretted it that time; he’d heard an edge of desperation in her words.
    “Don’t be zwitterionic!”
    He raised an eyebrow at her. “Very nice,” he said in approval. “I shall have to go home and look that one up.”
    “Don’t bother,” she grumbled. She tugged at the shawl she’d flung over one shoulder as it started to slip, and shoved it back into place. “It’s not right. It just sounded good.”
    “Look,” he said. “This isn’t a good time or place—I know that. But I had a good time and place, and you ran off.”
    “It was your time,” she said. “ Your place. And your conversation. You were the one who ended that conversation, if you recall. I made you an offer and you refused.”
    He shrugged. “Circumstances change.”
    “They do, don’t they?” she said. “If you think I can’t change these particular circumstances, think again. That was a one-time offer. You don’t get close enough to pull out your favorite toy handcuffs. Not again.”
    “You blew my favorite toy handcuffs apart,” he said crossly. “And…I may have been wrong to turn youdown, damn it.” Damn it, because he was on the verge of closing the rule book and leaving it behind. Bear had said to bring her in…that was as good as orders.
    But Bear wasn’t here now. Bear hadn’t seen this woman in action. Bear hadn’t seen her fiery spirit channeled into a sizzling glare and aimed his way. Even if Jason somehow dragged Beth all the way back to the hotel room, the delay between asking the questions and getting answers would be…significant.
    Now she eyed him warily, waiting to see where he was going with the conversation—but only for a moment. Then she turned her attention back to the table, running the flashlight along the inside edges of the area over his head…and sighing, turning the flashlight off.
    “Not there?” he asked, and then, at her warning look, added, “Never mind. Let’s just get out of here, and then we’ll talk about…talking.”
    “Wishful thinking,” she said, but tucked the