Absolutely, Positively

with this woman.

    “Such as?” he asked very casually.

    Molly's vivid, intelligent face was thoughtful. “Perhaps all the talk about the Trevelyan family talent reminds you too much of a world that you feel you barely escaped. The world of fake fortune-tellers and daredevils.”

    Harry relaxed slightly. He rested his arms on the roof of the car. “You may have a point. But I'll let you in on a little secret.”

    “What's that?”

    “If you think I brood whenever the topic of the Trevelyan Second Sight arises, you should see me when I have to listen to one of my Stratton relatives lecture me about how I failed to follow four generations of Stratton men into the corporate world. The real world, where real men are sharks and wolves and other assorted predators and measure their worth by the size of their investment portfolios.”

    She blinked in astonishment. Then she laughed softly. “How awful. I take it you haven't bothered to please either side of your family?”

    “No.” Harry was captivated by the amusement dancing in her green eyes. The last ghostly remnants of his latest mood evaporated. He smiled. “The Strattons don't have any more respect for the academic world than the Trevelyans do. Both families think I deliberately chose an effete, ivory-tower life devoted to meaningless academic research and study merely to annoy them. The fact that I've made money at it just irritates them even more.”

    “We all have our little motivations. So what if it took an overriding desire to annoy your relatives to turn you into a leading authority on the history of science?”

    “On the whole, the Stratton complaints about my choice of careers aren't any worse than the Trevelyans',” Harry said. “Uncle Leon takes it a step farther, however. He worries about the genetic implications.”

    “The genetic implications?”

    Harry smiled fleetingly. “He's convinced that my Stratton blood has unmanned me. He thinks it's turned me into a weak, prissy wimp.”

    “Good grief. No wonder you were feeling a bit moody on the drive home. Have you been juggling the Strattons and the Trevelyans all your life?”

    “Yes.” He held up a hand to forestall the inevitable question. “Don't ask me why I bother.”

    “I don't have to ask. None of us chooses our relatives.”

    Harry reached into the car to collect Molly's purchases. “I'll put these in the trunk while we get something to eat.”

    After dinner he would find a way to convince Molly to come back to the condo with him for the night, Harry thought as he opened the trunk. There had to be a way to manage that feat. He wanted her more tonight than he ever had. The need in him had metamorphosed into a gnawing hunger.

    Perhaps if he had Molly in his bed tonight he would not lie awake thinking about the red king that he had dealt from Evangeline's deck of cards. He hated it when things like that happened.

    Intent on furthering his plans for the evening, Harry whisked Molly into the elevator and tapped the lobby button.

    A moment later the doors opened to reveal the building lobby. The first thing Harry saw was his ex-fiancée, Olivia. She was striding restlessly back and forth in front of the doorman's station.

    “Damn,” he said softly.

    This situation constituted positive proof that he lacked any shred of psychic talent, he thought grimly. If he'd actually possessed a touch of the Trevelyan Second Sight, surely he would have had a premonition of trouble on the way up from the garage.

    At the sight of him, Olivia came to a halt. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her expensive taupe leather shoulder bag. “Harry.”

    He eyed her warily. Olivia was impeccably turned out, as always. Her tendency toward perfectionism had been one of the things he had admired about her at the start of their relationship. It had implied self-control. It had implied that she was a woman who had answers.

    Today she was dressed in a cream silk blouse, soft, rust-colored trousers, and a lightweight beige silk jacket. Her golden hair was drawn back into a refined twist. Her beautiful features were strained with tension. Her gray eyes were shadowed with concern.

    Harry heroically resisted an urge to retreat back into the elevator. “Hello, Olivia.” He tightened his grip on Molly's hand as he came to a halt in the middle of the lobby. “I'd like you to meet Molly Abberwick. Molly, this is Olivia Hughes. My cousin Brandon's wife.”

    “How do you do?” Molly said.