He opened the glass door that led to the museum's foyer. "Old being the operative word."

"And yet you're very modern."

"A Renaissance man trapped between cultures."

"Is that what you are?"

He cast a playful sideways look to her. "Honestly?"

"Yes."

"I'm a dragon slayer."

She laughed out loud.

He scoffed. "Again you don't believe me."

"Let's just say it's no wonder you said you wanted to steal the tapestry. I suppose there's not much call for slay­ing a mythological beast, especially in this day and age."

Those greenish-gold eyes teased her unmercifully. "You don't believe in dragons?"

"No, of course not."

He tsked at her. "You are so skeptical."

"I'm practical."

Sebastian ran his tongue over his teeth as a sly half-smile curved his lips. A practical woman who didn't be­lieve in dragons yet studied dragon tapestries and wore a misbuttoned shirt. Surely there wasn't another soul like her in any time or place. And she had the strangest effect on his body.

He was already hard for her, and they were barely touching. Her grip on his arm was light and delicate, as if she was ready to flee him at any moment.

That was the last thing he wanted, and that surprised him most of all.

A reclusive person, he only interacted with others when his physical needs overrode his desire for solitude. Even then, those encounters were brief and limited. He took his lovers for one night, making sure they were as well sated as he, then he quickly returned to his solitary world.

He'd never dawdled with idle conversation. Never really cared to get to know more about a woman than her name and the way she liked to be touched.

But Channon was different. He liked the cadence of her voice and the way her eyes sparkled when she talked. Most of all, he liked the way her smile lit up her entire face when she looked at him.

And the sound of her laughter... He doubted if the angels in heaven could make a more precious melody.

Sebastian opened the door to the dark restaurant and held it for her while she entered. As she swept past him, he let his gaze travel down the back of her body. He hardened even more.

What he wouldn't give to have her warm and naked in his arms so that he could run his hands down her full curves, nibble the flesh of her neck, and hold her to him as he slowly slid himself deep inside her while she writhed to his touch.

Sebastian forced himself to look away from Channon and to speak to the hostess. He sent a mental command to the unknown woman to sit them in a secluded corner. He wanted privacy with Channon.

How he wished he'd met her sooner. He'd been in this cursed city for well over a week, waiting for the oppor­tunity to go home, where if not the comfort of warmth, he at least had the comfort of familiarity. He'd spent his nights in this city alone, prowling the streets restlessly as he bided his time.

At dawn, he would have to leave. But until then, he intended to spend as much time with Channon as he could, letting her company ease the loneliness inside him, ease the pain in his heart that had burned him for most of his life.

Channon followed the hostess through the restaurant, but all the while she was aware of Sebastian behind her— aware of his hot, predatorial gaze on her body and the way he seemed to want to devour her.

But even more unbelievable was the fact that she wanted to devour him. No man had ever made her feel so much like a woman or made her want to spend hours exploring his body with her hands and mouth.

"You're nervous again," he said after they were seated in a dark corner in the back of the pub.

She glanced up from the menu to catch sight of those greenish-gold eyes that reminded her of some feral beast. "You are incredibly perceptive."

He inclined his head toward her. "I've been accused of worse."

"I'll bet you have," she teased back. Indeed, he had the presence of an outlaw. Dangerous, dark, seductive. "Axe you really a thief?"

"Define the term thief."

She laughed even though she wasn't quite sure if he was joking or serious.

"So tell me," he said as the waitress brought their drinks, "what do you do for a living, Shannon with a C?"

She thanked the waitress for her Coke, then looked to Sebastian to see how he would deal with her occupation. Most men were a bit intimidated by her job, though she'd never been able to figure out why. "I'm a history professor at the University of Virginia."

"Impressive," he said, his face genuinely interested. "What cultures and times do you specialize in?"

She was amazed he knew anything about her job. "Mostly preNorman Britain."

"Ah. Hwaet we Gar-Dena in gear-dagum peod-cyninga prym gefrunon, hu da aephelingas ellen fremedon."

Channon was floored by his Old English. He spoke it as if he'd been born to it. Imagine a man so handsome knowing a subject so dear to her heart.

She offered him the translation. "So. The Spear-Danes in days gone by and the kings who ruled them had cour­age and greatness. We have heard of those princes' heroic campaigns."

His inclined his head to her. "You know your Beowulf well."

"I've studied Old English extensively, which, given my job, makes sense. But you don't strike me as a historian."

"I'm not. Rather, I'm a sort of reenactor."

That explained the way he looked. Now his presence in the museum and knightly air of authority made sense to her.

"Is your study of the Middle Ages what had you in the museum today?" he asked.

She nodded. "I've studied the tapestry for years. I want to be the person who finally unravels the mystery behind it."

"What would you like to know?"

"Who made it and why? Where the story of it comes from. For that matter, I would love to know how the mu­seum got it. They have no record of when they acquired it or from whom it was purchased."

His automatic answers surprised her. "They bought it in 1926 from an anonymous collector for fifty thousand dollars. As for the rest, it was made by a woman named Antiphone back in seventh-century Britain. It's the story of her grandfather and his brother and their eternal strug­gle between good and evil."

His gaze was so sincere that she could almost believe him. In a strange way, it made sense, since the tapestry had no ending.

But she knew better. "Antiphone, huh?"

He shook his head. "You just don't believe anything I tell you, do you?"

"Why, kind sir," she said impishly with a mock English accent. " 'Tis not that I don't believe you, but as a his­torian I must align myself with fact. Have you any proof of this Antiphone or transaction?"

"I do, but I somehow doubt you would appreciate my showing it to you."

"And why is that?"

"It would scare the life out of you."

Channon sat back at that, unsure of how to take it. She didn't really know what to make of the man sitting across from her. He kept her on edge all the while he lured her toward his danger. Lured her against all her reason.

They remained quiet as their food was placed on the table.

While they ate, Channon studied him. The candlelight in the pub danced in his eyes, making them glow like a cat's. His hands were strong and callused—the hands of a man who was used to hard work—yet he had the air of wealth and privilege, the air of a powerful man who made his own rules.

He was a total enigma, a walking dichotomy who made her feel both safe and threatened.

'Tell me, Channon," he said suddenly, "do you like teaching?"

"Some days. But it's the research I like best. I love digging through old manuscripts and trying to piece to­gether the past."

He gave a short half laugh. "No offense, but that sounds incredibly boring."

"I imagine dragon-slaying is much more action-oriented."

"Yes, it is. Every moment is completely unpredictable."

She wiped her mouth as she watched him eat with per­fect European table manners. He was definitely cultured, yet he seemed oddly barbaric. "So, how do you kill a dragon?"

"With a very sharp sword."

She shook her head at him. "Yes, but do you call him out? Do you go to him ... ?"

"The easiest way is to sneak up on him."

"And pray he doesn't wake up?"

"Well, it makes it more challenging if he does."

Channon smiled. She was so drawn to that infectious wit of his. Especially since he didn't seem to notice the women around them who were ogling him while they ate. It was as if he could only see her.

As a rule, she stunk at this whole male-female thing. Her last boyfriend, a D.C. correspondent, had educated her well on every personal and physical flaw she pos­sessed. The last thing she was looking for was another

relationship in which she wasn't on equal terms with the man.

For her next love interest, she wanted someone just like her—a historian of average looks whose life revolved around research. Two comfortable peas in a pod.

She wasn't looking for some hot, mysterious stranger who made her blood burn with desire.

Channon, would you listen to yourself and what you 're saying! You are insane not to want this man!

Perhaps. But things like this never happened to her.

"You know," she said to him, "I keep having this really weird feeling that you're going to take me someplace later and tie me up naked so that your friends can come laugh at me."

He arched a brow at her. "Does that happen to you often?"

"No, never, but this night has the makings for a Twi­light Zone episode."

"I promise no Rod Serling voice-overs. You're safe with me."

And for some reason that made absolutely no sense whatsoever, she believed him.

Channon spent the next few hours having the dinner and conversation of her life. Sebastian was incredibly easy to talk to. Worse, he set her hormones on fire.

The longer they were together and the more laughs they shared, and the more incredible he seemed.

She glanced at her watch and gasped. "Did you know it's almost midnight?"

He checked his watch.

"I hate to cut this short," she said, placing her napkin on the table and sliding her chair back, "but I have to go or I'll never get a taxi out of here."

He placed his hand lightly on her arm to keep her at the table. "Why don't you let me drive you home?"

Channon started to protest, but something inside her refused. After the evening they had spent together, she

felt oddly at ease with him. There was an aura about him that was so comforting, so open and welcoming.

He was like a long lost friend.

"Okay," she said, relaxing.

He paid for their food. Then he helped her up and into her coat and led her from the restaurant.

Channon didn't speak as they made their way toward his car down the street, but she felt his magnetic, mas­culine presence with every single cell of her body.

Though not a social butterfly by any account, she'd had plenty of dates in her life. She'd had a number of boy­friends and even a fiance, but none of them had ever made her feel the way this stranger did.

Like he fit some missing part of her soul.

Girl, you are crazy.

She must be.

Channon paused as they neared his sporty gray Lexus. "Someone travels in style."

Winking devilishly at her, Sebastian opened the car door. "Well, I would turn into a dragon and fly you home, but something tells me you would protest."

"No doubt. I imagine the scales would also chafe my skin."

'True. Not to mention, I once learned the hard way that they really do call the military out on you. You know, fighter jets are hard to dodge when you have a forty-foot wingspan." He closed her door and walked to his side of the car.

She laughed yet again, but then she'd been doing that most of the night. Goodness, she really liked this man.

Sebastian got into the car and felt his body jerk the instant they were locked inside together. Her feminine scent permeated his head. She was so close to him now that he could almost taste her.

All night long he had listened to the dulcet sound of her smooth Southern drawl, watched her tongue and lips move as he imagined what they would feel like on his

body, imagined her in his arms while he made love to her until she cried out from pleasure.

His attraction to her stunned him. Why did he have to feel this now, when he couldn't afford to stay in her time and explore more of her?

Cursed Fates. How they loved to tamper in mortal lives.

Pushing the thought out of his mind, he drove her to the hotel where she was staying.