Immortal Sea by Virginia Kantra Page B

“It’s your car.”
    Her white-knuckled grip on the folder eased. “My car.”
    “In the parking lot.” He strolled forward, taking possession of her space, subtly crowding the other woman from the room. “The window is broken. I noticed it as I was walking by.”
    Brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And you thought you would force your way back here and tell me.”
    He flashed his teeth. “I have never found it necessary to use force.”
    The female behind him gasped in excitement. The one before him was made of sterner stuff.
    “All right, you’ve told me. Thank you. Nancy, can you get Chief Hunter on the phone? I need to file an accident report.”
    He admired her self-possession. But he would not be deterred. “We need to talk.”
    “No, we don’t.” She stood, reclaiming her space. The movement brought her closer to him. He could smell hints of lemon in her hair and on her skin. Fresh. Astringent. It suited her. “Chief Hunter can get in touch with you if he wants your statement.”
    “About Zachary,” he said.
    She froze for a small, betraying instant. He watched as her pulse throbbed in her throat.
    Her gaze flicked behind him. “Nancy? Chief Hunter, please.”
    Her assistant retreated down the hall.
    Elizabeth’s jaw set, strong and square in her otherwise delicate face. “I can’t talk to you now. I’m working.”
    “This is more important.”
    “Not to my patients.”
    He leaned a shoulder against the door jamb, blocking her in. “I will wait.”
    “No.”
    “Or I could come by your house,” he suggested.
    “No . ”
    Their gazes locked. Fear and frustration warred in her eyes. But he had left her no choice. He did not think she would risk having this first confrontation within earshot of her family.
    “All right.” She conceded with surprising dignity. “I get off at four. I’ll meet you someplace.”
    “I am staying at the inn. You could join me for dinner.”
    “I can’t. I have to get home.”
    He wondered suddenly if she had a man at home, expecting her.
    “You are married.”
    Her firm lips pressed together. Parted reluctantly. “Widowed.”
    Ah. “Recently?”
    “Three years ago.”
    He was aware of a faint satisfaction, almost relief. Not that the existence of a husband would have mattered. The boy was his. “Then there is nothing to prevent you from joining me.”
    She sucked in her breath.
    “Dr. Rodriguez, I’ve got Caleb on line three,” her assistant called.
    “Thank you, Nancy.” She took a step forward.
    Morgan did not budge from the doorway.
    Her gaze held his for one heartbeat. Two. Beneath the lemon fragrance on her skin, he caught a subtler, salty note like panic or desire.
    “Drinks,” she snapped. “Four-thirty. I’ll meet you in the bar at the inn.”
    Morgan shifted out of her way. “I look forward to seeing you.”
    It was true, he thought as she stalked past him without a word.
    Not simply because their meeting would bring him another step closer to his goal. He was . . . intrigued by her. Attracted by warm brown eyes and a cool smile, by strong shoulders and delicate hands.
    The years between were nothing to him. He had not changed.
    Yet as he watched her walk away, her hips barely suggested by the shape of her coat, her dark hair bundled at the base of her neck, he was aware of the passage of time like the beating of his blood or the rush of angel wings.
    She was grown, changed, different. Better armored and more interesting than the girl who had sex with him sixteen years ago.
    Deep in his belly, he felt a tug of curiosity, a quick, hot coil of lust. How else was she changed? And what would it take to persuade her to have sex with him again?

    Liz adjusted the rearview mirror, smoothing on her lipstick with a trembling hand.
    Oh, God. She met her overbright eyes in the mirror. What was she doing? She was not fussing with her face like a twenty-one-year-old primping for the first date they’d never had.
    She wasn’t that stupid. Not