Eye of the Beholder

cloak that could protect her from his words. "And I know where you think you're going with your stupid explanations, but it won't work."
    "Where did I think I was going?"
    "To bed. With me. For another one-night stand." She felt the heat rise in her face, but it did not slow her down. Her anger was stronger than her embarrassment. "Forget it."
    "Alexa—"
    "Talk about lousy seduction lines. Did you really believe an insulting remark like that would persuade me to hop back into bed for a little convenient sex?"
    His eyes glittered in the shadows. "How did I insult you? I was trying to tell you that I don't give a damn about the art collection."
    "That's supposed to make me feel all warm and fuzzy?" Her voice rose. "Telling me that you still think there's a good possibility that I defrauded you, but that you're willing to overlook it because you've got a hard-on is your idea of irresistible sweet talk?"
    "That's not what I meant."
    "That's sure what it sounded like."
    "It came out all wrong." He took one more step and stopped at the edge of the bed. His hands dosed around her shoulders. "I meant that I didn't care about that art collection."
    "You don't care about it tonight, but how will you feel tomorrow when you're no longer trying to get laid?"
    His hands tightened around her shoulders. "I'm going to feel just fine tomorrow because I know you didn't cheat me."
    "Oh, yeah? How can you be sure of that?"
    "Because I trust you," he roared.
    "What makes you think you can trust me? Nothing's changed in this equation. I'm still the same woman I was when you first met me. I'm still the art consultant with the shady past. You haven't yet got any confirmation that the art and antiques in your new hotel aren't fakes, frauds, and forgeries."
    "You're wrong. Things have changed. You and I are in this together."
    "What does that change?"
    "Everything." His voice softened. "Hell, I wouldn't be here tonight if I didn't trust you."
    "And just when did you come to the conclusion that you could trust me?"
    To her astonishment, he fell silent for a few seconds. She sensed his anger transmuting into something that was probably infinitely more dangerous.
    "I don't know," he said simply. "I've probably known it for twelve years."
    "What are you talking about?" She stared at him in disbelief. "Twelve years ago you only saw me for a few minutes. You were in a rage at the time. I'm surprised you even remembered me."
    "I remembered you the instant I saw you again." He searched her face. "In fact, I never really forgot you or the way you looked that night when you told me to get out of the house. You were so thin. Nothing but skin and bone and big, haunted eyes. You were scared to death of me, weren't you?"
    "I was scared of a lot of things in those days."
    "But you didn't run and hide. You came down those stairs, grabbed the phone, ordered me out of, the house, and threatened to call the cops."
    "And you left."
    "Of course I left." His mouth curved wryly. "I knew you'd do just what you said you'd do. I knew you'd call the cops. I could see it in your eyes."
    "And I knew that you'd do just what you said you would do, too," she whispered. "I knew that someday you would come back."
    "When you looked me in the eye and told me that I was going to discover that Avalon Resorts, Inc ., was the proud owner of the best collection of Art Deco on the West Coast, I believed you, too," he said. "But I didn't admit it because I was pissed at the time."
    "Where you angry because Edward had asked me to consult for him without telling you about my past?"
    "No." He raised his hands from her shoulders and sank his fingers into her hair. "I was mad because the minute I saw you, I knew that you would be standing between me and Lloyd Kenyon again. And I didn't want you involved."
    She let the sheet fall from her fingers and reached up to clasp his wrists. "Why not?"
    His hands sank deeper into her hair. "Because I knew that I wouldn't be able to get at Kenyon if it meant hurting you."
    "Oh, Trask." She smiled tremulously. "I didn't understand any of that when you said you didn't care about your art collection."
    "Not your fault. I didn't do a great job of explaining myself. That kind of thing tends to happen to me when I get into—" He broke off. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Everything's okay now."
    She searched his face. "Is it?"
    "Isn't it?"
    She turned the possibilities over in her mind. "There's an ancient bit of metaphysical philosophy that probably