than scum for suggesting it, I know," he said.
Erin turned away abruptly and went to the open balcony doors. Her back was stiff, and she didn't turn around to face him. "I think I hate you," she said coldly.
"I wouldn't be at all surprised."
"Arrogant bastard."
"Undoubtedly."
"Any woman crazy enough to get involved with you deserves everything she gets."
"Uh-huh. Eight o'clock okay with you for dinner?"
"Aren't you working?"
"Not tonight."
"Oh."
"Is eight o'clock all right?" he repeated.
"Yes."
"I'll come back for you in an hour," Keith said matter-of-factly, and left before she could change her mind.
It was a good minute before Erin turned to stare at the empty room. "I'm out of my mind," she said in a judicious tone. "I am certifiably mad." Moving carefully, she sat down at the small table and stared at her opened sketchpad.
The sketch, done in a fury of confused emotion during the afternoon, was of Keith. Without conceit, Erin knew it was good. The stark black-and-white portrait showed a complex man whose compelling face was brooding and sensual. There were secrets in the hooded eyes and a devilish tilt to the eyebrows, and his mouth was curved in a dangerous smile.
"I should have drawn horns on you," she muttered, and firmly closed the sketchpad.
Erin had never felt so many diverse emotions all jumbled together inside her. Passion, hurt, fury, indignation, and a wholly unwilling and somewhat staggered amusement at the sheer nerve of the man. Since the morning, she'd ridden an emotional tidal wave, and had no idea where it was taking her.
It was unnerving to discover she was unwilling to save herself, and she was actually looking forward to the rest of the ride.
She thought about that while she was getting ready, unable to reach any conclusion except that she was obviously demented. The man was a devil, evidently amusing himself by yanking her around on the end of an emotional string, and she ought to have her head examined for letting him get away with it. On second thought, she didn't need her head examined; she knew she was crazy.
She was also crazy for choosing to wear a gold dress that shimmered faintly with every move she made. It was vaguely Grecian in design, leaving one shoulder bare and clinging closely to her body from breasts to hips before falling more loosely in a knee-length skirt. She knew the color suited her, and the style emphasized every curve. Delicate sandals showed off trim ankles and slender legs, and her loose hairstyle implied less control and dignity than was at all wise.
Dressed for battle, she thought somewhat grimly, and didn't like to consider what that might mean.
The flowers that arrived at a quarter to eight didn't do much to clarify her mood—they just disconcerted her even more. He'd sent roses. White roses. She hoped the choice had been automatic or that of the hotel florist; as well as she remembered, white roses symbolized eternity. No message on the card, just his name, bold enough to belong to any villain.
By the time she went to answer the knock on her door at eight, Erin was in a tenuous state best described as guarded. The man was a warlock, and she was bewitched—there was no other explanation for it.
When she opened the door, Keith took one look at the dress she had chosen to wear and said simply, "Gold is your color."
"Thank you. And thank you for the flowers."
His crooked smile dawned. "I would have brought them myself, but I figured you'd throw them in my face."
"Perceptive of you."
"She's still feeling hostile," he murmured, stepping back so she could come out into the hall.
"Do admit she has reason," Erin retorted, pulling her door shut behind her.
"I’ll admit it." He took her arm in a light grasp as they walked toward the elevator. "I'll even admit that I'll probably get worse before I get better."
Vaguely wishing he didn't look so devastating in a formal suit and tie, Erin said in a very polite tone, "Oh, are you planning to get
Erin turned away abruptly and went to the open balcony doors. Her back was stiff, and she didn't turn around to face him. "I think I hate you," she said coldly.
"I wouldn't be at all surprised."
"Arrogant bastard."
"Undoubtedly."
"Any woman crazy enough to get involved with you deserves everything she gets."
"Uh-huh. Eight o'clock okay with you for dinner?"
"Aren't you working?"
"Not tonight."
"Oh."
"Is eight o'clock all right?" he repeated.
"Yes."
"I'll come back for you in an hour," Keith said matter-of-factly, and left before she could change her mind.
It was a good minute before Erin turned to stare at the empty room. "I'm out of my mind," she said in a judicious tone. "I am certifiably mad." Moving carefully, she sat down at the small table and stared at her opened sketchpad.
The sketch, done in a fury of confused emotion during the afternoon, was of Keith. Without conceit, Erin knew it was good. The stark black-and-white portrait showed a complex man whose compelling face was brooding and sensual. There were secrets in the hooded eyes and a devilish tilt to the eyebrows, and his mouth was curved in a dangerous smile.
"I should have drawn horns on you," she muttered, and firmly closed the sketchpad.
Erin had never felt so many diverse emotions all jumbled together inside her. Passion, hurt, fury, indignation, and a wholly unwilling and somewhat staggered amusement at the sheer nerve of the man. Since the morning, she'd ridden an emotional tidal wave, and had no idea where it was taking her.
It was unnerving to discover she was unwilling to save herself, and she was actually looking forward to the rest of the ride.
She thought about that while she was getting ready, unable to reach any conclusion except that she was obviously demented. The man was a devil, evidently amusing himself by yanking her around on the end of an emotional string, and she ought to have her head examined for letting him get away with it. On second thought, she didn't need her head examined; she knew she was crazy.
She was also crazy for choosing to wear a gold dress that shimmered faintly with every move she made. It was vaguely Grecian in design, leaving one shoulder bare and clinging closely to her body from breasts to hips before falling more loosely in a knee-length skirt. She knew the color suited her, and the style emphasized every curve. Delicate sandals showed off trim ankles and slender legs, and her loose hairstyle implied less control and dignity than was at all wise.
Dressed for battle, she thought somewhat grimly, and didn't like to consider what that might mean.
The flowers that arrived at a quarter to eight didn't do much to clarify her mood—they just disconcerted her even more. He'd sent roses. White roses. She hoped the choice had been automatic or that of the hotel florist; as well as she remembered, white roses symbolized eternity. No message on the card, just his name, bold enough to belong to any villain.
By the time she went to answer the knock on her door at eight, Erin was in a tenuous state best described as guarded. The man was a warlock, and she was bewitched—there was no other explanation for it.
When she opened the door, Keith took one look at the dress she had chosen to wear and said simply, "Gold is your color."
"Thank you. And thank you for the flowers."
His crooked smile dawned. "I would have brought them myself, but I figured you'd throw them in my face."
"Perceptive of you."
"She's still feeling hostile," he murmured, stepping back so she could come out into the hall.
"Do admit she has reason," Erin retorted, pulling her door shut behind her.
"I’ll admit it." He took her arm in a light grasp as they walked toward the elevator. "I'll even admit that I'll probably get worse before I get better."
Vaguely wishing he didn't look so devastating in a formal suit and tie, Erin said in a very polite tone, "Oh, are you planning to get
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