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you didn’t bring up the missing codicil today. Why not?”
    “Were you obsessed with the Twenty Questions game when you were a kid?” she asked, exasperated with him.
    “No. Why?”
    “Because you keep asking questions! And I didn’t bring the codicil up because they know about it already. So why didn’t you mention it, if you thought I was hiding it?”
    “Because I didn’t know if you were. Since it wasn’t in Allan’s bank things, what will you do? Oops, another question. I beg your pardon.”
    “Keep searching,” she answered anyway. She rubbed her forehead, feeling the headache that had come with her lack of sleep growing fiercer. “Look, I’m sorry about the question thing. I really have to go, Miles. I have several appointments this morning …”
    He rose from the chair. Finally. “And I still have a bank to run.”
    She hurried around her desk to the door, the headache almost vanishing in her eagerness to have him gone. As she passed him, he took her arm.
    She stilled.
    “I’d like to make up for dinner last night,” he said.
    She couldn’t look at him. She was afraid to.Every nerve in her body was screaming for her to look, while every shred of common sense was telling her no. The latter was winning out … so far.
    But his hand was warm and firm on her arm, and his fingers held more strength than she’d expected. His body was only inches away. One slight movement on her part and she would be against him. The sharp clean scent of him surrounded her, spinning her senses into a cyclone.
    “I’d also like to talk to you more about Allan’s codicil,” he went on. “And this morning’s meeting. How about if I pick you up at eight?”
    “Eight?” she repeated, her voice hoarse. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of his shirtfront. Unable to resist, she tilted her head to get a better look.
    “Nine?” he asked.
    “For what?”
    “Dinner. Just the two of us this time. I promise.”
    Mesmerized, she stared at his chest. The dark area was definitely no Bart Simpson T-shirt. But she still couldn’t tell if the chest hair was silky like Alec Baldwin’s, or curly like Tom Selleck’s.
    “Catherine, you haven’t answered me.”
    “What?” she said, blinking. She looked up, and that was her mistake.
    She was caught in a sensual gaze that stripped away every shred of hidden emotion. His mouth was a bare inch away. Awareness thundered through her. She knew it showed in her face, but she couldn’t control her reaction.
    Miles muttered her name and pulled her to him, his mouth capturing hers in a deep kiss. Her control shattered, and she opened to him, entwiningher tongue with his. He let go of her arm and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Every inch of her was finally and satisfyingly against him. Her blood pulsed at the feel of his hard body. Desire long suppressed swirled inside her. She wound her arms around his shoulders, her fingers digging into his jacket.
    His tongue teased and tortured her, easing away and surging back over and over again, until she was moaning helplessly. She tasted and teased and tortured him back in feminine repayment. Everything swept through her in seven different directions all at once. She knew no other man would ever tie her up and turn her inside out with one kiss the way Miles did.
    Unconsciously, she smoothed her hand down his chest, groaning at the feel of silk and hard muscles. And chest hair. She had never been so fascinated with what was under a man’s shirt before, and she was gratified it was everything her fantasy wanted it to be.
    Miles finally lifted his head. He buried his face in her hair, his breath hot against her ear.
    She moaned into his chest. Some corner of her mind was trying to warn her about something, but the waves of desire coursing through her washed the voice away.
    “Catherine,” he whispered, his hands caressing her back.
    “Miles.” His name was as sensuous as the rest of him.
    “Catherine.”
    She shivered and