and the tops of her feet securing her onto a provocative tiptoe.
He should keep tabs on her for those chichi high heels alone, he thought, continuing to survey the room. As practical as Jane's nature might be, her choice of footwear meant the slightest stumble could take her down. It played out in his mind's eye, a small slip, a tumble to the ground, her skirt flying up to reveal a pair of panties. What would they be this time -
Stop. He clamped down on the mental movie reel. She was a little sister to him.
Or something like that.
To his left, he caught a flash of color among a small knot of dark leather dress shoes and black stilettos. Pushing off from the wall, he ambled toward the bright spot, then froze as her feet shifted, and he caught a glimpse of the backs of her shoes.
Hell. Before, he hadn't seen them from behind. Now that he could, he noticed that each heel bore a distinctive, one-and-a-half-inch brass zipper. You'd have to unzip her to get her out of them! His mind made an instant leap to nakedness. Jane's nakedness, of course. Before he could control the urge, his gaze traced from those fascinating shoe fastenings to the backs of Jane's bare calves. After her days at the beach, her legs had a tinge of creamy gold tan, a color repeated where the dress revealed a slice of skin right over her spine.
More nakedness.
She'd taken off the jacket. It dangled from her fingers, and its removal showed him another rear view that he'd missed when she'd been covered up. While the dress was beyond modest from the front, in the back it was open from neck to waist. The sleeveless top of the garment was held up by - what else? - a long-tailed bow, its ends trailing to tickle her delicate vertebrae.
He hoped he wasn't doing something stupid like drooling. As if she sensed his regard, Jane's head suddenly turned over her bare shoulder. Her silvery eyes picked up the deep hue of the dress, and his breath hitched. He dropped his gaze to the prissy, plump mouth that she'd glossed the color of a ripe plum, but that didn't help.
The whole package made him so hungry he could barely breathe.
Christ, he'd insisted on the party to save her, but who the hell was going to resuscitate him?
She didn't look away from him as he started forward with some vague plan of getting her out of here. Then getting her out of those clothes - No! Well, yes, getting her out of those provocative clothes and into something dull and Skye-sloppy. Following that, they'd repair to their individual rooms, where she would study grammar and he would take a subzero shower.
Otherwise he couldn't be held responsible for the consequences.
Upon reaching her, he stroked the back of her slender arm, and then he had to curse himself and her for the little shiver he watched roll down her naked back. She pulled her elbow close to her body and held it there with her opposite hand. "What?" she asked, sounding truculent.
"We should go."
Her brows pinched together. "We just got here. And I haven't had a chance to say hello to Frank."
"I know." Griffin glanced toward a corner of the room where he could see the agent. The literary mystery had already been optioned and Frank was huddled with movie types. You could pick them out by their watches and their overwhitened teeth. "We'll have to talk with him another time."
"This entire excursion was your idea. I'm sure you just want to avoid explaining your nonprogress to him."
He ignored both her points. "Look, we can spend the evening studying Strunk and White's Elements of Style." In separate corners of their spacious suite. "Won't that make you happy?"
She leaned close enough for him to breathe in her flower fragrance. Her brows came together. "Is there an actual problem?"
"A gut feeling," he lied. "We need to go."
Jane's hint-of-violet eyes studied his face for a long moment. Then she shrugged. "All right." At her half turn, her small nose just missed the chest of a man on fast approach.
She stumbled - Griffin knew those shoes were trouble - and he steadied her with a hand on each shoulder, pulling her back to his front. "Ian!" Jane exclaimed.
Ian? Could the man before them be Ian Stone?
Griffin figured it had to be him, because Skye's description matched. There was the gold hair, the green eyes,