He glanced at Kay, and when she still said nothing, he kept on talking. “The opal’s acquired a bad name in the last few centuries, but for thousands of years people believed it increased the powers of the mind. No other ‘lucky stone’ has more powers than the black opal-or so the stories say. Probably more men have been killed for that luck than for any of the more famous diamonds. Kay.”

She jammed her hands in her pockets, staring straight ahead.

“Talk to me,” he said quietly.

“Did you think I would care? About what you did?” she asked in a low voice. “Is that why you didn’t tell me ahead of time about your work?”

A perplexed frown creased his forehead. “It wasn’t anything like that. Hemerling’s such a character that I thought you would enjoy him…”

“I did. And you can get off it, Mitch. You and I just aren’t going to play games with each other. Collecting stones, was it? Why didn’t you simply tell me what you did for a living?”

His right eyebrow arched. “Kay, that’s not what…” He hesitated, and then continued in flat tones, “Honey, if you want to know what I do, I deal-in garnets and opals, and occasionally other stones. I don’t work with jewelry-my interest is in investment, and since the recession, investing in precious and semiprecious stones has become an increasingly viable enterprise. It started as a…quiet hobby, but it became a way to earn a decent living. Also, six months ago, I took an additional job with the university.”

“Doing…?”

“Working to protect the mineral resources we have in this state. Opals, for instance, are often found in the same area as gold and silver, yet the mining process destroys the more fragile opal…”

Very gradually, the words stopped rushing out in a flood and started to flow in an endless stream. Kay’s lips curved in a secret smile. He cared, very much, about his work. He was clearly an expert in his field; he clearly loved what he did; and she loved watching him when that wall of reserve was down.

“I’m talking too much,” he said abruptly, as if stunned at the thought.

She chuckled. “No, you’re not, you foolish man. I could listen to you all night-though I have yet to understand why you didn’t tell me all this before.”

“It was hardly a secret,” he said wryly. “The subject just never came up before.”

Kay shook her head, and Mitch shot her a glance laced with both exasperation and humor before his jaw clamped shut for a minute. How could he explain that he was carefully trying to feel his way into a kind of relationship he’d never had before, that her respect mattered to him, that exposing each new layer of his life to her left him with a raw feeling of vulnerability that he had a hard time coping with?

Finally, he admitted roughly, “Maybe I deliberately didn’t talk about it. The people in your life do normal things, Kay. They work at normal jobs, live normal lives. Maybe I just wasn’t sure how you’d react if I suddenly proved…”

“Weird?” she supplied smoothly.

He cast her a quick look before turning his eyes to the road. After a time, he mumbled, “Why is it that I find you so comforting to have around?”

She laughed, and then so did he. In less than an hour, he pulled up to her house, but she shook her head when he reached for the key. “We’re heading for your house, not mine,” she informed him. “And don’t get any happy ideas that you’re about to be vamped. I just want to see your place-before you spring any more surprises on me.”


***

Mitch’s house was itself another surprise. The outside was intriguing by lamplight, all gray stone and mullioned windows, with a castlelike octagonal turret on the west side. Inside, the foyer was flanked by narrow stained-glass windows.

As Mitch took her coat, he asked, “Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Kay kicked off her shoes at the door, and on stockinged feet started exploring. To the left of the foyer was a living room with a beamed cathedral ceiling that took her breath away. Hardwood floors led to French doors at the far end; a stone fireplace climbed one entire wall. There was wood piled on the hearth, and a huge pillow on the bare floor told her that Mitch enjoyed a fire…even if he didn’t have a stick of furniture in the place yet.

“You must want some coffee. Or brandy,” Mitch suggested, trailing behind her.

“No, honestly, Mitch,” she told him absently. The living room, which smelled of fresh paint, was absolutely magnificent and really didn’t need a stick of furniture. Reluctantly, she left it to start roaming again. The dining room must have been an afterthought; its three glass walls protruded into the backyard. On the other side of the house was a sort of family room, with wild cherry wainscoting. Then there was the smell of fresh paint again. Cream-colored paint.

“I should have warned you,” Mitch rumbled wryly from behind her. “I only bought the house a few months ago, and it needed renovating from the bottom up. I’m afraid plumbing took precedence over lamps and chairs.”

She glanced back. He removed his suit jacket, tossed his tie aside and unbuttoned his shirt. In spite of the change to informality, he still exuded an aura of self-possessed control…and her most protective instincts still surged up at the sight of him, which was ridiculous. There wasn’t any reason to think he was either uncomfortable or unsure-beyond the very tiny hint of winsome appeal in his eyes.

“Admit it,” she said gravely. “You’re just petrified at the thought of shopping for furniture.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it abruptly. “I’d rather go to the dentist,” he admitted.

“The bigger the man, the harder he shakes in a department store,” she murmured teasingly. “I think it’s a deficiency in the genes.”

“I’ll deficiency you, woman!”

But Kay darted out of reach, opening the door to a library-or an empty room with the potential of becoming a library. The gleaming teak shelves were all empty. Bay windows were begging for curtains. It took a moment before she noticed another door set into the paneling.

When she opened it, she found an octagonal turret room, its surrounding windows covered with sheets instead of curtains, making her smile again.

“If you don’t wipe that grin off your face, Sanders…”

But for a moment she was too busy looking at the room to tease him back. One long table was covered in white leather. Another held scales and a microscope, an assortment of special lamps and the kind of magnifying glasses she’d seen him use earlier in the evening. “Your workroom?”

He nodded.

She fingered the smooth white leather. “You’ve worked with stones for a long time, haven’t you?”

“When I was five, my grandfather figured I’d want a two-wheeler, but I didn’t. Instead, I wanted the deed to his abandoned gold mine. The family all thought it was pretty funny, but I got my deed. Luckily, the mine had no gold-if it had, I would never have found the opals. As I said before, they’re usually destroyed in the process of mining. Gold dust might be worth a ton, but opal dust is worth zilch. I don’t know why my grandfather even bought the mine-timber’s the family business. No one ever really cared about anything else.”

“How old were you when you got seriously interested?” She wandered out of his special room, down a hall toward the kitchen. That room was complete, delightfully so. A skylight hung over the eating area; oak cabinets blended with an old-fashioned pegged oak floor; a small corner fireplace stood near the eating nook.

“About…sixteen.”

“You started buying and selling opals at sixteen? Or mining them?”

He shook his head. “I started reading about the subject then. My father was the one who explored the old mine for me and revved up my interest. One day he plopped a four-carat star garnet in my lap and told me there was a slim chance I could make a fortune-if I had the guts. He brought people to the house. Miners, prospectors, collectors. To talk to me. And then he dropped it.”

“You mean he tried to discourage you all of a sudden?” Kay wandered back into the hall. Mitch gave her a wry glance as he hit the light switch, illuminating the stairs.

“I take it you’re not going to be content just checking out the ground floor, nosy.”

“Oh, hush. So then what happened?” she demanded, as she mounted the stairs, her palm on the hand-carved banister.

“Then, nothing. I had to learn. A lot. My father gave me an initial stake in garnets…and then watched me make a fool of myself.” He didn’t add that the challenge of making a fortune had affirmed his will to survive just when he’d decided he’d rather be dead than exist as a semi-invalid. His father had simply dropped the challenge in his lap-here was something he could do, something that took more mental than physical prowess, something he could master with endless study and a telephone and the right kind of teachers. And time.

“What are you leaving out, Mitch?” Kay asked softly. She’d turned in the upstairs hallway, mystified by the intensely brooding look on Mitch’s face.

As an answer, he moved toward her, tilted her chin up with his hand and lowered his soft, cool lips to hers. His eyes met hers only for a moment, long enough for Kay to remember that this was a man who could only be pushed so far.

And then he was walking past her, flicking on light switches so she could view the two bedrooms and adjoining baths, none of which interested her any longer. The house told her only so much about him; none of it explained the long, smooth scar on his chest or that streak of white in his dark hair.

“Mitch…”

“As you must have figured out, I had to have someplace to crash beyond the bare floors downstairs. This has served well enough.” Mitch turned with a wry smile as they entered his bedroom. “Though I have to admit, one’s bedroom isn’t the standard place to entertain visitors.”