Devon angled his head toward Beth so that he might see what she was reading. Immediately, she closed the book by clapping her hands together. The resultant thud served to reprove him—or, at least, would have, had he any scruples. Instead, he touched one finger to the book and tipped it in her hold so he could see the title.
Behavioral Ecology—he read in the two seconds before she tipped the book back. He met her fierce gaze, and the air between them grew so charged, Nikola Tesla could have invented three things just by looking at it. Without blinking, Devon tipped the book again.
—in Ornithological—
Beth yanked it with such force away from his reach that she dropped it. A furious little sigh expelled from between her lips, and it was all Devon could do not to grin with triumph at having provoked her.
“Rotten blighter!” Hippolyta shouted.
“Harridan!” Oberhufter retorted.
Bing!
The elevator juddered to a halt at the fifth floor and its door opened. Everyone turned their heads to stare at two ladies waiting in the corridor. Both were resplendent in the latest fashion, hats magnificently plumed, feather boas hanging in a bright froth about their necks.
“Good afternoon,” one said pleasantly. “Is there room in there for us?”
Hippolyta frowned. “Are those ostrich feathers you’re wearing?”
“Rainbow ostrich, from South America,” Beth identified from over the rim of her spectacles. “Only five hundred of the species still alive.”
“And is that a liar-bird quill in your hat?” Oberhufter demanded, brandishing his sandwich.
The women glanced at each other, then laughed. “Who are you?” one asked. “The fashion police?”
“No,” Hippolyta replied ominously. “We’re ornithologists.”
“Oh dear,” murmured the first woman, growing pale, but the other stared them down.
“I purchased this feather from a reputable ornithologist in Paris!” she proclaimed.
“No, you purchased it from a smuggler,” Oberhufter said.
“You should probably run while you can,” Devon advised with a grin.
Squealing, the women turned and fled.
“Dreadful!” Hippolyta and Oberhufter exclaimed in unison. Then, exchanging a startled look at this agreement, they immediately scowled again.
“I heard you plagiarized your book!” Oberhufter shouted.
“I heard you plagiarized your personality!” Hippolyta shouted in return.
The door slammed shut, the elevator resuming its descent.
Devon crouched to retrieve Beth’s book from the floor, thus narrowly avoiding being struck by Hippolyta’s parasol as she thrust it toward Oberhufter.
“You’re a thieving beast!” she growled, whacking the hat from the man’s head.
“You’re predictable!” Oberhufter retorted, grabbing hold of the end of the parasol and attempting to wrangle it from her.
Rising again, Devon managed, purely and innocently by chance, to be standing even closer to Beth. He handed her the book and she took it with a nod of thanks, inspecting it for damage before securing it in her traveling satchel. The spectacles followed, and Devon looked around for some reading material so he could induce her to put them back on again.
“Aaargh!!” Mrs. Quirm roared, prodding Oberhufter with her parasol.
“Aaargh!!” Oberhufter roared, crashing back against the elevator’s wall. The chamber shuddered, causing Beth to stumble. Devon automatically put a hand against her waist to steady her.
He expected that she’d move away, but she didn’t, and electricity sizzled through him, rousing instincts a man really didn’t like experiencing in a crowded space. He wanted to undress her brain, stroke her perspective, make her gasp out the most fascinating theory she hid from all other men. (He also wanted to kiss the hell out of her, but that went without saying.) Only the steely willpower developed over years of bird-watching in icy rain, and teaching undergraduates first thing Monday mornings, kept him from drawing her closer to his side.
“And furthermore—!” Hippolyta declared.
“Pigs will fly,” Oberhufter interrupted, “before you win Birder of the Year!”
“I say, do you mean the hog parrot of Borneo?” Elvira Fotheringham piped up from the floor.
“Oh, be quiet, sister,” Ethel Fotheringham snarled. They began wrestling once more.
Beth’s eyes widened as she realized the sisters’ presence. She looked around like she expected the lapwing to leap up and begin an attack; not seeing it, she turned to Devon with a quizzical frown. He just met her gaze silently, his mouth curving up at one edge. Ask me and I’ll tell you. Say my name and I’ll give you all you want.
She did not speak, but neither did she turn away. Devon’s smile faded. Their mutual gaze deepened. Had a lapwing indeed been in the elevator, it would have been fricasseed the instant it took flight.
“You will never beat me, Oberhufter!” Hippolyta roared, flailing her parasol with such fury it knocked the hats from two footmen and nearly put out the eye of a third.
“Just wait, woman!” Oberhufter growled, throwing his sandwich wildly. All the servants ducked. “Mein Gott! I’ll have you over my knee yet, and then you’ll know a beating like you’ve never had before!”
Instant shocked silence filled the chamber. As the elevator thunked to a halt, a footman had the door open so fast one might suspect him of possessing superhuman strength.
Hippolyta stepped to the threshold of the chamber and swung about, skirts whirling, to glare at Oberhufter. The elevator door slid across to collide with her, but she did not move even so much as an inch. Devon was only aware of this at the periphery of his attention, however, for he could not seem to look away from Beth. Nor, apparently, could she break whatever force kept them locked together.
