St Kilda Consulting 01 - Always Time to Die

of his voice shocked her as much as it made her heart beat faster. “Now I know how the stories about alien body-stealing start.”
    Dan smiled.
    The contrast between harsh black beard stubble and the beauty of his unexpected grin squeezed her heart. He was his mother’s son, with a smile that could light up winter.
    “God, don’t do that,” Carly said huskily. “I’ll drool and embarrass myself.”
    “Don’t do what?”
    “Smile. You have to know you’re gorgeous when you smile.”
    The corners of his mouth curved up. “Nobody ever mentioned it before now.”
    She shook her head sharply, like she was throwing off cold water. Red stained her cheeks. She fell as much as lowered herself onto a chair. “Right. Pardon me while I sit down and take both feet out of my mouth.”
    Dan came over, sat on his heels in front of her, and said, “Need any help?”
    She laughed despite her embarrassment.
    He touched her flushed cheek with a tenderness that made her breath fill her throat.
    “It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t mind knowing that I’m attractive to you. In fact, I like it.”
    “Oh, come on,” she said, looking at his jade green eyes and the dark thickness of his hair. Her hands itched from wanting to feel that hair between her fingers. As for his mouth… no, don’t go there. “You have to be used to women tripping you and beating you to the floor.”
    He shook his head.
    “Then you must have been living in a monastery,” she said.
    “You’re going to make me blush.”
    “I’ll sell tickets,” she retorted.
    He smiled again. “I like you, Carolina May.” He brushed a kiss over her startled lips. “I like you a lot. Want to see if something comes of it?”
    “You don’t waste any time, do you?”
    “No.” His smile vanished. “I’m living on borrowed time.”
    She was too shocked to speak.
    “We all are,” he added. “Most people just don’t notice.” He took her hands in his. Her fingers were cold. He rubbed them lightly between his palms. “Tell me about Governor Quintrell.”
    The warmth of Dan’s hands and the intensity in his eyes were another kind of caress. She’d been intrigued by him from the first glance. And it had been way too long since a man made her feel like a woman.
    “The governor.” Her voice was too husky. She cleared it. “He doesn’t want anything in the family history that he doesn’t approve of in writing.”
    Dan’s musical whistle was as unexpected and alluring as his smile. “Slander, libel, and lawyers?”
    “Yes. And I don’t even know the difference between slander and libel.”
    “Slander is defaming through speech. Libel is defaming through writing or photos.”
    “Are you a lawyer?”
    “Nope. Disappointed?”
    She smiled slightly. “Relieved. The worst date I ever had was a lawyer. The second-worst, too. Do you think Governor Quintrell put that rat on my pillow and then made a threatening call when I didn’t bolt?”
    “The call, possibly. You can download all kinds of sound effects from the Net and play them back anywhere, anytime. But the rat…” Slowly Dan shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m not saying the governor isn’t mean enough, but people notice him wherever he goes, even at home. He wouldn’t risk getting caught with a dead rat in his pocket.”
    “He could have had somebody do it for him.”
    Dan thought about the bodyguards he’d seen in the kitchen. One of them certainly could have pulled a rat from a live trap, gutted the rat, and dropped it on Carly’s pillow. Yet even as he thought about it, he shook his head.
    “Not likely,” Dan said.
    “Why?”
    “It would give the errand boy a hold on the governor.”
    She thought it over, then nodded. “Pragmatism, not ethics, is that what you’re saying?”
    “Politicians are a pragmatic lot. They have to be.” Dan stood up, wincing slightly.
    “Your leg,” Carly said.
    “Did the governor say anything else to you?”
    “You know,” she said, standing up, staying close to him, pushing his personal space the same way he’d pushed hers, “whatever there is between us won’t go far if you keep ignoring simple questions.”
    For a moment his eyes were those of a stranger again. Then he muttered something under his breath, sighed, and said, “I did a lot of PT this morning.”
    “PT? Physical therapy?”
    “Yes.” It could also mean physical training, PT of a very specialized type. But he didn’t want to explain that to the little