The South Beach Search. Sharon Hartley

      As Reese regarded her across the table, she sensed he didn’t like losing even the tiniest little bit of control. She decided he was one of those men who needed to dominate everything and everyone around him. The fine tailoring of his charcoal double-breasted suit and cranberry silk tie screamed position and power. Pay attention to me. I’m important.

      Just like her father.

      “How about some peppermint tea?” she asked, disappointed in herself again. Why was she always so quick to judge this man? She didn’t really know him, at least in this lifetime, and she wasn’t being fair.

      She poured them each a cup of tea, then dribbled honey from the jar on the table into her own brew. Her aim was a bit off, so she caught a slow-moving drip on the side of her cup, then licked the thick nectar from her finger. When she glanced up, she found Reese’s attention focused on her mouth as if he could taste the sweetness on her lips.

      She lowered her gaze and stirred the tea. Steam drifted toward the ceiling between them. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled mint and orange blossoms. Maybe she was quick to judge him because he unsettled her so thoroughly. And because she found him so very attractive, which was of course ridiculous, considering—

      “Do I seem familiar to you?” Reese asked, his voice calm and steady in the confusion of her senses.

      She took a sip of the tea before answering. “I don’t know. I feel some sort of strange connection, but I can’t explain why.”

      “Maybe it’s because we both were victims of the same crime two days ago.”

      “So we’re like a victim support group?”

      He smiled. “Exactly.”

      “No. The way I felt was...well, strongest when I touched you the night of the theft.”

      “When you touched me?”

      She nodded. “When we shook hands. I’d like to try an experiment. Do you mind if I touch you again?”

      He gave her a lazy grin. “Well, that depends on where you want to touch me.”

      Heat flooded her cheeks as she said, “I want to touch your third eye.”

      He blinked. “My what?”

      “The third eye is the center of insight and intuition. It looks beyond the physical world.”

      “And just where is this special body part?” he asked.

      Taki bit her lower lip and gazed at the furrowed spot between and just above his dark eyebrows. “Right here,” she said, touching the spot lightly with her index finger.

      A jolt of his energy rocketed through her, shooting all the way down to her toes. His eyes widened, and she knew the voltage affected him, too. She lowered her hand.

      “Did you feel that?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

      “Yeah, I felt it.” He leaned forward with his forearms on the table, holding her gaze. “Does that mean we’re attracted to each other?”

      “Don’t be ridiculous. I think it proves my theory that you’ve been harassing me through several lifetimes,” she said, sitting back.

      “Harassing you?” Reese narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

      “Well, anyway, we’ve known each other in a previous lifetime, probably several, and we have some issues to work out.”

      Reese went still, but continued to stare at her.

      “And now I need to help you find your stolen briefcase while I find my bowl,” she continued. “That way the negative energy will finally be severed between us and we’ll both have what we need, improve our karma.”

      “Sever...negative...energy.” He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “And that’s a good thing?”

      Taki nodded, surprised to be telling him the theory she had formulated last night after calling her guru at the ashram to tell him about the theft and meeting Reese. Navi agreed that the instant connection she had felt to Reese could be because they had known each other in previous lives. Of course that’s the only thing that made sense. She couldn’t be attracted to a man so like her father, so slick, arrogant and impatient.

      Guru Navi had taught her so much, and they’d come such a long way together, how could he be wrong about this?

      “I see,” Reese said. He tossed back the peppermint tea as if it were a glass of whiskey. “Tell me more about your bowl,” he said, with a look that suggested she’d suddenly sprouted wings and might fly like one of her angels. “You said it’s valuable because it’s one of a kind?”

      “Yes,” she said. “My guru suggested a difficult task in order to ease my terrible...” She trailed off. Better not to tell the whole story. It was obvious Reese thought her philosophy foolish, and telling him would only further widen the breach between them.

      “Your terrible what? Go on.”

      “The bowl isn’t valuable in the sense you mean. There are thousands of similar bowls—even in catalogs. Anyone can buy one.”

      “Then why is yours so special?”

      “I trekked to a secluded monastery in Tibet to have my bowl blessed. The monks suggested I allow it to remain with them for one hundred and eight days, a number with spiritual significance, and then they shipped it back to me.” She shook her head, remembering the kindness at the monastery. “My bowl can never be replaced.”

      “You mentioned the bowl sings? In fact,” he said, “I seem to recall something about yodeling.”

      “My bowl does not yodel,” she said, but understood Reese was teasing. “It doesn’t rap or sing arias, either.”

      “Oh, perhaps rock, then?”

      She fought a laugh. “When you rub a wand around the interior, the vibration makes the metal hum, producing a clear, peaceful sound. It also chimes when you strike the rim. So, yeah, it sings.”

      Hearing the lovely, high-pitched tone in her mind, she smiled at Reese, wishing he would pry open his mind just a little. Too bad his head was already crammed full of legal mumbo jumbo. At least he had asked for an explanation.

      He gave her a half smile. “Where did you come from, lady?”

      “I don’t know,” she answered. “But I think you were there with me.”

      “Two vegetarian stews,” the waiter said as he placed steaming crocks on the table. Next came a wicker basket overflowing with slices of warm bread.

      They both ate for several minutes without conversation. Finally, Taki took a drink of cool water. “I guess we were hungry.”

      He smiled at her over a spoonful of stew. “You were right. This is delicious.”

      She took another bite, pleased that he liked her favorite lunch.

      “How long have you been a vegetarian?” he asked.

      “When I was thirteen, I decided I loved animals so much that I just couldn’t eat one.”

      “I’ll bet your mother loved that.”

      “My mother died when I was nine.” Taki almost choked on her water when she realized what she’d said. Why on earth did she insist on babbling her secrets to this skeptical man? Of course, he was partly right. Her decision to become a vegetarian had incensed her father.

      “I’m sorry,” Reese said.

      “That’s okay,” she blurted, knowing her words only made the moment more awkward. By the kind way he smiled at her, though, she knew his sympathy was genuine.

      He offered her a slice of bread and took one himself.

      “This soup is really good,” he