Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

than crudely made.”
    His mouth turned down at one corner in a sour kind of smile. “ ‘Crudely made.’ Lovely. Do be sure that description appears in the catalog. They’ll be lined up from here to L.A. to get a look.”
    She felt heat flare across her cheekbones. “I know my job, Mr. Tannahill.”
    “Shane, remember?”
    “That’s your good twin. I’m talking to the evil one right now.”
    He laughed. She was one of the few people he employed who didn’t pull her punches with him. It was just one of the many appealing—and maddening—things about her.
    “Assuming that we pay more than the helmet is worth—”
    “It’s an auction, isn’t it?” she cut in dryly.
    “—and end up owning it, how would you display it for maximum impact?”
    “On you.”
    He blinked. “Excuse me?”
    “At least for the catalog. I wouldn’t expect you to stand around half naked wearing a gold-foiled helmet while groups of female tourists drooled on you.”
    “Just half naked? How disappointing. I thought Celtic warriors wore nothing but blue paint into battle.”
    “Only a few of them went naked. Probably a warrior elite, like the SEALs or the SAS. Some people believe that the Celtic men in blue were Druids, but most people believe that the Druids were an intellectual elite rather than warriors.”
    “The Samurai were both.”
    “Good point. I won’t stand in the way if you want to rub limey clay into your hair, strip naked, and paint yourself blue for—”
    “No,” he cut in quickly. “Not even for the catalog cover.”
    “Well, dang, sugah,” she drawled. “It would have been a showstopper—you with your hair sticking up like an albino sea urchin, ice blue goose bumps all over your glorious body, and a gilded helmet held in front of your pride and joy.”
    Shaking his head, Shane tried not to chuckle. It didn’t work. The image of himself in blue goose bumps and gold helmet held over his crotch was as ridiculous as he would have felt posing naked in the first place.
    That was another of the things he liked about Risa. She made him laugh.
    “Seriously, though,” she said, tilting her head to one side and studying him. “Do you have chest hair?”
    “What?”
    “Do you have—”
    “Yes,” he interrupted. “Do you?”
    She ignored him. “Okay. A shot from about here up”—she pointed to his breastbone—“elegantly inlaid haft of the sword placed diagonally across your hairy chest, the gold helmet emphasizing those stone green eyes and dark beard shadow . . . oh, yeah. It would have women lined up three deep around the parking lot.”
    “I’m beginning to feel like a side of meat.”
    “Now you know how a chorus girl feels.”
    “Never touched one of them, so I’ll take your word for it.”
    Shane was famous for keeping his hands off the help, so Risa just smiled from the teeth out and kept talking.
    “Of course, Celtic warriors usually sported a mustache that drooped over the corners of their mouth and trickled down their chin. But,” she added, “we could always catch a shaggy dog and—”
    Risa’s phone rang, saving Shane from having to listen to the rest of whatever mischief she had in mind. He watched while she answered the phone with the quickness that fascinated him, because her movements always appeared easygoing, almost lazy. It must have had something to do with the southern upbringing that he heard in her voice when she teased someone.
    “Risa here,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
    He saw the change that came over her, emotions crossing her face too quickly for him to read. Then nothing, as though a light had been turned out, leaving only a professional expression behind.
    “Hey, it’s great to hear from you, and I’d love to talk to you, but I’m working right now. Can I call you back?” Risa turned away from Shane. “Lunch? Sure.” She looked at the clock. “One hour, the jazz bar off the lobby.”
    Carefully Risa hung up. Before she turned back to Shane, she made sure her game face was in place. Hearing from Cherelle was always bittersweet. They had so many years together as children, so many shared memories. Without Cherelle, Risa wasn’t sure she would have survived to grow up.
    Yet they had become such different adults.
    The combination of love and guilt she felt toward Cherelle made Risa ache for the childhood laughter that had been and could never be again.
    “A client?” Shane asked mildly, yet his eyes were intent.
    He knew in his gut