Leaping Hearts(103)

The eyes meeting hers held frank appraisal and a hint of cruelty that somehow only added to his allure. It made her wonder if there was any softness in him at all and she imagined that women had driven themselves crazy trying to find it.

The man was a heartbreak waiting to happen.

Not for her, of course, she amended. But she pitied whoever fell for someone like him.

“This woman is here to see you,” his housekeeper announced.

One dark eyebrow rose sardonically. “I don’t recall asking to meet with any teenage girls.”

His voice was a deep rumble and had a very sexy, smooth sound. She thought of dark chocolate. And then realized his words were meant as an insult.

“I can’t speak to your appointment calendar,” Carter replied. “But I’ve been out of my teens for a decade, thank you very much.”

The eyebrow took flight again at her tone, which was every bit as commanding as his had been. Their eyes clashed. Busy assessing each other, neither heard the housekeeper leave.

“Maybe we should start over,” Carter said, clearing her throat. “Mr. Farrell, I’m—”

“So what do you want?” she was asked.

“I’m an archaeologist and I—”

“No.” Farrell started rifling through papers.

“Excuse me?”

“The answer is no.”

“But I haven’t asked for anything yet.”

“The operant word being yet. Letting you chatter on before you get to the asking would only be a waste of our time.”

She was stunned into silence and, for a moment, all she could do was watch his eyes trace over words on some document.

“You know, you don’t have to be so rude,” she told him. “And you could look at me while we’re talking.”

The arrogant brow arched. “I always knew Miss Manners came with a shovel. I just assumed it was for slinging drivel, not digging up other people’s property.”

“And it’s hard for me to believe someone living in a place like this has the social skills of a cow.”

“Fine.” He put the papers down and leaned back in his chair. “Is this better? Tell you what. I’ll even go one further and remember to say please when I ask you to leave. Will you please leave?”

“You can’t just toss me out before I have a chance—”

“I can’t? I’ve got a deed in the safe that says this is my land and I don’t think there’s any law which mandates the cheerful tolerance of trespassers.”

“Lucky for you. I don’t think you could pull off cheerful to save your soul.”

Crossing his arms over that powerful chest, he looked her over again. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven—er, twenty-eight.”

“Try eighteen.” He glanced at her clothes. “You look like you could be a babysitter. Or even need one.”

“It’s hard to look mature in cutoffs and a T-shirt,” she said indignantly.

“You pulled that getup out of a closet, not me.”

“I had to go to an associate’s dig before I came here.”

“Hopefully not as an image consultant.”

“I’m not here to talk about my clothes.”

“You seem determined to talk about something. Since I’m not going to discuss your digging up my land, I figure clothes are a natural launching pad for inane conversation. Considering you’re a woman.”

She took a deep breath, trying not to lose her temper.

“Look, I know Conrad Lyst was just caught up on your mountain—”

“Perhaps I need to be more clear. I’m not discussing anybody’s digging on my land. Your questionable taste in sportswear is still on the table, however.”

“I didn’t wear this for you!”

“Obviously.”

Carter did her best to look at him calmly.

“Mr. Farrell, all I’m asking is for you to hear me out.”

“Call me Nick and forget the speech. It won’t improve your bargaining position any more than those shorts do.”

“Are you always this nasty?”

“As a rule, yes. But sometimes I’m worse.”

There was a long silence. She had the feeling she was amusing him.

“I’m a professional, Mr. Farrell, not an itinerant ditch-digger. You may have the answer to one of the great puzzles of the revolutionary era on your land. No one really knows what happened to the Winship party and the gold they were carrying. You owe it to posterity—”

“To let you come in and rescue the solution from my land? I’ve got news for you. I don’t think it needs rescuing. As far as I’m concerned, the past is best left buried and posterity these days is far more interested in MTV and who’s the next person to get kicked off the Survivor island. They couldn’t care less about minutemen and redcoats or how this nation was forged.”

“That’s a pretty narrow view.”

“I’m a narrow kind of man.”

“I can tell.”

He chuckled. “So Miss Manners is also a behaviorist?”

“No, it’s the flashing Royal Pain in the Ass sign over your desk.”

Nick Farrell tilted back his head and laughed. It was a rich, rolling sound.