Though he was interested in prying into hers as well.
He asked, “What do you like so much about being a fraud investigator?”
She set aside her wineglass and said, “I’m obsessed with recovering jewelry, art, antiquities … anything, really, that’s reported stolen or lost and doesn’t turn up somewhere for resale.”
“And how do you track down these items?”
“With help from my friends.” She smiled craftily. “One of my best friends, Bayli Styles, is a research nut. Plus, I’ve built a global network of black market and auction house contacts. Library and museum curators. Special agents in the insurance industry who can confirm whether private sales have been made or if new policies have been taken out on missing pieces.”
“Now that actually does sound fascinating. Not to mention dangerous.”
“Yes, there is that.” She sampled the venison, her eyes growing wide. “Wow, this is spectacular.”
“Glad you like it.”
He didn’t press her further as she enjoyed more of the roast, though myriad questions still rambled through his brain.
Apparently, through hers as well, because she washed down a bite with some wine and then asked, “So about this inheritance of yours. Where it’d come from?”
Sam chuckled. She was like a dog with a hambone. He told her, “Mitcham had a brother. Phil Bert. Funny little man. Hated being called Phil. Hated Bert. But together, Phil Bert was just fine. Suited him, too. He was quite a character. You would have liked him.”
“So … not as intense and intimidating as Mitcham?”
One of Sam’s brows lifted. “You’ve met my stepfather?”
“Not in person. I phoned his office early on in my investigation. We spoke for all of five seconds, I’m sure. And it wasn’t a pleasant five seconds.”
“I wouldn’t expect it to be. He doesn’t like being under fire. Doesn’t appreciate anyone second-guessing him.”
“Like father, like son.” The corners of her mouth quivered, as t
hough she held back a smile at the mention of Michael.
Sam opted to latch on to that nugget. “So you and my stepbrother … The two of you are involved?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Not so much.” She polished off her green beans and sipped more wine.
Sam said, “He told me you had a couple of drinks together last night.”
She eyed Sam steadily. “What else did he say?”
“Nothing more. Just that you were looking into the stolen goods.”
Scarlet took a deep breath, her chest expanding. Sidetracking Sam’s thoughts for several seconds and sending a shitload of blood to his cock.
Her gaze unwavering, she said, “We did more than have a couple of drinks. I woke up in his bed this morning.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised.” Envious? Yeah. That was a huge possibility. But surprised? Nope.
Sam told her, “Michael has exceptional taste. He’s selective, make no mistake. Can go extensive periods without sex until he finds just the right woman. I’m sure he wanted you from the moment he laid eyes on you.”
She bypassed her seemingly customary minimal wine sip and downed a bigger gulp. Then asked, “And what about you? Do you go extensive periods without sex?”
Sam’s jaw tightened at the invasive question. He had a very cut-and-dried answer, yet wasn’t certain it was one she’d want to hear. But did that really matter?
Pushing his empty plate aside, he confessed, “I was much less selective after my fiancée died. More interested in quantity versus quality. All based on desperation, really.”
“Oh?”