Silent Desires. Джулия Кеннер

when she saw that her silk T was still tucked in. Thank goodness. It had all been in her head.

      Please, oh please, let it have all been in her head!

      “That was fast,” she said, hoping her voice sounded normal. “What did you think?”

      His mouth curled into an enigmatic smile. “It looked good.”

      Joan felt her cheeks warm, but she couldn’t ask. Did he really mean the apartments? Or had he been watching her? The possibility was positively mortifying.

      “This building’s got great potential,” he continued, and she relaxed a little. “I’m sorry the whole thing’s not on the market.”

      “So you’re not interested in just the apartments?”

      “Probably not,” Bryce admitted. “But I’ll keep them in mind. Like I said, I liked what I saw.”

      He moved toward her then, and Joan swallowed, her entire body tightening as his proximity increased. After a second she saw his brow furrow and then his eyes widen with interest. He nodded toward the table. “Should I even ask?”

      Joan glanced down. In her embarrassment, she’d forgotten about the erotica that littered the tabletop in addition to the one pen-and-ink print that she’d been holding. Now, she tried to imagine the scene through his eyes. The store had recently acquired a first edition of Casanova’s Memoirs, which was a magnificent feat in and of itself. But on top of that, Ronnie had managed to locate eight of the original charcoal drawings used to illustrate an early edition of the famous book. Provocative images of men and women in the throes of passion. Copies of the drawings were scattered over the tabletop, along with lighter fare—naughty French postcards and colorful turn-of-the-century engravings showing women reclining in their wide skirts, with just a hint of what was going on underneath.

      “A catalog,” she said. “Our summer catalog always features erotica.”

      “Really?”

      He was intrigued. She could see it in his eyes, and she couldn’t help but shift into her sales mode. He was a customer now, some guy who’d come in to buy a first-edition Tony Hillerman and ended up buying Henry Miller and Fanny Hill, as well.

      After a second, his gaze dipped to the table again, and he picked up one of the Casanova sketches, this one showing two women, both focusing every bit of their erotic attention on the man who lay between them on the bed.

      “Interesting,” he said, a wry grin playing at his lips.

      Joan rolled her eyes. “Men. Funny how that card always seems to draw a man’s attention.”

      “I’m not looking for two women,” he said, meeting her eyes. “But I wouldn’t mind spending some time with one good one.”

      It was a blatant come-on, and she pointedly ignored it, determined to stay all business. “Do you know much about erotica?” she asked.

      “Well, I suppose that depends.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I have what I like to call hands-on knowledge of the subject. But formal book learning? Afraid not.” His eyes met hers. “Maybe I’m due for an education,” he said, his words flowing over her like warm honey.

      She cleared her throat to keep the suggestive response that tripped to her tongue at bay. The plan, remember? No flirting. “I’m sorry the apartments aren’t what you’re looking for.”

      Disappointment flashed across his face. “Yeah,” he said. “Too bad.” After a moment, his expression shifted and he smiled, the simple gesture lighting his face. “Although I can’t say it matters much. I might have stepped in to ask about the property, but once I was inside I found something much more interesting.”

      Joan’s gaze immediately dipped to the tabletop. “It is fascinating, isn’t it?”

      He laughed, and she snapped her head back up, looking him in the eyes. “Not the drawings,” he said, waving the sketch he still held. “You. You’re my perk for the morning.”

      Her cheeks warmed. “A perk? I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s perk before.”

      “No? I’m surprised.” He laid the sketch back on the table, then tapped it in the center with his index finger. “I’m serious, though,” he said. “I bet there are a lot of things you could teach me.” A sexy grin crossed his face. “For that matter, there are probably a few things I could teach you.”

      Joan didn’t doubt that for a minute. This man made her tingle, and only a few weeks before she would have been a very eager student. Now, though, that kind of education wasn’t on her agenda. Before she had the chance to tell him, though, the electronic tones of his cell phone trilled through the air. Bryce grimaced and pulled a tiny phone from his pocket. He checked the display, mouthed an apology, then answered the call. “Worthington.”

      Joan watched with interest. The man she’d been flirting with was confident, friendly and charming. The man on the phone was all those things and more. He had a presence about him, as if some invisible aura of command had dropped from the sky and surrounded him as soon as he’d answered the phone. Joan had no idea what he did for a living, but it involved a lot of money. Of that, she was certain.

      “Dammit, Leo, I thought you had things under control,” Bryce said. A pause, then, “No, I’m not thrilled. But if you really think this is the best route…” Another pause. “Well, I pay you to make these decisions, so just tell me what your recommendation is and stop beating around the bush…. Fine. I’m on my way.”

      He flipped the phone shut, shaking his head.

      “Bad news?”

      “I think so,” Bryce said. “Because it means I have to go.”

      “Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.

      “Maybe I could buy you dinner?”

      “Dinner?” she repeated stupidly.

      He grinned. “You’ve heard of dinner, I assume? It’s a ritual whereby people eat for nourishment, often finding entertainment in the company of others.”

      She made a face. “Yes, thank you. I’ve heard of dinner.”

      “Tonight?”

      Her resolution flashed neon orange inside her head. She should say no, she knew that. But there wasn’t anything resolution-breaking about dinner. Dinner could lead to Mr. Right.

      Right?

      Inwardly, she groaned. That was a justification if she’d ever heard one. And she fisted her hands against her own weakness, trying to bolster her resolve. This man was too sexy by half, and if she went with him to dinner, had a little wine, her resolutions would go up in a puff of white smoke. She’d be willing to bet on it.

      “I’m sorry,” she began, “but I’ve—”

      “It’s just that I find this so intriguing,” he continued, nodding at the table. “And I’m a collector.”

      She frowned. “You are?” He hadn’t struck her as the type.

      “Well, not of erotica, but of first editions. You’ve started me thinking about expanding into new territories.”

      “Oh,” Joan said, and then, when she realized just what a coup this man could be for the store’s bankroll, “Oh!”

      “Maybe you could pick out two or three of your best first editions. Something a serious collector needs. We could meet over dinner and talk about building my collection.”

      “Oh, yes. Right.” Joan’s head was spinning. Her guy resolution might be flashing neon orange in her head, but her profit resolution was lit up like a Broadway billboard, complete with soundtrack. If he was really thinking about buying three first editions…

      She licked her lips, doing some quick math in her head. “Sure,” she finally said. “Dinner