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him glance at the food remaining on her plate. He stretched his arm across the table and put his hand over hers. ‘Stop worrying. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. I can help.’
    Sinead stared down at their hands. His was warm andbroad; hers was pale and small in comparison. ‘I swear to you that I didn’t steal the jewel. I love my job, I would never do anything to jeopardize it.’
    ‘Then who did?’
    She only wished she knew. ‘I have no idea.’
    Niall paid the bill and they strolled to the car park. There was a chill in the air that even a Granny O’Sullivan sweater couldn’t keep out. She shivered and Niall was immediately all concern. He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her. The woollen coat almost reached her ankles and she caught the faint scent of his aftershave as he pulled the collar up around her, a heady blend of citrus, leather and sandalwood – sexy and intensely masculine. She resisted the urge to bury her face in the collar and sniff.
    Something flickered behind his brooding gaze. The events of the day had definitely addled her brain. She was tempted to stand on tiptoe and kiss him. As if he had plucked the thought from her head, Niall brushed his lips against hers in a barely-there kiss.
    Her pulse hammered at the touch of his lips and she pulled away. Had he just done that? Kissed her? She had been right about that mouth and the encounter left her wanting more.
    ‘Sinead, I can help, but only if you trust me.’
    She hesitated. It would be nice to trust someone, to be able to lean on him and share everything. She could never seem to break through the barriers she had built around herself. Something always held her back.
    All of her friends were still in London. Her cousin Summer was in South America. She barely knew a soulhere in Geneva and it was months since she had really talked to anyone. What would happen if the police started snooping around and found her connection with Lottie? She dreaded to think what the museum would do if they found out that their curator was a former burlesque dancer. They would believe that she was lying about stealing the Fire of Autumn. She needed to talk to someone.
    ‘Niall, I –’
    The sound of a car alarm shattered the moment and they broke apart.
    On the drive back to her apartment, Sinead watched the city shut down for the night. It was barely 10 p.m. She had never known a city that went to bed so early. She tapped her fingers against her thigh. There was no way that she could sleep yet.
    Up ahead she spotted an off-licence. The lights were still on. There was a nice bottle of Bushmills whiskey back at the apartment. ‘Pull over here. I need to get some ice.’
    Niall watched her as she hefted a bag of ice into the back of the Jeep.
    ‘What’s that for?’ he asked. ‘Because if you are thinking of getting kinky, I should warn you I don’t put out on the first date.’
    She glared at him, her eyes dark under the streetlights. ‘Idiot. I don’t do kinky. I don’t do anything.’ She sounded almost triumphant.
     

     
    Niall’s finely honed instincts, which had saved his life on too many occasions to count, went on the alert. Therewas something off about Sinead O’Sullivan. He had the feeling that she was hiding something. There was definitely something going on beneath her placid surface.
    Had she stolen the Fire of Autumn? She was lying about something.
    What had she said? ‘I don’t do kinky, I don’t do anything.’ Somewhere in that statement was a lie, and a lie she was proud of. So Ms O’Sullivan had hidden depths? This assignment was starting to look a whole lot more interesting.
    ‘So what’s with the ice?’ he asked, forcing his attention back to the road.
    She shrugged, the movement almost lost in her big sweater. ‘I fancy a nightcap, that’s all.’
    He drove on, the ice rattling every time they passed over a speed bump.
    Her apartment was warm and quiet, and very small. It was going to be interesting