been brought up that way, she respected men who knew how to go after what they wanted. She respected them even more if they admired that trait in her.
One look into Finn Gallagher’s deep hazel eyes and she saw flashes of that respect layered under the distinct notes of male appreciation and attraction, and it drew her in.
“I know he’s not your favorite person, but Baxter did order the best champagne.” Finn held a full flute of the pale liquid toward her. “It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”
“True.” She accepted the glass, bemused when Finn lifted his flute in toast. “Now you’re going to force me to celebrate Monroe’s generosity, too?”
“I’d prefer to think of this as a toast to our partnership.”
Rowan lifted her glass. “May it bear the most ancient of fruits.”
She didn’t miss the subtle lift of his eyebrows over the rim of his glass, but other than that, Finn didn’t cop to any other response. She took a sip of her champagne, the bubbles light and crisp on her tongue. “Damn, but he did choose the good stuff.”
“How else do you suppose he’s going to impress a room full of his top patrons?”
“Is that how you got in on the dig?”
“I don’t need to wine and dine slimy toadies like Baxter Monroe to sell my services.” He hesitated for a moment before flashing a quick, wolfish grin. “I do, however, spend considerable time wooing his bosses.”
“No one argues with the moneyman.” Rowan thought about her afternoon visit to Gallagher International. “Or the man with the fancy research lab.”
“Spot-on you are.”
“I think I’m beginning to get a picture.” Rowan took another sip of her champagne as she glanced around the room. “You ensure the top museum brass have an unlimited supply of what they need, namely money and access to research services, and in exchange, it allows you to keep tabs on Monroe and his activities.”
“Spot-on again.”
“And keeping tabs also ensures you have a place on the digs, whether Monroe wants you there or not.”
“Now you’re just showing off.” The cocky grin was back, along with that distinct layer of respect in his gaze. “Well, then. Are you ready to go have some fun?”
“At this event?”
“Of course.”
She paused a moment, pleased when Finn’s gaze darkened with that tantalizing attraction that hummed subtly between them. “There’s a phrase in America. It’s called poking the bear in his den.”
“You’re suggesting Monroe’s the bear in this delightful Mark Twain-esque colloquialism?”
“Yep.”
Finn extended his arm and Rowan took it, his hard strength more than evident through the sleeve of his suit jacket. She fought the urge to cling to those delectable muscles, instead nodding in the direction of Baxter Monroe. “Allow me to lead the way.”
* * *
Finn gave himself the momentary gift of simply drinking her in, before he moved them deftly through the ballroom. The woman cut an incredible figure, the black dress clinging to each and every curve she possessed. If her plum suit from earlier had twisted him in knots, the black cocktail dress had him engulfed in flames.
She was stunning. Her pert features—already maximized by the short cap of hair that covered her head—stood out without the need for much fuss. Her makeup was minimal, the natural flush of her cheeks a sign of her vitality. The gamine cut of her hair had a secondary benefit—her neck and shoulders were fully exposed. The slender curve of her neck drew his gaze and he imagined pressing a line of kisses there, flicking his tongue lightly against her skin with the sole purpose of making her shiver.
The image gripped him as he placed his near-empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. Finn laid his hand over hers, pleased by the light jolt that rattled through his body at the contact. The shudder of her arm where it threaded through his only reinforced she was as affected as he was.
He took pleasure from the thought, surprised when a quick flash of memory rose up swift and strong. The same woman, clad all in black, pressing her lips to his.
He wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to see if the lush memory he’d kept all these years was nearly as satisfying as he remembered. Wanted to know if there was a way to replicate something that sweet and innocent, yet carnal and almost desperate with need.
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it.” Baxter’s voice broke the moment, and thoughts of kissing Rowan Steele vanished at the very clear evidence they were both “on.” The hand that had reflexively tightened on his arm with attraction tightened once more, this time in a subtle anger that practically vibrated from her.
He disengaged their linked arms, shifting his hand to the small of her back, and pulled her a fraction of an inch closer, whether in protection or possession, Finn didn’t know. “Baxter.”
Monroe turned to face Rowan. “And Miss Steele? I understand you’ll be joining us in the Valley of the Queens. I’m delighted.”
“Likewise.”
“When did you arrive in town?”
The forced conversation spun out and Finn was amused to watch how elegantly Rowan played her mark. She kept up the polite facade, never breaking eye contact or the subtle hints of flirtation until she went in for the kill. “I understand the site’s discovery was something of a surprise.”
Baxter’s laugh did nothing to hide the stiff lines of his face. “Hardly. What would give you that idea?”
“Just some things I’ve heard.”
“That’s hard to imagine. The museum was doing routine restoration in Nefertari’s burial chamber. We’ve always had reason to believe there was something else there and the time was ripe to explore. It’s as simple as that.”
“Fascinating.” Rowan shook her head, her voice still layered in polite platitudes. If Finn didn’t see her vivid blue, predatory gaze with his own eyes, he’d likely not have believed the small, genteel woman was capable of what came next.
“Yes, it is.”
“And here I thought this incredible discovery was all because you got your panties in a twist and tossed a small, pointed archaeology trowel across a priceless burial chamber.”
“Of all...” the man sputtered, the pale skin of his neck growing red.
“You then forced one of your lackeys to go pick it up before anyone could possibly snap a photo of the tossed object. Isn’t that right, Baxter?”
“Gossip and innuendo.”
“Yes, well, in my experience, nearly all gossip and innuendo has a grain or two of truth in it.”
The red flooding Baxter’s face shifted
