Free Stolen Fury by Elisabeth Naughton

doorway.
    Hailey’s smile faded as she rose and set her beer on the counter. “I don’t. You’re also controlling, obnoxious and a royal pain in my ass. And if you aren’t planning on pressing charges, I’m going to head home, soak my aching feet, and fantasize about a long torrid love affair with Brad Pitt. Call me if you need anything.”
    She cast Lisa a quick and speculative glance, then slipped out the front door.
    Lisa’s pulse kicked up a notch at the thought of being alone with Rafe again. She was not relieved the man was no longer married, dammit. That thought was just too stupid to even entertain.
    But she sure as hell didn’t miss the fact the ‘pretty boy’ in front of her put Brad Pitt to shame. Mayan god came to mind as she studied him from head to toe. His hair was combed back, wet curls teasing the nape of his neck. He’d ditched the dripping clothes and was now wearing a white cotton T-shirt that advertised a bar somewhere in the Keys, and fresh faded blue jeans slung low on his hips. His bare feet peeked out from beneath the cuffs of his jeans; his strong arms and broad chest filled out the snug shirt. And when he flashed that crooked smile her way, her insides went all liquid.
    Thief, liar, jerk. Why couldn’t she remember those simple facts when he looked at her with those roving eyes?
    “So, the relief,” she said, rising and clearing her throat, hoping that would refocus her on the real reason she’d tracked him down. Hoping it would at least get her mind out of the gutter. “Where is it?”
    His smile faded. He slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against the doorjamb. “It’s safe.”
    “I want it.”
    “I think I realize that,” he said, glancing around the room.
    “I didn’t do this,” she said again.
    “Well, someone did. And all the signs point to you, querida. ”
    Her eyes narrowed with understanding. “You’re not going to give it to me, are you?”
    He studied her for a long moment, dark, piercing eyes locked on hers. “Not yet.”
    Yet. Teasing, but no guarantee one way or the other. She crossed her arms over her chest and fought back the obscenities lingering on her tongue. “What do you want, Sullivan?”
    He pushed away from the door, crossed and stood right in front of her. Some leathery scent mixed with sage and citrus washed over her, making her aware of his raw masculinity, making her forget what she’d even asked in the first place. “I want Tisiphone.”
    He was easily a foot taller than she was, close to six-two. Her size had never really been an issue before—in her line of work it was actually an asset. She could get into nooks and crannies her colleagues couldn’t, and she used that fact to her advantage whenever she could. But standing in front of him now, feeling the warmth radiating from his body, looking up at his chiseled features and square jaw with a hint of five o’clock shadow, his size made her feel small and feminine and just the slightest bit…intimidated.
    “Do you think I have Tisiphone?”
    “No. But I think you know where she is. And I think together, you and I can find her.”
    You and I. The words echoed through her mind. Clearly a compromise. She’d never been good at compromise. It was one of the reasons she was still single at thirty-eight.
    One of the reasons.
    “Why on earth would I know where to find Tisiphone?” she asked.
    He shot her an incredulous look. “Your grad school mentor was hot on Tisiphone’s trail some fifteen years ago. I know how to do research too, Dr. Maxwell. And I know you’ve been working that cute little ass off trying to track down the second relief all by yourself.”
    Lisa’s blood chilled at the mention of Douglas Stone. Just the thought of the man who’d all but broken her sent emotions she’d kept buried for years roiling through her. She’d lost everything because of him. Everything except herself. His death might have altered her life forever, but she’d learned one very