She looked back at him and felt that new helpless fluttering in her stomach. “I don’t know, exactly. We’re both adults.”

“Yes.” He started toward her, and she surprised herself by edging back.

“Unattached.” So it seems.

“Responsible.”

“Admirably.” He danced his fingers over her hair. “I’ve wanted to see you in candlelight, Mary Ellen.”

“Don’t start that.” She brushed his hand away.

“What?”

“Don’t call me Mary Ellen, and don’t start that violin-and-candlelight business.”

His eyes stayed on hers as he trailed a finger down her throat. “You object to romance?”

“Not object, exactly.” Her emotions were too close to the surface, much too close, after what she had seen in the globe. She needed to make certain they had their ground rules. “I just don’t need it. I don’t know what to do with it. And I think we’ll deal better if we know where we stand.”

“Where do we stand?” he asked, slipping his hands around her waist.

“Like I said, we’re responsible, unattached adults. And we’re attracted to each other.”

He touched his lips to her temple. “So far I find nothing to argue about.”

“And as long as we handle this relationship sensibly—”

“Oh, we may run into trouble there.”

“I don’t see why.”

He skimmed his hands up her rib cage until his thumbs circled her nipples. “I don’t feel particularly sensible.”

Her knees buckled. Her head fell back. “It’s just a matter of … establishing priorities.”

“I have my priorities.” He teased her lips apart with his tongue. “Top of the list is making love with you until we’re both a puddle of useless flesh.”

“Good.” She went willingly when he pulled her to the floor. “Good start.”

*  *  *

She really worked better with lists. By the following evening, Mel was huddled at her desk, doing her best to put one together. It was the first free hour she’d had since speeding away from Sebastian’s house at 10:00 a.m., already frazzled and behind schedule.

She was never behind schedule. Of course, she’d never had an affair with a witch before. It was obviously a month for firsts.

If she hadn’t had an appointment, paperwork and a court appearance waiting, she might not have left his house at all. He’d certainly done everything in his power to discourage her, she remembered, tapping her pencil against her smiling lips.

The man definitely had a lot of power.

But work was work, she reminded herself. She had a business to run.

The best news of the day was that the New Hampshire State Police had picked up James T. Parkland. And there was a certain sergeant, grateful for her tip and annoyed with the federal takeover, who was being very cooperative.

He’d faxed Mel a copy of Parkland’s statement on the sly.

It was a start.