Homeport

eyes shut. “It’s there. I wasn’t wrong. I didn’t make a mistake.”
    “I never thought you did.”
    She opened her eyes again, smiled. “Liar. You broke into my bedroom and threatened to strangle me.”
    “I said I could strangle you.” He circled her throat with his hands again. “And that was before I knew you. Tidy up, honey. We’ve got enough to keep us busy for a while.”
     
    They spent the next several hours in the hotel suite, with Miranda going over the copies of her reports line by line and Ryan huddled at his computer.
    “It’s all here. Everything I did, stage by stage. Every test, every result. Admittedly, it’s light on documentation, but it stands. Why didn’t she see that?”
    “Take a look at this and see if I’ve got it right.”
    “What?”
    “I’ve done a cross-check.” He motioned her over. “These are the names I come up with. People who had access to both bronzes. There’s probably more, but these are the key players.”
    She rose and read over his shoulder. She only set her teeth when she noted her name topped the list. Her mother was there, as was her father, Andrew, Giovanni, Elise, Carter, Hawthorne, Vincente.
    “Andrew didn’t have access to The Dark Lady. ”
    A tendril of the hair she’d pinned up fell and tickled his cheek. The immediate tightening of his loins had him letting out a long quiet breath. If nothing else, he thought, her hair was going to drive him to drink before they were done.

    “He’s connected to you, your mother, and Elise. Close enough.”
    She sniffed and shoved her glasses more securely on her nose. “That’s insulting.”
    “I want to know how accurate it is. Save the comments.”
    “It’s fairly complete, and insulting.”
    Oh yeah, there was that prissy tone of voice too. It just destroyed him with wanting to turn it into moans. “Was Hawthorne’s wife with him in Florence?”
    “No.”
    “Richard’s divorced.” What the hell, he thought, and tortured himself by turning his head just enough to get a good solid sniff of her hair. “Was he a couple when he did his stint in Maine?”
    “I don’t know. I barely met him. In fact, I didn’t remember him until he reminded me we’d met.” Annoyed, she turned her head, found her eyes locked on his—and something in his wasn’t focused on work. Her heart did a quick cartwheel and shot little springs of lust into her belly. “Why does it matter?”
    “Why does what matter?” He wanted that mouth. Goddamn it, he was entitled to that mouth.
    “The, uh . . . Richard being divorced.”
    “Because people tell their lovers and spouses all kinds of confidential things. Sex,” he murmured, and wrapped that loose tendril around his finger, “is a great communicator.”
    One tug, he thought, one little tug and her mouth would be on his. He’d have all that hair in his hands, all the wild, curling mass of it. He’d have her naked in five minutes. Except for the glasses.
    He was starting to have incredible fantasies about Miranda wearing only her glasses.
    It was with real regret that he didn’t tug, but unwound her hair, turned, and scowled at the screen.
    “We need to go through the worker bees too, but we need a break.”
    “A break?” There wasn’t a single organized thought in her mind. Her nerves were sizzling along the surface of her skin like little licks of lightning.
    If he touched her now, if he kissed her now, she knew she’d go off like a rocket. She straightened, closed her eyes. And yearned.
    “What did you have in mind?”
    “Let’s put this away, and go have a meal.”
    Her eyes popped open again. “A what?”
    “Food, Dr. Jones.” He tapped keys, concentrating, and didn’t see her scrub her hands over her face behind his back.
    “Yes, food.” Her voice shook slightly—laughter or despair, she couldn’t be sure. “Good idea.”
    “What would you like for your last night in Florence?”
    “The last night?”
    “Things might get sticky here. We’re better off working on home ground.”
    “But if The Dark Lady is here—”
    “We’ll come back for her.” He shut off his machine, pushed away from the little desk. “Florence isn’t a big city, Dr. Jones. Sooner or later, someone you know is going to spot you.” He flicked a finger over her hair. “You just don’t blend. Now, fast, fancy, or rowdy?”
    Home. She discovered she very much wanted to go home, to see it with these new eyes. “I think I’d like rowdy for a