Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

this leg goes here, and that one goes up there, and then I pull up your leg and lean this way and . . .” Sensation shot out from the pit of her stomach, taking her to the edge of climax in a single instant.
    He sucked in a breath past the raw lust exploding inside him. “Bloody hell, but that feels good. How many figurines are there?”
    “Enough to kill us.”
    His eyes gleamed. “What are we waiting for?”

Chapter 25
    Las Vegas
    November 3
    Late morning
    S hane sat in Risa’s office, going through museum catalogs and art books that featured Celtic gold artifacts. Just to watch her cheekbones get red, he had brought in a popular magazine with a breathlessly misinformed feature about the fabled Druid hoard. The article was on the bottom of the stack of material to be reviewed, but he was working his way down to it quickly.
    Yanking her chain kept his mind off the overbright, undermoral Cherelle Faulkner.
    “Now, take this torc,” Shane said, pointing to one catalog.
    “I’d love to,” Risa shot back, wanting to pull on her hair. Or his. “But then the British Museum would raise hell with Uncle Sam. The Snettisham torc you’re lusting after is considered one of the finest examples of Iron Age British Celtic gold working. It is a bona fide cultural treasure.”
    Though her voice was sarcastic, the fingertip tracing the outline of the torc in the photograph was almost reverent. Shane watched and wondered if she would touch a man like that, awe and appreciation combined. The thought had an immediate effect on the fit of his pants. Because of that, he was more impatient than usual.
    “In case you forgot,” he said coldly, “I’m holding the Druid Gold catalog cover for something this spectacular.”
    Risa’s dark blue eyes narrowed. She decided she would rather pull his hair than her own. Definitely.
    “Let’s go over it again,” she said. “Nice and slow. I’ll try to keep the words short so I won’t lose you. Ready?”
    He was more than ready, which really irritated him. He nodded curtly.
    “Goods like that torc are cultural treasures along the lines of, oh, the Liberty Bell,” Risa said with fierce calm. “No one sells cultural treasures like that unless he steals them first. If you buy a stolen cultural treasure, you can’t show it in public and you damn well better never show it to me. Are you with me so far?”
    Shane watched her mouth. As always, it was worth watching. Lush. Female. Made for pleasure.
    Damn, but he was tired of wanting her from a distance.
    “Treasures like this torc are kept at home, wherever home might be,” she continued with teeth-gritting restraint. “That’s why there are great exhibits in national museums like the British Museum and the Hermitage and the Louvre. And they aren’t for sale!”
    “That’s your problem,” he said. “Mine is to get a centerpiece for my show before it opens. So far all I have is one good torc on the way and a million bucks in artifacts that will take a lot of explanation before the average person can appreciate them. As a show to compete against Fabergé, it’s a nonstarter. I’m holding the cover of the catalog for you. Don’t let me down.”
    “What about your sharks?” she asked, exasperated. “Go chew on them instead of me.”
    Shane looked at her oddly. “Sharks?”
    “The other, less scrupulous people you have scouring the gutters for you.”
    He smiled almost lazily. “The thing about sharks is they’re so hard to chew on. You’re much more tender.”
    The way he was looking at her and the slow, almost drawling quality of his words made Risa feel like she’d been stroked. Her thoughts fragmented. With something close to desperation, she started thumbing through the next catalog. Nothing in it inspired her. Nothing in it made her forget the look in Shane’s beautiful jade eyes.
    When she looked up, he was still watching her like a man with tasting on his mind. Nervously she wet her lips, saw his eyes narrow, and knew she was getting in way over her head.
    And it wasn’t nearly as deep as she wanted to be.
    She had to ask Niall about another job. Soon. Really soon. Like the instant Shane left her office. She could only pray that would be soon enough. She had never seen that particular smoky quality to his eyes. They burned.
    So did she.
    “What about this?” Shane asked, sliding the magazine out from the bottom of the pile.
    She stared blankly down at an artist’s rendering of life among the Druids.