Until You

All he needed were the answers to a few questions and getting them would take some doing. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was used to dominating men with her looks. Well, he was immune to that ploy. He knew it, she knew it, and she didn't like it. He could see it in the way she was looking at him, and the realization made him smile.

Color streaked across her high cheekbones.

"Miranda?" The girl standing beside her moved closer. "Should I call Security?"

Conor laughed. "I am Security."

Miranda stood up. She was tall, but the top of her head only came to his shoulder.

"It's all right, Nita." She took a deep breath. "What do you want with me, Mr. O'Neil?"

"I told you. I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"A private matter."

She held herself straighter and put her hands on her hips.

"Nita's my best friend. You can say whatever it is you have to say in front of her."

"I'm afraid that's impossible."

"You're afraid?" Miranda laughed; he could see her regaining control of herself. "Just who the hell do you think you are? Do us both a favor, please. Get to the bottom line fast. I've got a show to do."

He stepped closer to her, turning so that Nita was shut out of their conversation.

"Hoyt and Eva Beckman Winthrop. Is that 'bottom line' enough to suit you?"

He watched her face closely. He had made the reference to her mother and stepfather obtuse in hopes it would draw a reaction he could read but her expression didn't change. Only her eyes seemed to darken, or perhaps it was his imagination.

"I don't understand," she said. "Has something happened to my—to Eva?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Why else would you be here?"

"Nothing's happened to your mother, Miss Beckman."

"Then what—"

"I told you, I'd rather not discuss it here. It's a private matter."

"There are no private matters between Eva and me. Even if there were, they certainly wouldn't involve you."

Conor felt his composure slipping. "Listen, lady," he said, "I'm not here to play games."

A bell sounded. Somebody gave a ladylike whoop. "Time, girls," an English-accented voice called out.

Nita slipped from her stool. "Darn," she said, "and just when things were getting interesting."

"Good-bye, Mr. O'Neil."

"I'm not going anywhere, Miss Beckman."

"But I am." She reached for the buttons on her smock. "And I assure you, I've absolutely nothing to say to you about my mother."

Conor's jaw tightened. She was undoing the buttons, undressing in front of him as if he weren't even there.