“So what’s the problem?”

“Well, as you keep pointing out, you’re a little the worse for wear. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“You don’t have to be diplomatic. I’ve been drunk off my butt most of the evening. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want, just that I’m braver about asking for it.”

Fraser chewed his lip. No wonder he needed all that ChapStick.

“I’d like to spend what’s left of the night with you,” I told him. “And it’s not because I don’t want to be alone—although, to be honest, I don’t—and it’s not because I fear the curse of the mummy.”

He spluttered a laugh.

“I just…like being with you.”

“Yeah, but will you like being with me in the morning?”

“I can’t see why I wouldn’t.”

For an instant his face looked young and unguarded. “Really?”

I nodded. “As weird as this night has been, it’s also been the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

He said quite seriously, “I am fun.”

“I know. And to be honest, I haven’t been able to get that thing you said about making beautiful, passionate, mind-blowing love to me out of my head all night.”

“Do you want me to make love to you?” He said it so seriously, it gave me a moment’s qualm.

“I do. But, as we’ve both noticed, I’m slightly smashed, so I think we better consider it more in the light of having sex and just leave the L word out of it. For now.”

He suddenly broke into a smile. “You speak very slowly and precisely when you’re smashed.”

“The rain in Spain is giving me a pain.”

He laughed.

“Yeah, but you’re listening to me, right?” I was earnest about this. The idea of hurting Fraser or leading him astray was terrible to me. “I want to fu-have tonight together, but I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Enough people already got hurt this evening.”

His face changed. “I won’t hurt you, Drew. And I already know that you’re a very bad emotional risk. So if it’s what you want, I’ll be happy to fuck your brains out.”

I started to laugh at that, and so did he. It had to be the dregs of alcohol floating in our systems, but abruptly we were both laughing so hard—and so silently, which made it all the funnier somehow—that we could hardly get inside my room.

I finally managed to shut the door and fall down on the bed beside him. The mattress was shaking beneath him, but he sobered at last. I began to pluck at the waistband of my jeans.

Fraser jumped up, the mattress bouncing as he sprang to the window and drew the curtains all the way.

“Good thinking.”

But as he came back to the bed, his expression was glum.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom.”

“I do.” I lifted my right hip and pulled a foil square from my pocket.

His eyebrows shot up. “You always carry one of those?”

“I bought it in the bathroom at the bar. I got two of them, in fact.”

“You weren’t kidding about it being on your mind.”

“Nope.” I reached up and snapped off the light.

After Fraser fell asleep I watched the shadows swaying across the ceiling and listened to the soft sounds of his breathing.

Even in the dark, drowsy and boozy, I could tell I was not with Noah. It gave me a weird, homesick feeling. I looked at the clock on the table beside the bed, and I wondered what Noah was doing right now.

Sleeping probably. Probably at home in our king-size bed sleeping well, dreams untroubled because he was so comfortably sure he was in the right.

Was he in the right?

Last night at this time I had been awake too. Awake and miserable because I was flying out in the morning and Noah was angry with me for spoiling his weekend.

And, in all honesty, maybe there had been something childish, spiteful, in my choosing to leave this weekend even though we had plans. I could have put the trip to Wyoming off a week or so. I’d been hurt because Noah hadn’t defended me to Lionel and the others. He’d told me it was imperative I get something published as soon as possible, and I’d taken him at his word, knowing he didn’t mean it literally. Knowing he would not want his weekend plans upset.

I could have arranged to go next weekend, and Noah wouldn’t have had to fret about whether I’d miss Mirabelle’s garden party. If I had waited, we wouldn’t have quarreled. And I’d never have met Fraser Fortune.

I studied the moonlit strip of his face and found myself smiling faintly.

Looking back on the evening, it seemed almost surreal. Like a dream. That was partly the blur of alcohol, but it had been a weird night by anyone’s standards.

It had been a fun night too. Probably the most fun I’d had in years.

Two years, to be exact.

And the funny part was I’d started out thinking Fraser was a total jerk. And he still might be. Just because he’d made a good companion on the night’s adventures didn’t mean…couldn’t mean…

After all, it had taken me a year to figure out I was in love with Noah. So whatever this strange, relaxed, affectionate feeling was, it couldn’t be love. More likely too much alcohol and some of the best sex I’d ever had.

“Are you okay?” Fraser asked sleepily, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I could see the gleam of his eyes watching me.

“I didn’t know you were awake.”

“I wasn’t. You’re thinking so loud you woke me up.”

I registered the faint smile in his voice and relaxed. “Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“I think so.”

“Why are you so far away?”

“Hm?”

He stretched his hand out across the width of sheet. “Arm’s length.”

“Oh. Noah doesn’t like to be touched while he’s sleeping.”

“I think I hate Noah.”

I bit back a guilty laugh.

We were silent, listening to the Wyoming wind rattle the metal chairs in the pool yard. It felt like a very long way from Los Angeles. I was glad Fraser was here.

He said finally, huskily, “Are you going back to him?”

“I don’t see how I can now.”

“Is that why we had sex?”

I turned my head on the pillow, trying to see his face, wanting to be sure he knew this was the truth. “No.”

“You wouldn’t have to tell him.”

“Yes, I would.”

He thought that over quietly. “If he loves you, he’ll forgive you.”

“I think he would.” I didn’t know that I wanted him to.

Fraser reached over and tugged me toward him. “Come here.”

I scooted over and let him fold me into his arms.

He murmured, “You don’t hate being touched.”

“No.” I tucked my head into the warmth of his neck. It was surprisingly comfortable. I closed my eyes.

I woke with a pounding headache and a mouth like a gorilla’s armpit. As I lay there, very still, listening to the sounds of running water in the bathroom and trying to fool my body into believing I was still asleep, a name came floating into my mind like the message on a Magic Eight Ball. Just as though I’d been worrying at a problem all night in my dreams. And so I had, but not this problem.

This problem was named Solvani. Dr. Solvani.

The door to the bathroom flew open and I said, “Dr. Solvani.”

It must have sounded like a plea for medical attention.

“Nah, you’ll feel better after you drink some coffee and have a couple of aspirin,” Fraser promised. “The coffee’s just about ready.”

I feebly identified the fragrances wafting around my hotel room as complimentary shampoo and instant coffee.

“I just remembered something.” I sat up—very carefully—and tottered over to the desk. I powered on my laptop and gingerly felt my way into the chair. “What do you know about the Lasse Dime Museum?”

“What I don’t know is why it’s called the Lasse Dime Museum when it was opened in 1904 by Wallace Hiram. It’s currently owned by Jillian Hiram. I think she’s the great-great-great-granddaughter of the original Hiram.”