cruelty and a dash of what was irresistible to her. Daring.
Then, too, she’d always believed if you excelled at something, you should pursue it. She had an idea that he was very good at what he did.
A womanizer? Perhaps, she thought, but she’d dealt with womanizers before. Professional ones who could speak three languages and order the best champagne were less admirable than a man like Doug Lord who would womanize in all good humor. That didn’t worry her. He was attractive, even appealing when he wasn’t arguing with her. She could handle the physical part of it
Though she could remember what it was like to lie beneath him with his mouth a teasing inch above hers. There’d been a pleasant, breathless sort of sensation she’d have liked to explore a bit further. She could remember what it was like to wonder just how it would feel to kiss that interesting, arrogant mouth.
Not as long as they were business partners, Whitney reminded herself as she shook out a skirt. She’d keep things on the practical sort of level she could mark down in her notebook. She’d keep Doug Lord at a careful distance until she had her share of the winnings in her hand. If something happened later, then it happened. With a half smile, she decided it might be fun to anticipate it.
“Room service.” Doug breezed in, carrying a tray. He checked a moment, taking a brief but thorough look at Whitney, who stood by the bed in a sleek, buff-colored teddy. She could make a man’s mouth water. Class, he thought again. A man like him had better watch his step when he started to have fantasies about class. “Nice dress,” he said easily.
Refusing to give him any reaction, Whitney stepped into the skirt. “Is that breakfast?”
He’d break through that cool eventually, he told himself. In his own time. “Coffee and rolls. We’ve got things to do.”
She drew on a blouse the color of crushed raspberries. “Such as?”
“I checked the train schedule.” Doug dropped into a chair, crossed his ankles on the table, and bit into a roll. “We can be on our way east at twelve-fifteen. Meantime we’ve got to pick up some supplies.”
She took her coffee to the dresser. “Such as?”
“Backpacks,” he said, watching the sun rise over the city outside. “I’m not lugging that leather thing through the forest.”
Whitney took a sip of coffee before picking up her brush. It was strong, European style, and thick as mud. “As in hiking?”
“You got it, sugar. We’ll need a tent, one of those new lightweight ones that fold up to nothing.”
She drew the brush in a long, slow stroke through her hair. “Anything wrong with hotels?”
With a quick smirk, he glanced over, then said nothing at all. Her hair looked like gold dust in the morning light. Fairy dust. He found it difficult to swallow. Rising, he paced over to the window so that his back was to her. “We’ll use public transportation when I think it’s safe, then go through the back door. I don’t want to advertise our little expedition,” he muttered. “Dimitri isn’t going to give up.”
She thought of Paris. “You’ve convinced me.”
“The less we use public roads and towns, the less chance he has of picking up our scent.”
“Makes sense.” Whitney wound her hair into a braid and secured the end with a swatch of ribbon. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“We’ll travel by rail as far as Tamatave.” He turned, grinning. With the sun at his back he looked more like a knight than a thief. His hair fell to his collar, dark, a bit unruly. There was a light of adventure in his eyes. “Then, we go north.”
“And when do I see what it is that’s taking us north?”
“You don’t need to. I’ve seen it.” But he was already calculating how he could get her to translate pieces for him without giving her the whole.
Slowly, she tapped her brush against her palm. She wondered how long it would be before she could translate some of the papers, and keep a few snatches of information to herself. “Doug, would you buy a pig in a poke?”
“If I liked the odds.”
With a half smile, she shook her head. “No wonder you’re broke. You have to learn how to hang on to your money.”
“I’m sure you could give me lessons.”
“The papers, Douglas.”
They were strapped to his chest again. The first thing he was going to buy was a knapsack where he