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Matt’s gaze was drawn to the screen door, through which half a dozen men and women were visible, hanging around his rental car, seemingly lost. Then a door slammed at the back of the house and Gina appeared.

She strode toward the newcomers, long legs encased in worn, loose jeans. Matt had never considered that loose jeans could be so enticing. Most of the women at the university wore jeans so tight he wasn’t sure how they ever got them off. Or on.

But Gina’s made him wonder things the others never had. Like the shape of her thighs as the wind blew the soft denim against them—there and then gone and then there again, a mere hint, just enough to arouse. And the tail of her flannel shirt—cinnamon, chocolate, and lime-green stripes—which barely reached the curve of her rear, fluttering in that wind, drawing his gaze and holding it there.

She greeted the others, the warmth of welcome in her voice. Everyone in the yard straightened and smiled, unconsciously leaning toward her like flowers long denied the sun. It appeared he wasn’t the only one captivated.

Turning, Gina gestured at the house, and the movement of her arm drew that well-washed shirt taut against her breasts. They were very nice breasts. He wanted to—

“Buddy!”

Matt yanked his gaze from Gina. Unfortunately, his mind stayed right where it was, imagining the taste of those breasts, the weight of them in his palms, the sensation of them dragging across his chest, nipples hard and full.

How strange. As an adult, his imagination had been nil. He had little room for fantasy in a life devoted to pursuing facts. However, considering what had just meandered through his mind, and how alive it had made him feel, maybe he’d been wrong.

“You gonna eye-fuck her all day?”

Matt jolted at the vulgarity. Not that he hadn’t heard similar words on every dig; he’d just never gotten used to them. When you spent your life immersed in a language composed of beautiful pictures, sometimes you lost track of the vocal crudities. But there was always someone there to remind you.

McCord stood at the top of the steps, and Matt started up, head down so the other man couldn’t see the telltale flush in his cheeks. Because he had been doing exactly what Jase accused him of, and he would not be doing so again.

Matt would discover as much as he could about the ranch and surrounding area. If Nahua Springs contained the final location pinpointed in his mother’s research—and with every minute he became more certain that it did—he needed to discover that location, then find a way to convince Gina to let him dig there.

He’d have to tread carefully. She was touchy about her land. No reason to arouse her suspicions and get himself thrown off the place before he knew for certain that he was right.

If Nahua Springs Ranch was merely another misstep in a long line of them, why tell Gina the truth at all? He’d just go on the trip, then quietly fade away.

Before Matt reached the landing, McCord spun about and disappeared into the nearest room. A quick glance revealed that there were similar doors extending down both sides of the hallway.

Matt stepped inside. A large four-poster bed sat to the left, a matching oak dresser to the right. But what dominated the room was the wall of windows opposite the door. From it Matt could observe the entire valley.

“Exquisite,” he murmured, and McCord blew a quick burst of air, somehow both amused and derisive, between his lips.

Matt started to ask what was so damn funny but didn’t bother. He never understood jokes, wasn’t up on current lingo. He’d spent his formative years with his mother and her colleagues. He’d neve

r had playmates, not even imaginary ones. By the time he went off to college, people his own age … Well, they only confused him.

“Gina said you were her partner,” Matt ventured.

McCord’s dark brows lifted. “So?”

“The brochure lists her as the owner of the ranch.”

“She is.”

“Then your partnership is—”

“Physical,” McCord interrupted. “Which is why you need to keep your eyes, and your hands, and any other part of you that might want to glom onto her off.”

“Glom,” Matt repeated. He wished he’d taken more linguistics. However, modern language patterns would be of no use to him while attempting to translate ancient Aztec.

McCord stepped close, crowding into Matt’s personal space. The man had to lift his chin to meet Matt’s eyes, since he was several inches shorter, but he did so with a challenge any alpha animal would recognize. Matt had never considered himself an alpha—he’d had his ass kicked as a kid too often by every bullying local in every town he and his mom had ever visited—nevertheless, he had to suppress an urge to bump chests and snarl.

“Touch her,” McCord murmured, “and I will end you.”

CHAPTER 3

Gina couldn’t figure out which of their guests was the one who had sent Jase over the edge. They all seemed normal enough to her. Or as normal as most of the guests got.

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