He kept his gaze fixed on her as he sat down on the sofa, keeping several feet of space between them, even though he wanted to test the theory again.
“You’re sure of that?” he asked.
“Aren’t you?”
“I know what happened, but I’m having a little trouble believing it.”
“Me too.”
He wanted to ask what she thought had happened, but he kept the question locked behind his lips. Instead, he studied her, trying not to be too obvious. She looked to be in her late twenties, with long dark hair pulled back into a French twist that was a bit undone so that a few wisps of hair hung downfetchingly. Her face was oval, her eyes large and blue. Her lips were very appealing. Too appealing.
He hadn’t brought her to this private room for seduction. Or had that been in the back of his mind? Not a good idea. If touching her hand opened his mind to her, what would kissing do? What about more than kissing?
He ruthlessly cut off that line of speculation before he could act on the feelings coiling inside him.
Shifting in his seat, he said, “You read people’s minds all the time.”
“I read Tarot cards.”
“And you pick up more than what’s in the cards.”
“How do you know?”
He shrugged, then gave her the kind of analysis he might give a business associate.
“Well, you support yourself as a reader. So either you’re great at slinging bull or you give people accurate information. I haven’t seen you putting ads in theTimes Picayune,yet your business is thriving.”
“I’m not into slinging bull.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“But I don’t have to live strictly on my income,” she added, apparently wanting to make full disclosure. “I inherited some money from my parents.”
“They’re dead?”
“Yes,” she said without elaborating.
When she didn’t volunteer anything else, he leaned back and tried to relax, which wasn’t easy with whatever was humming between them. He wanted to reach for her. He wanted more than just his hand on her arm, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Not yet.
Of course, maybe she sensed it from the wary look she gave him as she took a sip of wine and set down her glass.
“I think we can assume that Evelyn Morgan wanted us to meet each other,” he said. “The question is why.”
She shrugged one shoulder.
“What if she came to New Orleans specifically to hook us up?” he asked.
“Why would she?”
“You have no idea?”
“No.”
“Even after doing a reading?”
“No.”
“And you never saw her before she walked into your shop?”
