Paper Rose by Diana Palmer Page B

you. Funerals are expensive,” he added with a cold smile.
    She stared at him blankly. “Why didn’t you just send me back to South Dakota?” she asked.
    â€œTo your stepfather?” he drawled.
    That was still a sore spot with her, and she was certain that he knew it. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of arguing. He seemed to be spoiling for a fight. She turned away to the kitchen. “Want a cup of coffee?”
    He got up and took her by the shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was a low blow.”
    â€œAnother in a long line of them lately,” she said without meeting his eyes. “I seem to do nothing except rub you the wrong way.”
    â€œAnd you don’t know why?” he asked curtly, letting her go.
    She moved one shoulder as she went about the business of getting down a cup and saucer. “At a guess, you’re mad at somebody you can’t get to, and I’m the stand-in.”
    He chuckled. “How do you see through me so easily? Even my mother can’t do that.”
    If he thought about it, he’d know, she thought miserably. “Who pulled your chain today?” she persisted.
    â€œHolden,” he bit off.
    She was proud that she didn’t flinch. “Oh?” she asked nonchalantly.
    â€œHe’d contracted with me to do a freelance security update on his offices. Today he phoned and said he’d reconsidered.”
    â€œYou can’t be missing the check,” she mused, remembering that he drove a new Jaguar sports car, and frequently wore Armani suits. It hurt to remember that her college fees had probably been little more than pocket change to him. He not only had money from his job with Pierce Hutton, but he also had money everywhere from freelance covert work in his pre-intelligence service days.
    â€œI’m not. It’s the principle of the thing. He did it deliberately, even if he won’t admit it. Holden is a guy who carries grudges. I suppose he was still steaming from the talk we had at his birthday party.”
    She bit her lower lip. Matt Holden had put her in a terrible position by swearing her to secrecy.
    â€œYou didn’t talk at his birthday party,” she pointed out. “You yelled at each other.”
    He changed the subject. “Just where are you going, if you’re not moving again?” he asked abruptly.
    She put the fresh cup of black coffee on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She knew that he didn’t take milk or sugar. She curled up in the armchair as he moved to sit on the sofa. “Actually I’m going back out to see Leta,” she told him, which was partially true. “I’ve got a line on an ancient artifact I want for the museum.” Which wasn’t true.
    There was a long pause. “Ancient artifacts have a sacred meaning for our people,” he told her irritably. “They don’t belong in museums. They’re part of our culture.”
    He didn’t know yet that he had only a partial claim to that culture. He was so proud of his ancestry. The truth was going to hurt him badly.
    â€œIt’s not that sort of artifact,” she lied. In fact, she had no idea what she was going to come up with that would satisfy Dr. Phillips and Tate both as well as justify her spying trip for Senator Holden.
    â€œYou were just in South Dakota a couple of weeks ago,” he pointed out. “Why didn’t you get it then?”
    â€œIt wasn’t available then.” She brushed back a tiny strand of loose hair. “Don’t cross-examine me, okay? It’s been a long day.”
    He ran a hand around the back of his neck, under his braid of hair, and stared at her own hair in the tight bun at her nape as she replaced the errant strand. “I thought you took it down at night.”
    â€œAt bedtime,” she corrected.
    His eyes narrowed. “Lucky Colby,” he said deliberately.
    She wasn’t