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brother in?”
    “Dr. Jones just stepped downstairs to greet a guest. He should be back momentarily. Would you care to wait, or shall I take a message?”
    “No, it’s nothing. I’ll see him later.” She turned when she heard male voices echo up the stairs. If Ms. Purdue’s critical eyes hadn’t been on her, Miranda would have made a dash for cover rather than risk the possibility of socializing with Andrew’s guest.

    She wouldn’t be stuck if she’d gone straight to the lab, she thought, and briskly brushed the hair out of her eyes and fixed on a polite smile.
    Her smile wavered when Andrew and his companion reached the top of the stairs.
    “Miranda, this is handy.” Andrew beamed at her—and a quick survey showed Miranda no sign of a night of drinking. “Saves me from calling your office. I’d like you to meet Ryan Boldari, of the Boldari Gallery.”
    He stepped forward, took Miranda’s hand and brought it smoothly to his lips. “How nice to meet you, finally.”
    He had a face that could have been reproduced with rich bold strokes on one of the Institute’s paintings. The dark, wild good looks were only marginally tamed by an impeccably cut gray suit and perfectly knotted silk tie. His hair was thick, black as ink, and gloriously wavy. His skin was dusky gold, taut over strong bones and marred intriguingly by a small crescent-shaped scar at the far tip of his left eyebrow.
    His eyes held hers and were a dark, rich brown that took little drifts of gold from the light. His mouth might have been sculpted by a master and was curved in a smile designed to make a woman wonder how it would feel against hers. And sigh.
    She heard a ping—a single and cheerful snapping sound inside her head—as her heart bumped twice.
    “Welcome to the Institute, Mr. Boldari.”
    “I’m delighted to be here.” He kept her hand in his because it appeared to fluster her. However politely she smiled, there was a faint line of annoyance between her brows.
    She debated giving her hand one good tug, then decided it would seem entirely too female a move.
    “Why don’t we step into my office?” Oblivious to whatever games were being played under his nose, Andrew gestured toward his office door. “Miranda, got a minute?”
    “Actually, I was just—”
    “I’d appreciate a few moments of your time, Dr. Jones.” Ryan flashed that smile at her as he shifted his hand from hers to her elbow. “I have a proposition for your brother I believe you’ll be interested in. Your main field of study is Renaissance, isn’t it?”
    Trapped, she allowed herself to be guided into Andrew’s office. “That’s right.”
    “A brilliant era, so rich in beauty and energy. You know the work of Giorgio Vasari?”
    “Of course, Late Renaissance, a Mannerist, one whose style typified the movement toward elegance.”
    “Ryan has three Vasaris.” Andrew gestured toward chairs that, thanks to Ms. Purdue, weren’t covered with books and papers as they normally were.
    “Really?” Miranda took a seat and fixed on another smile. Andrew’s office was a great deal smaller than hers, because he preferred it that way. It was also cluttered, colorful, and full of the trinkets he liked to surround himself with. Old bones, shards of pottery, bits of glass. She would have preferred to hold this unexpected meeting in the acerbic formality of her own territory.
    Because she was nervous, she imagined herself drumming her fingers, wiggling her foot.
    “Yes.” Ryan gave his slacks a casual hitch to preserve the crease as he settled himself into a narrow leather-backed chair. “Don’t you find his work a bit self-conscious? Overripe?”
    “That too is typical of Mannerism,” Miranda countered. “Vasari is an important artist of that time and style.”
    “Agreed.” Ryan merely smiled. “On a personal level I prefer the style of the Early and High Renaissance, but business is business.” He waved a hand—he had strong, graceful hands, Miranda noted. Wide of palm, long of finger.
    It irritated her to notice, embarrassed her to have—for a second or two—imagined the feel of them on her skin. Like a teenager faced with a rock star, she thought, amazed at herself.
    When she deliberately shifted her gaze from his hands, it collided with his. He smiled again, with a definite gleam in his eyes.

    In defense her voice turned chilly. “And what business do you have with the Institute?”
    Fascinating woman, he thought. The body of a goddess,