Page 49 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

The knife he was using clattered to the counter top. “Miss O’Shea, perhaps I should warn… ahhh, Erin… warn you it’s against the law to acc—accost an agent of the federal government.” The unsteadiness of his voice matched his labored breathing.

“Is it?” she taunted.

“Yes.” He drew a sharp breath. “Oh hell,” he said through clenched teeth. “And you’d better stop what you’re doing or—”

“Or what?” she challenged.

He spun around to face her. Placing a strong arm behind her back he drew her against him until she could feel the results of her teasing. His eyes gleamed with desire as he growled, “Or you know what.” Then he kissed her fully, but quickly, on the mouth and pushed her away from him. He raked her with his eyes appraisingly.

“How can you look so angelic when I know that under that pure, innocent exterior beats the heart of a consummate wanton?”

She placed her fists on her hips, a gesture that pulled the fabric of her blouse tight across her breasts in a revealing, evocative display. “What a dastardly thing to say,” she said haughtily. “I’ll have you know—”

“What?”

“I’ll have you know,” she smiled mischievously, “that you are absolutely right.” She raised her face toward his descending lips, but the doorbell peeled loudly.

“You have been saved by the bell, Miss O’Shea, from a fate worse than death.”

“Damn.”

“Go see who it is. Mike is busy and I need to get this toast finished. For some reason I have quite an appetite this morning.”

“You have quite an appetite for a lot of things.” She winked lasciviously.

He swatted her playfully on the bottom as he shooed her out of the kitchen.

She was still smiling abstractedly when she pulled open the front door. “Bart!” she shrieked when she saw her fiancé standing across the threshold.

“Hi, sugar,” he said shyly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t expect you to answer the door.”

Erin had gone drastically pale and her heart had lurched up to her throat. She hadn’t even thought of Bart in hours. Days? Certainly not since last night. Seeing him standing here now was an unpleasant shock.

“Baby, I know what hell you’ve been through, but I’m tired. Can I come in?”

She was still too stunned to think rationally, but she answered, “Oh—of course. I’m sorry. It—I’m just surprised to see you, that’s all.”

He came in the hallway and seemed to dwarf the house. His presence was overwhelming, oxygen consuming. Erin couldn’t take in enough precious air and found herself gulping, trying to fill her constricted lungs.

“Bart, how…? Why…?” She couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

“Honey, I’m a little put out with you. Why didn’t you tell me the mess your brother was tangled up in? Hell, I’m a good troubleshooter. Maybe I could have helped. I read about the whole thing in the Houston paper yesterday. The name just seemed to jump out at me. I tied up a few pressing business matters and then had Jim fly me out here late last night.”

She knew that Ken’s death had precipitated the story of the embezzlement to come out. It had been picked up by the national news services. Something that unusual couldn’t be kept quiet forever. Of course Bart, who perused several newspapers each day, would have seen the story and remembered her brother’s name. He had wasted no time having his pilot fly his Lear jet to San Francisco.

“Why didn’t you let me know about this and help you, sugar?”

“I just didn’t,” Erin said sharply. When she saw his wounded look, she softened toward him. None of this was his fault. “I’m sorry, Bart. I didn’t mean to snap at you. The last few days have been very trying.”

“I know, baby. But I’m here now. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” He put a heavy arm around her shoulder and drew her close to him. He pressed her head against his chest in a comforting gesture and patted the dark curls. “I sure have missed you.” His voice had taken on a quality that Erin recognized.

She fought down the sudden repulsion th

at gripped her. But when he tilted her head back with a finger under her chin, she didn’t resist. This wasn’t the time or the place to tell him that it was over between them, that she was in love with someone else.

His kiss that started with almost paternal tenderness, deepened and became possessive. She was encompassed in his arms and held against his bulk. It wasn’t that Bart was fat. But his muscles weren’t honed down to a wiry steeliness. He didn’t have that sinewy strength and leanness of a… runner. Of Lance. No one looked or felt like Lance.

Lance. Lance. She had to tell Bart about Lance. Couldn’t he taste Lance on her lips? Didn’t he discern by her reluctant lips that she wanted to be kissing someone else?

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