directory assistance and called him.
"Could he have overslept?"
"I doubt it. He has a clock in his head. Damn! I told him to stay away from there." He softened his tone. "Don't worry, Jordan . There's a logical reason for this."
She sighed. "I hope so."
"I'd know if he were in trouble."
"How can you be sure?"
"We're mates, love. Pure and simple, we're mates."
They hung up, agreeing to touch base again when Ethan surfaced. For the rest of the afternoon, she tried to keep busy, going over her notes, writing outlines, reading and rereading photocopies of articles she'd gathered.
Nothing distracted her from the concern she felt or helped her deny that concern existed. Least effective of all? Grappling with the question of how her previous acquaintance with Terence Conlon would affect her assignment with Drew. A brief mental debate convinced her she could help Drew nail the man without conflict. After all, wasn’t that why she’d come?
At a little after three, she heard a knock. Ethan stood in the doorway - filthy, his windbreaker ripped at the shoulder, but otherwise apparently in one piece.
"Sorry I'm late." He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. His loopy grin caused a flutter in the pit of her stomach. "I can explain."
She held up a hand to cut off his next words. "Are there any new bruises beneath that grime?"
"No."
"Good. Then I won't feel guilty about giving an injured man a black eye."
"You've wanted to do that since we first met."
"You're right."
He looked disappointed. "Then nothing's changed?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"Were you worried about me, love?"
"Yes, damn it. Where have you been?"
"I'll explain after I've had a wash."
She wrinkled her nose and smiled in spite of her irritation. "New cologne?”
He laughed. "Yeah, eau de dumpster."
She led him toward the bathroom and put on the light. "Care to explain?"
He stepped past her into the marble tiled room. "After the shower. I'm having trouble being around myself just now." He winked. "Twenty minutes and I'm all yours."
"Okay. For now, I'll settle for your clothes." She pulled out a muslin bag from a vanity drawer and handed it to him. "In here."
He looked at the bag, saw the valet service label and frowned in mock disappointment. "And here I thought you were putting the hard word on me."
"Translation, please?"
He dropped his jacket into the bag and handed it back to her, pulled his shirt over his head and dumped it in after. Her gaze dropped to a muscular chest covered with blond hair, then shot away as his hands gripped the snap fastening his jeans against his flat stomach.
"What do you think it means," he asked in a serious tone, "to a man wearing nothing but his skin?"
The message was clear, setting her cheeks on fire. She needed some way to control the situation. Things were getting too friendly, too personal, too...scary. She stepped backward and closed the door, leaving only her hand in the opening. "Just the clothes, please, Ethan, without any indecent proposals."
"Nothing indecent about it. Perfectly natural," he insisted, "considering the company."
"Ethan!"
The bag grew heavier as he added the rest of his clothing. With the water running in the shower, she turned the bag over to a valet. His expression confirmed that only his impeccable training kept him from asking about the odorous contents.
"Have these back to you in two hours," he said with a smile. "I hope!"
She closed the door, listening to Ethan's watery solo. It wasn't "Waltzing Matilda," but it would do. She opened the bathroom door an inch or so to make sure he'd hear her over the din.
"Have you eaten anything?"
"Not since dinner with you," he responded, and returned to his recital.
She called room service, ordering steak and eggs and tea for him, a salad and coffee for herself.
The water stopped and moments later, the door opened, letting out a cloud of steam.
"Did you run across a razor in here?"
Already disturbed by his presence in her
"Could he have overslept?"
"I doubt it. He has a clock in his head. Damn! I told him to stay away from there." He softened his tone. "Don't worry, Jordan . There's a logical reason for this."
She sighed. "I hope so."
"I'd know if he were in trouble."
"How can you be sure?"
"We're mates, love. Pure and simple, we're mates."
They hung up, agreeing to touch base again when Ethan surfaced. For the rest of the afternoon, she tried to keep busy, going over her notes, writing outlines, reading and rereading photocopies of articles she'd gathered.
Nothing distracted her from the concern she felt or helped her deny that concern existed. Least effective of all? Grappling with the question of how her previous acquaintance with Terence Conlon would affect her assignment with Drew. A brief mental debate convinced her she could help Drew nail the man without conflict. After all, wasn’t that why she’d come?
At a little after three, she heard a knock. Ethan stood in the doorway - filthy, his windbreaker ripped at the shoulder, but otherwise apparently in one piece.
"Sorry I'm late." He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. His loopy grin caused a flutter in the pit of her stomach. "I can explain."
She held up a hand to cut off his next words. "Are there any new bruises beneath that grime?"
"No."
"Good. Then I won't feel guilty about giving an injured man a black eye."
"You've wanted to do that since we first met."
"You're right."
He looked disappointed. "Then nothing's changed?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"Were you worried about me, love?"
"Yes, damn it. Where have you been?"
"I'll explain after I've had a wash."
She wrinkled her nose and smiled in spite of her irritation. "New cologne?”
He laughed. "Yeah, eau de dumpster."
She led him toward the bathroom and put on the light. "Care to explain?"
He stepped past her into the marble tiled room. "After the shower. I'm having trouble being around myself just now." He winked. "Twenty minutes and I'm all yours."
"Okay. For now, I'll settle for your clothes." She pulled out a muslin bag from a vanity drawer and handed it to him. "In here."
He looked at the bag, saw the valet service label and frowned in mock disappointment. "And here I thought you were putting the hard word on me."
"Translation, please?"
He dropped his jacket into the bag and handed it back to her, pulled his shirt over his head and dumped it in after. Her gaze dropped to a muscular chest covered with blond hair, then shot away as his hands gripped the snap fastening his jeans against his flat stomach.
"What do you think it means," he asked in a serious tone, "to a man wearing nothing but his skin?"
The message was clear, setting her cheeks on fire. She needed some way to control the situation. Things were getting too friendly, too personal, too...scary. She stepped backward and closed the door, leaving only her hand in the opening. "Just the clothes, please, Ethan, without any indecent proposals."
"Nothing indecent about it. Perfectly natural," he insisted, "considering the company."
"Ethan!"
The bag grew heavier as he added the rest of his clothing. With the water running in the shower, she turned the bag over to a valet. His expression confirmed that only his impeccable training kept him from asking about the odorous contents.
"Have these back to you in two hours," he said with a smile. "I hope!"
She closed the door, listening to Ethan's watery solo. It wasn't "Waltzing Matilda," but it would do. She opened the bathroom door an inch or so to make sure he'd hear her over the din.
"Have you eaten anything?"
"Not since dinner with you," he responded, and returned to his recital.
She called room service, ordering steak and eggs and tea for him, a salad and coffee for herself.
The water stopped and moments later, the door opened, letting out a cloud of steam.
"Did you run across a razor in here?"
Already disturbed by his presence in her
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