Past
exhibit?”
“Ah. To give him an excuse to hang around the museum, I gather.”
“That was his plan.”
Storm grinned. “Which you've now derailed.”
Morgan smiled slowly. “Not necessarily.”
It only took a moment for Storm to get it, and she began to laugh. “You're going to make him work for it.”
“Let's just say he can play the lovelorn swain if he wants an excuse to hang around the museum in the daytime. I just don't plan to be too terribly receptive.”
Still smiling, Storm said, “Nice way to make your point without interfering while he keeps an eye on the museum.”
“I thought so.”
Storm eyed her thoughtfully. “Uh-huh. Just doing your job while not getting in the way of his?”
“Exactly.”
“Manipulating the master manipulator?”
“You don't think it can be done?”
“I think,” Storm replied slowly, “that you'd better be careful, Morgan. Very, very careful.”
She studied the photograph briefly before handing it back to him. “So, that's all you want? That one piece?”
“That's all.”
“The entire Bannister collection to choose from, and you pick this?”
“Is it a problem?”
Amused, she shook her head. “No, it isn't a problem. I don't usually get hired to penetrate layers of sophisticated security for something like this, but what the hell. You want, I deliver. That's the deal. Provided you agree to the price, of course.”
“The price is fine. Half now and half on delivery is also fine. Your reputation precedes you; my research indicates you're trustworthy and that you can be counted on to have complete loyalty to your employer. For the duration, and for a price.”
Unoffended, she smiled. “That's right.”
“I'll expect to hear from you as soon as possible.”
“You will. I'd just as soon do what I came here to do and get out of this city. There are far too many thieves skulking around for my taste.”
“The pot calling the kettle black.”
She laughed. “I'm no thief. I'm an artist.”
“As far as I'm concerned, that remains to be seen.”
“You'll see,” she said. “Everyone will see.”
Morgan quite deliberately stayed away from the museum on Sunday, then came to work on Monday morning as usual. She chided herself for it later, but the truth was that she looked for Quinn at the museum for most of the day. It wasn't easy, considering the crush of people eager to view the
Mysteries Past
exhibit, which to no one's surprise was proving to be very popular and highly profitable for the museum, but she looked for him nevertheless.
And never mind that she was being an idiot.
She wanted to believe in him, that was the problem. Maybe as a salve to her conscience, or maybe just because she needed to believe she saw something in him that most others would have found surprising if not impossible.
Something good.
If he'd been dark, Morgan thought vaguely, brooding or sardonic, it might have been easier to believe the worst of him. But he was fair and handsome, even his voice was beautiful, and how was a woman supposed to
know
?
All she had were her instincts, and they told her there was much more to Quinn than met the eye.
So she looked for him and didn't pretend to herself that she wasn't eager to see him again. She had even dressed with more care than usual, choosing a slim, calf-length black skirt that she wore with a full-sleeved white blouse and a really beautiful, hand-beaded vest done in opulent gold, black, and hints of rust. The outfit was completed with black pumps, and she wore her long black hair swept up in an elegant French twist.
Morgan had told herself that she had dressed so carefully only because, now that
Mysteries Past
was open, the director of the exhibit had a responsibility to look her best—but she didn't believe herself. She had dressed with Quinn in mind, and she knew it.
She wanted to look . . . sophisticated and cultured. And tall.
And if it occurred to her that
sexy
might have been added to a
exhibit?”
“Ah. To give him an excuse to hang around the museum, I gather.”
“That was his plan.”
Storm grinned. “Which you've now derailed.”
Morgan smiled slowly. “Not necessarily.”
It only took a moment for Storm to get it, and she began to laugh. “You're going to make him work for it.”
“Let's just say he can play the lovelorn swain if he wants an excuse to hang around the museum in the daytime. I just don't plan to be too terribly receptive.”
Still smiling, Storm said, “Nice way to make your point without interfering while he keeps an eye on the museum.”
“I thought so.”
Storm eyed her thoughtfully. “Uh-huh. Just doing your job while not getting in the way of his?”
“Exactly.”
“Manipulating the master manipulator?”
“You don't think it can be done?”
“I think,” Storm replied slowly, “that you'd better be careful, Morgan. Very, very careful.”
She studied the photograph briefly before handing it back to him. “So, that's all you want? That one piece?”
“That's all.”
“The entire Bannister collection to choose from, and you pick this?”
“Is it a problem?”
Amused, she shook her head. “No, it isn't a problem. I don't usually get hired to penetrate layers of sophisticated security for something like this, but what the hell. You want, I deliver. That's the deal. Provided you agree to the price, of course.”
“The price is fine. Half now and half on delivery is also fine. Your reputation precedes you; my research indicates you're trustworthy and that you can be counted on to have complete loyalty to your employer. For the duration, and for a price.”
Unoffended, she smiled. “That's right.”
“I'll expect to hear from you as soon as possible.”
“You will. I'd just as soon do what I came here to do and get out of this city. There are far too many thieves skulking around for my taste.”
“The pot calling the kettle black.”
She laughed. “I'm no thief. I'm an artist.”
“As far as I'm concerned, that remains to be seen.”
“You'll see,” she said. “Everyone will see.”
Morgan quite deliberately stayed away from the museum on Sunday, then came to work on Monday morning as usual. She chided herself for it later, but the truth was that she looked for Quinn at the museum for most of the day. It wasn't easy, considering the crush of people eager to view the
Mysteries Past
exhibit, which to no one's surprise was proving to be very popular and highly profitable for the museum, but she looked for him nevertheless.
And never mind that she was being an idiot.
She wanted to believe in him, that was the problem. Maybe as a salve to her conscience, or maybe just because she needed to believe she saw something in him that most others would have found surprising if not impossible.
Something good.
If he'd been dark, Morgan thought vaguely, brooding or sardonic, it might have been easier to believe the worst of him. But he was fair and handsome, even his voice was beautiful, and how was a woman supposed to
know
?
All she had were her instincts, and they told her there was much more to Quinn than met the eye.
So she looked for him and didn't pretend to herself that she wasn't eager to see him again. She had even dressed with more care than usual, choosing a slim, calf-length black skirt that she wore with a full-sleeved white blouse and a really beautiful, hand-beaded vest done in opulent gold, black, and hints of rust. The outfit was completed with black pumps, and she wore her long black hair swept up in an elegant French twist.
Morgan had told herself that she had dressed so carefully only because, now that
Mysteries Past
was open, the director of the exhibit had a responsibility to look her best—but she didn't believe herself. She had dressed with Quinn in mind, and she knew it.
She wanted to look . . . sophisticated and cultured. And tall.
And if it occurred to her that
sexy
might have been added to a
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