gaze directed at the ceiling. He did that a lot.
She pushed aside the curtain to look at the mountains in the distance. She didn’t know what the range was called, but the skyline sure was different from what she was used to. “Two more days, that’s all I’m asking.”
“And then?”
She hesitated.
“Will you give me your answer when you come home?”
“My answer about this story?”
“No, about us.”
Oh, damn. Melina turned her back on the view and sank down on the windowsill. She didn’t want to go into this now. “I can’t promise that, Neil.”
This time his silence was longer. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped. “I miss you, Melina.”
“Neil…”
“I know we agreed not to discuss it until you got back.” The chair creaked again. “But you’re still thinking about what I said before you left, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I think about it,” she said.
“Good. You can have your two days. Let me know what flight you’re taking. I’ll meet you at the airport the day after tomorrow.”
The call ended as it had begun, with business. Melina should be pleased that Neil had relented about the expenses, but the victory was a small one. The larger battle was awaiting her on her return to New York.
She placed the phone on the windowsill beside her, then bent forward, dropping her face into her hands. You’re still thinking about what I said before you left, aren’t you?
Marriage wasn’t something she liked to think about—she hadn’t seriously considered it for eight years—but this was the third time that Neil had proposed.
He had popped the question in his office with the same ring he’d offered the first two times. It hadn’t exactly been romantic, but she had been in a hurry to get to the airport, and he kept the ring in the top drawer of his desk.
There were many points in his favor. He was a nice guy. Mature, respectable, emotionally stable and financially comfortable. They had countless things in common, from their fondness for jazz to their interest in foreign films. They had a terrific working relationship and they enjoyed each other’s company. Their dates weren’t passionate but they were pleasant. She genuinely liked him, and she was certain he would make a great father. Those were all sensible elements to build a solid marriage on. If she set aside her emotions and thought logically…
Right. Set aside her emotions, use her brain. Seek the truth. That was what she did best. That was what being a good reporter meant.
But this wasn’t a story she was contemplating. This was her life.
My work is my life. That was what she had told Anthony only a few hours ago. And it was. It had given her a structure to cling to when the rest of her world had fallen apart. Chasing a lead across the country, walking into dark alleys, getting shot at by criminals didn’t frighten her half as much as taking another leap of faith with her heart.
Would her feelings be any different if Neil had intense green eyes instead of comfortable brown? Would she be logically weighing the pros and cons of commitment if Neil had thick black hair that he wore in a bandit queue, and a defiant gypsy hoop in one ear? Would she be hesitating like this if he had a tall, lean body that moved with the pulse-skittering, sexy grace of a prowling wolf?
Groaning, she crammed the heels of her hands against her eyes. What was wrong with her? Anthony had nothing to do with her relationship with Neil. He was a source, that was all. A source she still didn’t completely trust. A source who could be extremely useful because he had a personal ax to grind with Titan.
He also had a strangely stimulating effect on her. When he was near, everything seemed more vivid, as if her senses were somehow more acute. Granted, the circumstances last night had been exceptional and that could have influenced her perception, yet Anthony Caldwell wasn’t an ordinary man. He projected an impression of energy, a feeling of leashed power.
That was what drew her. There was far more to Anthony than met the eye. It was only natural that, as a reporter, she would want to discover what made him tick, what secrets he kept. And it was totally understandable that, as a woman, she would respond to that…that…She fumbled for a word. How could she describe it? What was it about that man that made him so different?
Whatever it was, it was inconvenient. He hadn’t told her anywhere near enough after he’d brought her here last night. She would have to push him harder during their interview. She only had two days to get results. Otherwise, she would have no excuse left not to return to New York.
Excuse? The thought made her groan again. Was Neil right? Was she finding reasons to keep traveling?
“Melina?”
At the deep voice, she snapped her head up. As if she had conjured him out of her thoughts, Anthony stood less than two yards away.
Her heart did a painful thump. It wasn’t only from surprise. His gaze probed into hers and sent a tickle of awareness all the way to her bare toes.
He wore the same clothes as he had the night before. Black jeans encased his long legs and rode comfortably loose on his slim hips. A black leather bomber jacket hung open over a shirt that had likely started out black, as well, but was faded to a washed-soft pewter. The sober tones suited him—even though he stood squarely in the light that poured in from the window behind her, he gave the impression of being surrounded by traces of shadow.
“Melina, are you all right?”
How long had she been staring? she wondered belatedly. She surged to her feet. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“We agreed to meet at eight,” he said. The gold at his earlobe glinted subtly as he tipped his head behind him. “When I knocked on your door, it swung open. I thought I heard you moan, so I came in to make sure you were okay.”
“I didn’t hear any knock.”
He scowled. “You obviously didn’t hear me come in, either. You have to be more careful. Titan’s people don’t give second chances.”
She looked past him. The door to the corridor was closed now. She remembered undoing the security chain when she had picked up the newspaper from the threshold. She had been talking to Neil so she hadn’t bothered to rehook the chain. She also hadn’t paid any attention to whether or not the electronic lock had engaged.
Her carelessness jarred her. “Thanks for your concern, but as you can see, I’m fine. And I believe I already mentioned to you how I don’t take orders.”
“It was advice, Melina.”
“We won’t quibble over semantics,” she said, deciding it was time to take control of the situation. She stepped forward, expecting him to move aside. “I’ll meet you in the restaurant downstairs.”
He didn’t budge. “I’ll walk down with you.”
She wished she had taken the time to put her boots on—she could have
