He traced a finger over it. Now there was more than a skitter. There was a jolt.

I don't believe in palmistry.

You don't have to. Shy,

he said quietly.

I wondered about that. The passions are there, but repressed.

His thumb glided gently over her palm's mound of Venus.

Or

channeled. You'd prefer to say channeled. Goal-oriented, practical. You'd rather make decisions with your head, no matter what your heart tells you.

His eyes lifted

to hers again.

How close am I?

Much too close, she thought, but drew her hand coolly from his.

An interesting

parlor game, Mr. Fury.

His eyes laughed at her as he tucked his thumbs in his pockets.

Isn't it?

By noon the next day, Megan had run out of busy-work. She hadn't the heart to refuse Kevin's plea to be allowed to spend the day with the Bradfords, though his departure had left her very much to her own devices.

She simply wasn't used to free time.

One trip to the hotel lobby had aborted her i.e. of convincing Amanda to let her study the books and files. Amanda, she was told by a cheerful desk clerk, was in the west tower, handling a small problem.

Coco wasn't an option, either. Megan had halted just outside the door of the kitchen when she heard the crash of pots and raised voices inside.

Since Lilah had gone back to work as a naturalist in the park, and C.C. was at her automotive shop in town, Megan was left on herown.

In a house as enormous as The Towers, she felt like the last living soul on the island.

She could read, she mused, or sit in the sun on one of the terraces and contemplate the view. She could wander down to the first floor of the family area and check out the progress of the renovations. And harass Sloan and Trent, she thought with a sigh, as they tried to get some work done.