way.”
Keane scowled again. “I don't like being pointed in a specific direction. I like it even less when it begins to look like somebody might be leading me around by the nose.”
“And in the opposite direction from where you really should be looking?”
“Exactly.”
Gillian eyed him, then smiled wryly. “So we keep poking around in the museum, huh?”
“What other choice do we have? Goddammit.”
It was the following Friday evening when Morgan came out of her kitchen to find a visitor had arrived. Via the window.
Oddly enough, she wasn't at all surprised to see him standing there, much as he had the night he'd been wounded. Except that he wasn't wounded now, or masked. And his lean, handsome face was, she thought, uncharacteristically strained.
“Good evening,” she said politely. “I really do have to do something about that lock, don't I?”
“It might be a good idea.”
“On the other hand, I could just hang garlic in the window.”
“That only works on vampires, I hear.”
“Let's see . . . Vampires appear only at night, they move so fast you'd think they could fly, they're creatures of legend and myth, they can cling to the side of a building like a bat . . . I'm sure I can think of something that doesn't apply to you, but so far—”
“They sleep in coffins and drink the blood of the living.”
Morgan raised her eyebrows silently.
“Oh, come on,” he said.
Noting that he at least wasn't standing so stiffly now, Morgan shrugged and said, “Okay, points for that. But I may hang a cross in the window anyway, just—you should pardon the expression—for the hell of it.”
He waited until she crossed the room to stand before him, and when he spoke it was quickly. “I never really thanked you for taking care of me, Morgana.”
“You thanked me. And you sent flowers. Points for that, too, by the way. Is that why you're here, to thank me more?”
“I thought I would.”
“You're welcome.”
“You went out on a limb for me. I know that.”
“My pleasure.”
“I'm serious, Morgana. You could have called the police. Should have. And I'm . . . grateful that you didn't do that.”
It was a bit amusing to watch the usually unflappable Quinn grope for words, but Morgan didn't allow herself to smile. “Noted. I appreciate your gratitude.”
Quinn eyed her with faint exasperation. “You don't make it easy for me,” he told her.
She did smile then. “Oh, I see—you want me to make it
easy
for you. Why should I?”
He cleared his throat. “Do both of us know what we're talking about?”
“Yes. We're talking about the fact that I more or less offered myself to you Monday night—and you bolted so fast you practically left your boots behind.”
A little smile curved his mouth. “The image that conjures, Morgana, is hardly flattering. To either of us.”
“I agree. Is that why you really came back here? Because you had second thoughts?”
Quinn hesitated, then shook his head. “No, you were obviously not in your right mind at the time.”
“I wasn't?” She put her hands on her hips and stared up at him. “Are you trying to save me from myself, Alex?”
“Something like that,” he murmured.
“Then why did you come back here?”
“To thank you, that's all. I just . . . didn't like leaving that way. Without a word.”
“I didn't care for it much myself. Especially the walking-away-when-I-offered-you-my-bodypart. That's sort of hard on a woman's ego.”
“You only said maybe you'd changed your mind about strip poker.”
“We both know exactly what I meant.”
He cleared his throat again. “If it helps, I really—really—wanted to stay.”
“Then why didn't you?”
“It would be a mistake, Morgana. Never doubt that.”
“Because you're Quinn?” They hadn't talked about this when he'd been recovering here, and she had a peculiar idea that was really why he'd come back—because he wanted her to fully understand who and what he was.
“Isn't that
Keane scowled again. “I don't like being pointed in a specific direction. I like it even less when it begins to look like somebody might be leading me around by the nose.”
“And in the opposite direction from where you really should be looking?”
“Exactly.”
Gillian eyed him, then smiled wryly. “So we keep poking around in the museum, huh?”
“What other choice do we have? Goddammit.”
It was the following Friday evening when Morgan came out of her kitchen to find a visitor had arrived. Via the window.
Oddly enough, she wasn't at all surprised to see him standing there, much as he had the night he'd been wounded. Except that he wasn't wounded now, or masked. And his lean, handsome face was, she thought, uncharacteristically strained.
“Good evening,” she said politely. “I really do have to do something about that lock, don't I?”
“It might be a good idea.”
“On the other hand, I could just hang garlic in the window.”
“That only works on vampires, I hear.”
“Let's see . . . Vampires appear only at night, they move so fast you'd think they could fly, they're creatures of legend and myth, they can cling to the side of a building like a bat . . . I'm sure I can think of something that doesn't apply to you, but so far—”
“They sleep in coffins and drink the blood of the living.”
Morgan raised her eyebrows silently.
“Oh, come on,” he said.
Noting that he at least wasn't standing so stiffly now, Morgan shrugged and said, “Okay, points for that. But I may hang a cross in the window anyway, just—you should pardon the expression—for the hell of it.”
He waited until she crossed the room to stand before him, and when he spoke it was quickly. “I never really thanked you for taking care of me, Morgana.”
“You thanked me. And you sent flowers. Points for that, too, by the way. Is that why you're here, to thank me more?”
“I thought I would.”
“You're welcome.”
“You went out on a limb for me. I know that.”
“My pleasure.”
“I'm serious, Morgana. You could have called the police. Should have. And I'm . . . grateful that you didn't do that.”
It was a bit amusing to watch the usually unflappable Quinn grope for words, but Morgan didn't allow herself to smile. “Noted. I appreciate your gratitude.”
Quinn eyed her with faint exasperation. “You don't make it easy for me,” he told her.
She did smile then. “Oh, I see—you want me to make it
easy
for you. Why should I?”
He cleared his throat. “Do both of us know what we're talking about?”
“Yes. We're talking about the fact that I more or less offered myself to you Monday night—and you bolted so fast you practically left your boots behind.”
A little smile curved his mouth. “The image that conjures, Morgana, is hardly flattering. To either of us.”
“I agree. Is that why you really came back here? Because you had second thoughts?”
Quinn hesitated, then shook his head. “No, you were obviously not in your right mind at the time.”
“I wasn't?” She put her hands on her hips and stared up at him. “Are you trying to save me from myself, Alex?”
“Something like that,” he murmured.
“Then why did you come back here?”
“To thank you, that's all. I just . . . didn't like leaving that way. Without a word.”
“I didn't care for it much myself. Especially the walking-away-when-I-offered-you-my-bodypart. That's sort of hard on a woman's ego.”
“You only said maybe you'd changed your mind about strip poker.”
“We both know exactly what I meant.”
He cleared his throat again. “If it helps, I really—really—wanted to stay.”
“Then why didn't you?”
“It would be a mistake, Morgana. Never doubt that.”
“Because you're Quinn?” They hadn't talked about this when he'd been recovering here, and she had a peculiar idea that was really why he'd come back—because he wanted her to fully understand who and what he was.
“Isn't that
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