wandered over, eyeing the pictures. Celia and her sister together at various ages, sometimes with a woman who had to be their mother. The glass ball sat on an ornate stand, and he rubbed a hand across the top, his fingers tickling with the contact. “Why a broomstick?”
“She’s a psychic who gives readings and runs a new-age shop. Around here, that translates to ‘witch’. Please don’t touch that.”
He jerked his hand back and whirled, a flush heating his face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t—”
“No, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s been a long couple of days and I shouldn’t take that out on you.” She hugged the folder to her chest, an array of expressions chasing over her features. For a slow moment, he sensed she struggled with a silent decision then she relaxed. “It was my mother’s. I’m a little protective of it.”
He glanced back at the globe, remembering the Tarot deck, then looked at her once more. “Do you…ah…I mean, are you…”
“Able to see into the future? Discern what the stars might hold?” A wicked smile lit her face and she laughed, the genuine sound relaxing him all over again. She had a beautiful laugh, one he didn’t hear around the office all that often. “No. Why? Did Cis make you nervous?”
A puff of laughter escaped him. “A little.”
“She has that effect on people sometimes. I think it’s the eyes. She has this way of—”
“Looking inside you.” He’d seen Celia do the same thing with suspects, though, reading them, reading the situation.
“Exactly.” She shook her head, her grin turning conspiratorial. “And by the way, she’s not a witch. So no worries that she cursed you with her tea or anything.”
He edged a finger along the wrought-iron table. He should take the file and go, not continue standing here, looking at her, feeling relieved that the tension between them had diminished, wanting this conversation to go on and on. Not delve into her mysteries the way he craved. What he should do was keep everything on a professional footing before he got himself into major trouble.
His impulses refused to listen to his rational brain. “You’re very close, aren’t you?”
She caressed the edge of the folder, a winsome expression on her face. “We are. Can’t imagine my life without her.”
He nodded. “It’s good that you have someone like that.”
Her hand drifted up to fiddle with the chain about her neck. He followed the movement with his eyes, wondering again what hid between her breasts at the end of the delicate links. She tilted her head to the side, hair shifting over her bare shoulder. “What about you? Any siblings?”
“No, I’m an only child.” This was getting too personal, too much like first-date-getting-to-know-you talk. Time to make an exit. He moved forward and extended his hand. “I should be going. I’ve taken enough of your evening.”
“Of course.” Her expression closed, her eyes going cool again. She held out the folder. “This is what you came for.”
“Thanks.” He took it, fingers brushing hers in the process, a prickling warmth spreading up his arm. Yep. Definitely obsessive. Definitely time to go. Swallowing, he saluted her with the folder. “See you in the morning.”
He strode to the door, intent on showing himself out.
“McMillian.” Her voice, soft and a little strangled, stopped him.
He glanced back. She leaned against the plush armchair’s back. Silver glinted at him again along her narrow waist. “Yes?”
She pushed her hair behind her ear again. “Have you eaten?”
“No, not yet.”
“Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Dinner followed by breakfast tomorrow morning. He passed a hand over his hair. “Celia, it’s not a good idea for us to—”
“Do you take the high road in everything you do?” Her chin tilted in clear challenge.
No. He possessed gray areas even he didn’t want to admit to. “We work together. Any kind of involvement would be…difficult.”
“It’s
“She’s a psychic who gives readings and runs a new-age shop. Around here, that translates to ‘witch’. Please don’t touch that.”
He jerked his hand back and whirled, a flush heating his face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t—”
“No, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s been a long couple of days and I shouldn’t take that out on you.” She hugged the folder to her chest, an array of expressions chasing over her features. For a slow moment, he sensed she struggled with a silent decision then she relaxed. “It was my mother’s. I’m a little protective of it.”
He glanced back at the globe, remembering the Tarot deck, then looked at her once more. “Do you…ah…I mean, are you…”
“Able to see into the future? Discern what the stars might hold?” A wicked smile lit her face and she laughed, the genuine sound relaxing him all over again. She had a beautiful laugh, one he didn’t hear around the office all that often. “No. Why? Did Cis make you nervous?”
A puff of laughter escaped him. “A little.”
“She has that effect on people sometimes. I think it’s the eyes. She has this way of—”
“Looking inside you.” He’d seen Celia do the same thing with suspects, though, reading them, reading the situation.
“Exactly.” She shook her head, her grin turning conspiratorial. “And by the way, she’s not a witch. So no worries that she cursed you with her tea or anything.”
He edged a finger along the wrought-iron table. He should take the file and go, not continue standing here, looking at her, feeling relieved that the tension between them had diminished, wanting this conversation to go on and on. Not delve into her mysteries the way he craved. What he should do was keep everything on a professional footing before he got himself into major trouble.
His impulses refused to listen to his rational brain. “You’re very close, aren’t you?”
She caressed the edge of the folder, a winsome expression on her face. “We are. Can’t imagine my life without her.”
He nodded. “It’s good that you have someone like that.”
Her hand drifted up to fiddle with the chain about her neck. He followed the movement with his eyes, wondering again what hid between her breasts at the end of the delicate links. She tilted her head to the side, hair shifting over her bare shoulder. “What about you? Any siblings?”
“No, I’m an only child.” This was getting too personal, too much like first-date-getting-to-know-you talk. Time to make an exit. He moved forward and extended his hand. “I should be going. I’ve taken enough of your evening.”
“Of course.” Her expression closed, her eyes going cool again. She held out the folder. “This is what you came for.”
“Thanks.” He took it, fingers brushing hers in the process, a prickling warmth spreading up his arm. Yep. Definitely obsessive. Definitely time to go. Swallowing, he saluted her with the folder. “See you in the morning.”
He strode to the door, intent on showing himself out.
“McMillian.” Her voice, soft and a little strangled, stopped him.
He glanced back. She leaned against the plush armchair’s back. Silver glinted at him again along her narrow waist. “Yes?”
She pushed her hair behind her ear again. “Have you eaten?”
“No, not yet.”
“Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Dinner followed by breakfast tomorrow morning. He passed a hand over his hair. “Celia, it’s not a good idea for us to—”
“Do you take the high road in everything you do?” Her chin tilted in clear challenge.
No. He possessed gray areas even he didn’t want to admit to. “We work together. Any kind of involvement would be…difficult.”
“It’s
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