"Yes." Content, he sat back and lifted his glass. "I know you can. It's very rare, without a blood connection, for anyone to feel me, particularly on such a light scan. You have potential, Sutherland. If you care to explore it, I'd be happy to assist you."

She couldn't quite mask the quick shudder that passed through her. "No, thanks. I like my head just the way it is." Experimentally she put a hand to it while watching Sebastian. "I don't like the idea of anybody being able to read my mind. If we're going to go through with this temporary partnership, that's the number one rule."

"Agreed. I won't look inside your mind unless you ask me to." Noting the doubt in her eyes, he smiled. "I don't lie, Mel."

"Witch's creed?"

"If you like."

She didn't, but she would take him at his word. "Okay, next—we share all information. No holding back."

His smile was both charming and dangerous. "I'm more than willing to agree we've held back long enough."

"We're professional. We keep it professional."

"When appropriate." He touched the rim of his glass to hers. "Is sharing a meal considered professional?"

"We don't have to be ridiculous. What I mean is, if we're going to go under posing as a married couple wanting a child, we don't let the act—"

"Blur those lines of yours," he finished for her. "I understand. Do you have a plan?''

"Well, it would help if we had the cooperation of the FBI."

"Leave that to me."

She grinned. It was exactly what she'd hoped for. "With them backing us up, we can establish a solid identity. Papers, backgrounds, IRS files, the works. We need to come to the attention of the organization, so we'll have to be affluent, but not so high-profile as to scare them off. We should be new in the community we choose. No ties, no family. We'll have to be put on the waiting list of several reputable adoption agencies. Have records from fertility clinics and doctors. Once they've gotten to Parkland or one of the others, we'll have a better idea where to set up, and how."

"There might be an easier way."

"What?"

He waved her aside. "I'll get to it. This could take quite a lot of time."

"It could. It would be worth it."

"We compromise. I work out where we begin, when and how, you handle the procedure from there."

She hesitated, aware she'd never be any good at compromise. "If you pick the when, where and how, it has to be for solid reasons, and I have to accept them."

"All right."

"All right." It seemed simple enough. If there was a frisson of excitement working through her, it was the anticipation of an interesting and rewarding job. "I guess I could help you deal with all these dishes."

She rose, started to stack the delicate china with the competence her waitress mother had taught her. Sebastian put a hand on her arm. The frisson erupted into a flare.

"Leave them."

"You cooked," she said, and strode quickly to the sink. A little room, she thought. A little room and some busywork was all she needed to stay on an even keel. "And from the looks of this kitchen, you're not the type who leaves dirty dishes hanging around."

He was behind her when she turned, and his hands came to her shoulders to prevent her from dodging away. "So, I'll be unpredictable."

"Or you could hire some elves to scrub up," she muttered.

"I don't employ any elves—in California." When her look sharpened, he began to knead her shoulders. "You're tensing up on me, Mel. During dinner you were quite relaxed. You even smiled at me several times, which I found a very pleasant change."

"I don't like people touching me." But she didn't move away. After all, there was nowhere to go.

"Why not? It's merely another form of communication. There are many. Voices, eyes, hands." His slid over her shoulders, turning the muscles there to water. "Minds. A touch doesn't have to be dangerous."

"It can be."

His lips curved as his fingers skimmed down her back. "But you're no coward. A woman like you meets a dangerous situation head-on."

Her chin came up, as he'd known it would. "I came here to talk to you."

"And we've talked." He nudged her closer so that he had only to bend his head to press his lips to the faint cleft in the center of that strong chin. "I enjoyed it."

She would not be seduced. She was a grown woman with a mind of her own, and seduction was, always had been, out of the question. She lifted a hand to his chest, where it lay, fingers spread, neither resisting or inviting.

"I didn't come to play games."

"Pity." His lips hovered a breath from hers before he tilted his head and brushed them under her jaw. "I also enjoy games. But we can save them for another time."

It was becoming very difficult to breathe. "Look, maybe I'm attracted to you, but that doesn't mean… anything."

"Of course not. Your skin's unbelievably delicate just here, Mary Ellen. It's as if your pulse would bruise the flesh if it continued to beat so hard."

"That's ridiculous."

But when he tugged her shirt free of her waistband to let his hands roam up her back, she felt as delicate as a dandelion puff. With a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh, she arched back against him.

"I'd nearly lost my patience," he murmured against her throat. "Waiting for you to come to me."

"I didn't. I haven't." But her arms had wound around him, and her fingers were tangled in his hair. "This isn't why I'm here."

But hadn't she known? Somewhere inside, hadn't she known?

"I have to think. This could be a mistake." But even as she said it, her mouth was moving hungrily over his. "I hate to make mistakes."

"Mmm… Who doesn't?" He cupped his hands under her hips. With a murmur of acceptance, she scooted up, wrapping her legs around his waist. "This isn't one."

"I'll figure it out later," she said as he carried her out of the kitchen. "I really don't want this to mess up the other business. It's too important. I want that to work, I really want that to work, and I'd hate myself if I messed it up just because…"