Donovans 02 - Jade Island

around the car in time to close, not open, the door for Lianne. She was a woman accustomed to watching out for herself.
    “This way,” he said, putting his hand lightly on her back. Though her coat was a butter-soft wool, he missed the sleek texture of silk with a woman’s heat burning softly through it. Unconsciously his fingers pressed more deeply, seeking her warmth.
    “Counting vertebra again?” Lianne asked.
    “Just wanted to be sure I didn’t miss any.”
    “Is being part of a big family why you have such a quick tongue?”
    “Doubt it. You’re an only child and there’s nothing slow about your tongue. Succulent color, too.”
    Lianne saw his teasing grin and wondered if she should have stayed in the car and faced all the worries she had shoved into a corner of her mind until “later,” whenever that came.
    Without realizing it, she shook her head; she didn’t want “later” to be “now.” She had the whole Tang party to get through. She couldn’t do it if she was thinking about a Neolithic blade and a jade suit that should be in Tang vaults.
    “Don’t worry,” Kyle said, seeing Lianne’s faint frown. He stuck a key into the wall by the elevator. The door opened immediately. “I’m not going to do the Jekyll-Hyde thing.”
    She blinked, slammed the door to her worries shut, and concentrated on Kyle. It wasn’t hard. The more she looked at him, the better she liked what she saw. And what shefelt. It was an odd, pleasant feeling to be aware of herself as a woman again, a woman who was very aware of a certain man.
    “You sure about the Jekyll-Hyde act?” Lianne asked.
    “Relatively,” he said, holding open the door.
    “Pity,” she said, stepping past him into the luxurious elevator. “I was hoping to get a chance to try out my pepper spray.”
    “Not in the elevator, sweetheart. Neither one of us would make it out alive.”
    While Kyle punched in a six-digit code on the illuminated keypad, Lianne admired the elevator. Recessed lighting. Tibetan rug in jewel colors. Panels of cherry and bird’s-eye maple. A telephone made out of something space-age, matte-finished, and curved. A small TV screen.
    “What, no wet bar?” she asked.
    His eyebrows rose. “In an elevator?”
    “Well, this has everything else a good limousine does, including a driver wearing a tux.”
    “You know,” Kyle said calmly, “all that’s standing between you and a good kissing is that pepper spray.”
    Lianne put her hand over her heart and fluttered it like a Victorian maiden. Then she laughed, surprised at herself. It was heady to simply enjoy a man’s company without watching every word she spoke, everything she did. She had had to be very careful when she was with Lee Chin Tang. Her sense of humor and his hadn’t overlapped much. In truth, beyond his interest in Chinese culture, international trade, and the family of Tang, not much about Lee and her had overlapped.
    Well, one thing had. They both wanted very much to be accepted into the Tang family. Lee achieved his ambition, but not through Lianne. He married the granddaughter of one of Wen’s male cousins, changed his surname, and was now managing the Tang Consortium’s Seattle office. She still saw Lee occasionally. It hurt a little less each time. The sting these days was to her pride, not herheart. Lee had wanted her connection to the Tang family much more than he had ever wanted her.
    The elevator stopped. To Lianne’s surprise, Kyle punched more numbers on the keypad. Only then did the door open.
    “This way,” he said.
    The carpet in the hallway was a thicker version of the one in the elevator. The walls were a pale cream that seemed to glow from the inside out. Chinese silk paintings were spotted throughout the hall. Though Asian paintings weren’t her area of expertise, Lianne knew these were excellent, and quite old.
    “A code to get out of the elevator, too,” she said. “Now I see why.”
    Kyle glanced at the paintings and smiled. “Archer won them in a poker game.”
    “He must be Chinese at heart.”
    “Because of the paintings?”
    “No, the gambling. It runs like lightning through the Chinese culture. Every male over the age of ten bets, whether it’s on mah-jongg, dogs, horses, or the next bicycle to reach the intersection.”
    “Good recipe for empty pockets.”
    “The hit to the pride is worse. Whoever lost these paintings also lost a lot of face with his family. These were once part of a family’s cherished