A Taste Of Temptation. Carrie Alexander

jaw hung slack.

      “This has been fun, but I came to ask for a favor,” Zoe said when neither of the men spoke. Her voice had taken on an unusual gravitas.

      Donovan was both intrigued and disappointed. How many times had cute females like Zoe flirted with him, only to ask for something two seconds later, from copying his chemistry homework to requesting overnight lab results?

      She shrugged out of the coat as she walked toward the lab bench, the solid table they worked on. Her sharp eyes made a quick survey of the contents. “I’m writing a story for the Times.”

      “But you’re a gossip columnist.” Donovan read her twice-a-week columns even though most of the names and faces meant nothing to him, not unlike the details of what they wore and where they partied. “Excuse me. I should introduce you to my intern. Zoe Aberdeen, Guillermo Reyes. She works for the San Diego Times.”

      The boy nodded with glazed eyes. He was six inches taller than Zoe and almost twice her weight, but he was thrown for such a loop by her presence that she could have hog-tied him without a squeak of protest. Donovan knew the feeling.

      Zoe twiddled her fingers at Guillermo. “Ciao.” To Donovan, she said with a highly arched brow, “I may be a gossipmonger, but I’m also a journalist.”

      “Oh. Yes, of course. Did you study journalism?”

      “I have a master’s in literature. Before everything changed, I was planning to find a nice, cozy position as a teaching assistant so I could expand on my thesis, but, uh—” She broke off and, oddly tongue-tied, looked down at the material her hands were wadding.

      Donovan waited, so curious about her claims that he didn’t even consider taking the coat from her to shake out the wrinkles.

      “But that’s not relevant,” she continued with a frown. “My degree isn’t in journalism anyway.” Her eyes rose to Donovan, narrowing as she threw out one of her typically unexpected remarks. “Do you only answer the questions of those with the proper pedigree?”

      “Of course not.” He was still trying to absorb the news that Zoe had an advanced degree of any sort. From what he knew of her, with the string of boyfriends and the loud parties and the comings and goings at all hours, she was strictly the Holly Go-lightly of the West Coast, dedicated to burning her candle at both ends.

      “That’s good, because I need—”

      He interrupted her request. “Sorry. I turn everyone away, regardless of their credentials. This lab’s test results aren’t for public consumption.”

      “What about if it’s a case of the public good? Like something dangerously contagious?”

      “In that case, I suspect the Times wouldn’t send a gossip columnist to investigate.”

      Her pointy chin jutted at him. “But what if they did?”

      “Doesn’t matter. I don’t make those decisions. You can get in touch with the police department’s press liaison and ask your questions there.”

      Zoe flung his coat at the table. It hit the edge and slid to the floor. Spots of color had flared in her cheeks. “Why do you work so hard at making me dislike you, Donovan Shane? I’ve tried to be friendly, but you’re distant and implacable. Dry as dust. You have no—” Her hands flew up in the air. “No zest!”

      “I’m not an orange.”

      She blew out a sigh. “You’re also too literal.”

      “I was making a joke. A bad one, granted.”

      Her gaze zeroed in on him and she was silent for several seconds—an eternity for Zoe. He feared what might come next, but she asked mildly, “Do you always frown when you’re trying to be humorous?”

      His answering frown was automatic. “I don’t know.”

      “Interesting. I’ve never known you to crack a joke.” Her lips puckered. “It appears that you have unplumbed depths, Shane.”

      “Likewise, Aberdeen.”

      She took another moment to evaluate him. The gradual, sensual lowering of her coppery lashes was only slightly less distracting than the pouty lips. His blood thickened.

      “Sooo, Shane, what can I do to get you to give me a peek at a substance-analysis report?”

      “Nothing.” He shook his head. Or at least he thought he did. There was very little feeling left in his body outside of the blast furnace that had developed in his groin. For propriety’s sake, he shifted until he’d put the lab bench between them.

      “There’s got to be something. Tickets for the Chargers. Uncensored candids of the Ocean Beach women’s volleyball tournament. A backstage pass to Shakira in concert.”

      A soft, bubbling groan came from Guillermo’s direction. Although twenty pounds overweight and prone to sloppiness, he was a well-meaning kid who worked a couple of hours several mornings a week, washing beakers, labeling files and losing track of hydrometer jars. He planned to major in chemistry when he went to San Diego State next fall.

      Donovan remained stalwart. “I won’t be bribed.”

      Zoe glanced at the intern.

      “Don’t even think about it, Gil.”

      She laughed. “I was only wondering if I could speak to you in, um…” She put her hands flat on the bench top and leaned toward Donovan. A few of the cascading curls fell into her eyes. Her voice lowered. “In private.”

      His gaze flicked to the spot where the weight of her sunglasses dragged at the orange tank top. Her freckled cleavage was modest compared to the silicone valleys that populated the city. But powerful nevertheless. “Gil…”

      “I’m out of here.”

      Donovan had meant to ask the intern to stay, but he let the words die on his tongue.

      While Guillermo hastily departed, Zoe leaned farther over the table to push at a file folder with one finger, flicking it open.

      Donovan suspected he was supposed to be mesmerized by her feminine wiles, but he wasn’t quite that far a goner. He whisked the stack of files away, then rescued his clipboard, no longer certain that she couldn’t understand the forms it held. That possibility was almost as tantalizing as her cleavage.

      She lifted her chin to stare broodingly at him. “Tell me the truth now. Did you send Gil away so we could be alone?”

      Surely she was joking. “What?” he said, feeling awkward and shy. High school all over again.

      Her smile became mischievous. “You’re cute when you’re worried. I’m only curious about how the lab operates. Do others work here?”

      She’d managed to put him off center again. He collected his thoughts. “This is the toxicology lab. Today I was alone except when Gil came by for an hour. I do have a colleague who’s out on maternity leave. And there are plenty of other employees in the building, working in other labs or offices, technicians with different specialties. We share some of the equipment.” He paused. “They can pop in at any time.”

      “My goodness. That was a thorough answer. You’d think I was suggesting something naughtier than giving me a peek at an analysis.”

      He wouldn’t let himself think about what he wanted a peek at. “I’m not relenting,” he said, “but what’s this about, this result you’re so eager to read?”

      She straightened, giving him a provocative look. “It’s about sexual enhancement.” Her voice had taken on the rough velvet of a cat’s purr.

      He gaped. “What?”

      “I want to know if the lust potion works.” Her brows arched wickedly. “And you are the only man who can help me.”

      3

      “WHAT’S