just another one of your wild adventures. You could be hurt, even killed.”
“I’ll be fine. Rutledge is a politician. He’s too smart to show his hand by coming after me.”
She leaned toward the fire, gazing past him into the flames. “If you’d told me all this earlier, I’d have suggested that Clara and I come another time. The last thing you need right now is a woman and child tagging after you.”
Quint laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Her muscles were knots of tension. His fingers stirred reflexively, massaging the tightness. “There was no way to let you know. By the time it happened, you and Clara were already on the train. But never mind that. I’ve been looking forward to this visit for weeks, and I don’t want it spoiled. I may need to put in some hours at the Chronicle— in fact, I’ll be there tomorrow morning until about 10:00 a.m. But we should still have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves. All right?”
“Mmm-hmm…” Her shoulders flexed against his palm. Taking it as an invitation, Quint shifted behind her, where he could put both hands into play. “How does that feel?” he asked.
“It’s heaven. After all those hours on the train…” Her words dissolved in a moan as his thumbs pressed circles along the edges of her spine. “You really are corrupting me.”
“Chao taught me how to do this,” he said. “Chinese magic. Tomorrow, if you and Clara are agreeable, we can take the trolley to Golden Gate Park. There’s a fine Japanese garden and a playground with a carousel, and Clara will finally get to see the ocean. How does that sound?”
“Oh…she’ll love that.” Annie arched her back, surrendering to the spell of Quint’s hands. Warmth radiated from his fingertips, easing sore muscles, seeping into tired bones. It would be wonderful just to let go and drift. But she couldn’t allow that to happen. For all his bravado, Quint’s story had struck cold fear into her heart. The danger to his life was all too real, but in typical male fashion, he was pretending it didn’t exist. Somehow she had to talk sense into him.
“Let’s take our visit one day at a time, shall we?” she began. “If things get too worrisome, you can put Clara and me on the train.”
“Fine.” His fingers worked deeper, triggering waves of pleasure that rippled down through her body. Annie felt an exquisite tightening in the deep core of her hips. The voice of common sense shrilled that it was time to call a halt—and she would, she promised herself. Very soon.
“I want to ask one favor of you,” she said.
“Granted, as long as it’s fun.”
The robe’s loose collar had slid down onto Annie’s shoulders. Quint’s hands rested on her bare nape, his strong thumbs working their delicious voodoo at the base of her skull. She closed her eyes. How would it feel to be touched like this in other places? Her breasts? Her hips? She bit back a moan. Things were getting out of control, if only in her mind.
Willing her eyes to open, she glanced toward the wall. Hannah’s sunlit face smiled down at her from the simple ebony frame. Annie’s forbidden thoughts fled.
“So what’s the favor?” Quint’s hands had paused.
“Something serious. A promise.”
“Then I may need time to think it over. Tell me.”
Readjusting the robe, she turned to face him on the settee. “Just this. Rutledge has already had one person killed. We both know you could be next. If the situation gets so threatening that you feel the need to send Clara and me home early…” Annie took a deep breath and plunged ahead.
“This isn’t worth your life, Quint. I want your promise that you’ll get on that train and go with us.”
Chapter Three
Quint cursed his faulty judgment. He should’ve known better than to tell Annie what was happening with Rutledge. Now she waited for his answer, her mouth determinedly set, her velvet eyes pleading.
The sight of that face was enough to turn his resolve to warm putty. Right then he would have given her almost anything—except the one thing she wanted.
“No. I can’t leave here,” he said.
“Quint—”
“Don’t push this, Annie. You know I can’t, and you know why.”
She stood, her eyes flashing defiance. “You mean you won’t. And, yes, I do know why. It’s because you’re a man, with more silly male pride than brains. You’d rather be stabbed in some dark alley than walk away and save your own life!”
Rising, Quint opened his mouth to argue, but she stopped him with the touch of a finger to his lips.
“Be still and listen. If Rutledge is as smart as you say he is, he’ll find a way to get you without taking the blame. You’ll end up as dead as that poor woman. And for what? You said yourself that the whole city government is rotten. You can’t fix it by yourself.”
“Maybe not. But if I can rouse enough people to action, it might make a difference. That’s my job. I can’t just turn tail and run.”
Annie gazed up at him in despair. His eyes had gone flinty. A muscle twitched along his tightly clenched jaw. The man had closed his ears to reason. He seemed determined to get himself murdered.
“Don’t be so blasted noble!” she argued. “Think of the people who care about you—people who’d be devastated to lose you. Clara. Judd and Hannah. Even me…”
“Even you?” The mischief had crept back into his eyes. “Why, little Annie, I didn’t know you cared. Maybe I should give this some thought.”
“Stop making fun of me!” It was all she could do to keep from slapping the smirk off his face. “Yes, I do care, you big, arrogant, smart-mouthed oaf! You’ve been my knight in shining armor since I was old enough to tell boys from girls. Even when you were Hannah’s beau, I kept you on a pedestal for years. You were my hero, Quint Seavers, and I won’t stand back and watch you throw your life away on this…this…”
Her throat went tight, choking off her words. Merciful heaven, what had she just said to him?
Quint was gazing down at her, his eyes glinting amber with reflected flame. Annie’s heart lurched as he thumbed her chin upward, bent toward her and captured her mouth with his own.
His lips were velvet and honey, possessing her from the very first touch. As the kiss deepened, Annie went molten in his arms, her blood racing, her skin on fire through the soft cashmere. Her body arched against his. Her hands raked his hair as she kissed him with a ferocity she’d never known she possessed—kissed him with all the dreams and pentup longing of years. When his tongue glided into her mouth she was startled, but only for the space of a heartbeat. Then she opened to him, gasping as each probing thrust ignited fire bursts in her blood. His strong fingers kneaded her ribs, thumbs tracing the sensitive borders of her breasts.
Her heart was pounding like an Indian drum. She wanted more—his hands on her skin, everywhere, legs tangling, hips pressing close, his splendid body filling hers. He was making her want more, she realized. Quint was an expert seducer who knew exactly what he was doing. He didn’t love her. He’d
