“That amuses you,” Sybill said tightly.

“It reassures me, Dr. Griffin. Traditions are meant to reassure. I spoke to our lawyer,” he continued as they crossed the waterfront. Gulls swooped, dogging a workboat on its way to dock. “The notarized statement will help, but he’d like to take your deposition, early next week if you can manage it.”

“I’ll make an appointment.” In front of the bank she stopped and turned toward him. He’d changed into casual clothes, and the wind off the water ruffled his hair. His eyes were concealed behind shaded lenses, but she wasn’t certain she cared to see the expression in them. “It might look less as if I’m under house arrest if I go in alone.”

He merely lifted his hands, palms out, and stepped back. She was a tough nut, he decided when she strode into the bank. But he had a feeling that, once cracked, there was something soft, even delectable inside.

He was surprised that someone as intelligent, as highly trained in the human condition as she was couldn’t see her own distress, couldn’t or wouldn’t admit that there had been something lacking in her own upbringing that forced her to build walls.

He’d nearly been fooled, he mused, into believing she was cold and distant and untouched by the messier emotions. He couldn’t be sure what it was that insisted he believe differently. Maybe it was nothing more than wishful thinking, but he was determined to find out for himself. And soon.

He knew that making her family secrets accessible and so informally public would be humiliating for her, and perhaps painful. But she’d agreed without condition and was following through without hesitation.

Standards, he thought. Integrity. She had them. And he believed that she had heart as well.

Sybill offered a thin smile as she came back out. “Well, that’s the first time I’ve seen a notary’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. I think that should—”

The rest of her babbling statement was lost as his mouth rushed to cover hers. She lifted a hand to his shoulder, but her fingers only curled into the soft material of his sweater.

“You looked like you needed it,” he murmured, and skimmed a hand over her cheek.

“Regardless—”

“Hell, Sybill, we’ve already got them talking. Why not add to the mystery?”

Her emotions were rocking, making it difficult for her to hold on to any threads of composure. “I’ve no intention of standing here making a spectacle of myself. So if you’ll—”

“Fine. Let’s go somewhere else. I’ve got the boat.”

“The boat? I can’t go out on the boat. I’m not dressed for it. I have work.” I need to think, she told herself, but he was already pulling her to the dock.

“A sail will do you good. You’re starting on another headache. The fresh air should help.”

“I don’t have a headache.” Only the nasty, simmering threat of one. “And I don’t want to—” She nearly yelped, so stunned was she when he simply plucked her off her feet and set her down on the deck.