She tore her gaze from him and focused on the lock. A quick, hard twist left and—voilà!—the lock released, clunking open. Triumph raced through her, and an irrepressible yip of joy escaped her throat.
Beside her, Nick remained serious and clam. Her smile faltered, and suddenly thoseother possibilitiesfelt inevitable.
“Now what?” she whispered.
~ ~ ~
Now what? Her lips were the obvious place to start—too obvious.
He would move toward her, and her eyes would close in anticipation of his lips upon hers. At the last moment, he would switch course and press his mouth to the vulnerable space between her jaw and neck, where he would feel the race of her pulse beneath his skin. A surprised gasp would sound, followed by the release of a soft, slow sigh . . . That was one possible outcome.
Her question was the shock of reason he needed. It was imperative he rein in his thoughts about possible outcomes. “Open the door and find out,” he managed.
Her fingertips pushed off the ground and long legs uncurled, her body rising to a graceful stand. She nudged the door open as her feet carried her measure by measure into the room, his gaze trained on her profile, unblinking. This was the moment he’d been anticipating since last night.
In stops and starts of alternating disbelief and awe, her expression bloomed with rapt pleasure. He’d never forgotten how he enjoyed pleasing her.
Beneath a roof composed of opaque glass, black with night, stood an open central floor surrounded on all sides by four stories of wrought-iron balustraded galleries showcasing animals and environments from all seven continents. The meticulously rendered exhibits ranged from the butterflies of Amazonia to the predators of the African savannah.
“Is this—” She cleared her throat. “Is this the Museum of Natural History?” She advanced down the center aisle slowly, reverently, her fingertips smoothing along the fur of a stuffed, South American jaguar. “How did you manage this?”
Nick stood and followed her into the room. “You broke in, remember?”
Her head whipped around. “I’m not so certain of that. I believe yourpeoplemay have had something to do with this.”
He shifted on his feet beneath the acuity of her gaze. “Do you like it?”
Her face tilted upward to a ceiling populated by skeletons of dinosaurs and stuffed birds of prey. “Likeis such a tepid word for what one should feel inside this room. If one merelylikesit, then he or she doesn’t deserve to be here.” Her gaze swooped down to meet his. “What do you feel about this place?”
Her question was a test with one correct answer. “What I see before me is nothing short of glorious.”
The import of his words turned the air intimate and hot. A heartbeat, then another, thumped inside his chest. She swiveled around, and her feet began moving.
The minutes ticked by as he kept a discreet distance while Mariana explored one aisle after another: this aisle displaying Arctic life; the next, apes inhabiting their trees; while yet another aisle exhibited reptilian bones from too many millennia ago to count. Her clear joy infected him with a responding elation both automatic and unavoidable.
Although he didn’t fully understand how the woman he’d known a decade ago had transformed into one captivated by old bones, it mattered not. Those ancient skeletons gave her pleasure.Thatwas all that mattered.
As he followed, an inevitability occurred: his baser nature prevailed, and his gaze sank below the supple curve of her waist to a curve more generous. He’d never encountered a woman wearing trousers, therefore hadn’t anticipated their enlivening effect on his person.
He’d thought, perhaps hoped, they would render her masculine, but the opposite was true: coarse wool lovingly encased the curve of her derriere before outlining the length of her legs. She’d never looked more feminine.
A delighted “Oh!” called Nick’s attention away from the increasingly prurient direction of his thoughts.
Of course, she’d found the Woolly Mammoth.
“It’s magnificent,” she whispered. She slowly approached the skeleton, as if she was afraid to startle it. “This is quite a large male. Thirteen feet long, at least. Did you know”—Nick watched a pronounced confidence replace her awe—“a specimen like this would have weighed seven hundred stone?”
She moved around the massive and long-deceased pachyderm to better explore him from every angle: her hands reaching down to span the creature’s sturdy feet; her head ducking beneath for a different view of the animal’s massive ribcage; her fingertips brushing along the length of extravagantly curved tusks.
“Just look at these tusks,” she instructed. It was apparent by her assured tone that she had, indeed, been spending considerable quantities of time in the company of schoolmarms and museum guides. “Their curve disguises how long they truly are. Fourteen feet, at least. Some scientists would suggest that a Woolly Mammoth with a pair of impressive tusks like these would have his pick of the ladies.” She jerked as if coming out of a trance. “Females,” she corrected.
Nick chose to show mercy and let the moment pass. He had other concerns on his mind. For example, he couldn’t take his eyes off the contours of her derriere through the fabric of those trousers. He sidled closer to her on the pretext of inspecting a tusk. In reality, he was ridding himself of the distracting view.
Closer wasn’t better, for now her intoxicating scent of jasmine and neroli drifted over and enveloped him in a cloud of Mariana. If he didn’t know better, he would deduce from his reactions to her tonight—and the last few days, if he was being dead honest—he was enamored of his wife. Again.
No, it couldn’t be. He’d vowed never to let that happen.
Amorhadn’t motivated his plan tonight. Mariana had voiced an interest in this museum, and it just so happened that it was the perfect setting for her third spy lesson. There didn’t have to be anything more meaningful to it.
