Her candid acknowledgment made him feel exposed, and for some bizarre reason, this also thrilled him. Why? It was as if the moment stretched between them and built a bridge. A rickety bridge, unsafe to cross, but he attempted anyway, irrational excitement urging him to lean closer. “‘Please’ what?” he whispered, his breath fluttering a glossy strand of raven hair near her ear. “What do you want, Hadley?”

“What I want,” she said in a controlled voice, “is for you to please shut up and sit down.”

Well.

Can’t cross a bridge when someone’s shoving you off the side. He left her on the floor with the files and plopped back down in his chair, unsure why he even cared. Bacall was still on the telephone.

While one of his knees bounced out an anxious rhythm, Lowe attempted to divert his attention elsewhere. Lots of books on the shelves, but the titles were drier than the Sahara. He watched a bird alight on a branch outside the window . . . noted a frayed section of telephone cord. But a hushed whisper—one, two, three—brought his attention back to the conference table, where Hadley was counting under her breath while bending to pick up the folders.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

There it was, only a few feet away. How could he have forgotten? When she bent down, it tilted up to greet him. When she stood, it hiked up the hem of her pencil skirt by an inch or two.

If a salacious portrait of Hadley were painted on a carnival sideshow banner, it would read Come See the Woman with the Roundest, Most Voluptuous Ass in the World! Carnies would be able to charge whatever they wanted for a peek inside a dark tent, and Lowe would cash every penny he’d ever earned for five minutes alone with her in that tent.

Bend down. Pick up file. Stand up. Set file down.

All for his amusement, right there in front of him! Like watching a restaurant waiter flambé cherries jubilee at your table. Only, instead of making his mouth water, it was making his pants uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and darted a glance at her father. Please God, let the man be totally and utterly blind.

Bend down. Stand up.

Oh, what he would give to angle her over that conference table, yank up that skirt, and find out if she was wearing more colorful lingerie today. Instead of peacock feathers, he imagined flaming cherries. And he imagined kneeling behind her and sinking his teeth into one of those oh-so-round cheeks.

Sweat beaded at his hairline. This was wrong, nursing an erection right in front of the woman’s father. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He moved his cap further up his lap to cover himself and focused on book titles again. Dry, boring, academic titles about ancient pottery glazes and fourteenth-century crop rotation. Oh, look—her father’s phone conversation was over.

Thank God.

“My apologies for the interruption,” Dr. Bacall said as he groped the candlestick base of the telephone, seeking the hook for the earpiece by feel. “Is that you, Hadley?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Everything okay?”

“I dropped some of the exhibit files, sorry.”

“No reason to be upset.” Her father said this in an odd manner, as if he were scolding her.

“It wasn’t . . . it was—never mind. I’m fine.”

“Good, good. That’s my good girl,” he said, speaking to her like she was a spooked horse.

Lowe glanced between the two Bacalls, feeling as if he were missing something.

“I have work to do,” she said suddenly, and hurried out the way she came in.

“Nice seeing you again, Miss Bacall,” Lowe called out. “A pleasure to watch you work. Hope you don’t find yourself watching the clock for the remainder of the day.” Because, really, he should be awarded a medal for his earlier restraint.

A momentary look of horror crossed her face but she didn’t blush or comment. Instead, she addressed her father. “He has the djed amulet base with him.”

“Thank you, dear, I know. And no more interruptions, please.”

Lowe tried to catch her gaze, but she exited with a dramatic slam of the door.

“You already know she can feel power coming from the amulet?” Bacall said when the brisk click-click of her heels faded. “Did she tell you that when you met her in Salt Lake City?”

“Yes,” Lowe answered cautiously. “Would you like to . . .” See the amulet? That didn’t sound right, considering the man’s condition.

“No, no, no. If she’s vouched for it, I trust her.”

“And you still want to buy it?”

“Absolutely. Do you have the paperwork?”

“It’s coming from Egypt,” Lowe lied easily. “Should be ready in a month. I haven’t cashed your check yet, but—”

“Cash it. I have had an agreement drawn up that you can sign. And if you can store the amulet safely for now, that’s even better for me. But you must keep it somewhere safe and well guarded. There are people who will kill to get their hands on it. So I’d advise you not to keep it in your own home. You’ll only invite a robbery. Safety-deposit box is no good, either. It needs to be well hidden.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Yes, I suppose your family knows a thing or two about hiding goods, what with your brother’s line of work.”

“I suppose we do.”

“You were happy with the deposit amount?”

“I’ve had better offers.” Rather, he would have better ones, if he played his cards right.