“Probably best.”

“That’s what I told myself, but I still feel guilty. You don’t.”

“Not in the least,” he said easily. “As to the other two names Alexi gave us, Dad doesn’t know the woman, but he does know the American, and reasonably well. My take after his rundown on Jack Peterson is the man wouldn’t quibble about buying stolen goods, cheating at cards or insider trading, he’d consider all that a game. Murder, especially of an acquaintance’s son, wouldn’t be on the table. My dad’s summary was Peterson likes to play, likes to win, but he can also take losing with good grace.”

“Not the type to hire an assassin.”

“No, it didn’t strike me he would be.”

“Okay, so for now, the focus is on Nicholas Romanov Vasin. What do you think might happen if we drop that name on Bastone?”

“We’ll find out. Did you sort out the packing?”

“Yes, all under control.”

“Good. Why don’t we clear this up? I guess we need to take the dog out. Then I want some more sketches of you.”

To prolong the moment, and to postpone the dishes, the dog, she leaned back with her wine. “You’ve already started the painting.”

“This is another project. I’m thinking of putting together some new pieces for a show, next winter.” He rose, taking up both their bowls. “I want at least two more of you, and what I have in mind first is the faerie in the bower.”

“Oh, right, you mentioned that before. Emeralds. Like glittery Tinker Bell.”

“Definitely not like Tinker Bell. Think more Titania, waking up from a midsummer sleep. And naked.”

“What? No.” She laughed at the idea, then remembered she’d said no to the gypsy. “No,” she repeated, and a third time, “No.”

“We’ll talk about it. Let’s walk the dog. I’ll buy you an ice cream cone.”

“You can’t bribe me out of my clothes with ice cream.”

“I know how to get you out of your clothes.” He grabbed her, pressed her back against the refrigerator. His mouth ruled hers, his hands roamed, took, teased.

“I’m not posing naked. I’m not hanging in Julie’s gallery naked.”

“It’s art, Lila, not  p**n .”

“I know the difference. It’s still my naked . . . ness,” she managed when his thumbs brushed over her ni**les.

“You have the perfect body for it. Slender, almost delicate but not weak. I’ll do a few sketches, some concepts. If you don’t like them, I’ll tear them up.”

“You’ll tear them up.”

He lowered his lips to hers again, lingered. “I’ll let you tear them up. But first I need to touch you, I need to make love with you. Then to sketch you when your eyes are still heavy, your lips soft. If you don’t see how perfect you are, how powerful, how magical, you’ll tear them up. Fair enough.”

“I . . . yes, I—”

“Good.” He kissed her again, took his time, then eased back. “I’ll get the dog.”

Half dreaming, Lila went to the closet for the leash. Stopped.

She’d gone from a firm no, she realized, to a qualified yes.

“That was very underhanded.”

“You still have first refusal,” he reminded her, and took the leash. “And an ice cream cone.”

“For an artist, you’re a hell of a negotiator.”

“Archer blood.” He clipped on the leash, set Earl Grey down. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said, and grinned as the little dog danced.

Since room wouldn’t be an issue, Lila divided what she thought she needed to take between her suitcases. Room for new that way, she decided. Though she’d intended to send a bag of not-going-to-Italy items to Julie’s, Ash took them to his place, and carted her bag of to-be-donated items with him.

He’d take care of it.

She had to admit it was easier, even more efficient—but she couldn’t quite pinpoint when she’d started adjusting to “I’ll take care of it.”

Plus, she’d caved and posed nude. She’d felt awkward and self-conscious—until he’d showed her the first sketch.

God, she had looked beautiful, and magical. And though the faerie she’d become was obviously naked, the way he’d posed her, the addition of the wings he’d given her, had added just enough modesty to relax her.

The emeralds had become sparkles of dew in her hair, the shimmering leaves in her bower.

The nudity was implied, she thought—but she wasn’t sure what the Lieutenant Colonel would have to say about that, if he ever saw the work.

She hadn’t torn up the sketches. How could she?

“He knew that,” she said to Earl Grey as she finished arranging the welcome-home flowers for her clients. “He knew he’d get just what he was after. I can’t figure out how I feel about that. You have to admire it, though, don’t you?”

She hunkered down where the dog sat, watching her with his paws protectively over the little toy kitten she’d gotten him as a parting gift.

“I’m really going to miss you—my teacup hero.”

When the buzzer sounded, she went to the door, used the peep, then opened it for Ash.

“You could’ve just called up.”

“Maybe I wanted to say goodbye to Earl Grey. See you around, pal. Ready?”

Her two cases, her laptop and her purse sat by the door. “Stay and be good,” she told the dog. “They’ll be home soon.” She took one last glance around—everything in place—then picked up her purse, took the handle of one of the suitcases.

“I picked Luke and Julie up on the way, so we can head straight to the airport. Got your passport? Sorry,” he added when she flicked him a glance. “Habit. Ever travel to Europe with six siblings, three of whom are teenage girls?”

“I can’t say I have.”

“Trust me, this is going to be a lot easier, even considering the main purpose of the trip.”

Then he ran a hand down her hair, leaned down, kissed her as the elevator started down.

He did things like that, she thought. Everything practical, organized, “taken care of,” then he’d touch her or look at her, and nothing inside her stayed practical or organized.