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art and culture, not for frolicking in the nude with lithe, lovely females—goddesses or otherwise."
    Jack took a slow, sauntering step toward her. Like a panther, he moved with an animal grace, the flex of smooth muscle rippling beneath his finely tailored coat
    "Ah, but some people consider bacchanalian pleasures to be a highly refined art form," he replied in that same suggestive tone.
    Recalling the branched heat of his lips and the roving touch of his caresses, Alessandra couldn't help but agree.
    "Yes—and they are called rakes, not scholars."
    His mouth curled up ever so slightly at the comers.
    Dio Madre, he was a handsome devil. Especially when he allowed a hint of a smile to soften the sculpted planes of his face.
    "Which begs the question," she added quickly. "Why are you here?"
    "Why am I here?" repeated Jack. His expression turned even more sardonic. "To ogle naked females, of course," he drawled. "That is what we big, black devils do when we aren't lurking in dark corners or breakfasting on small children."
    Alessandra felt a flush of color creep to her cheeks. "Well, to my knowledge, the Julius Caesar Society has no lady members, so I fear you are in for a very dull night"
    "Perhaps." Jack took a long drink of his wine. "Unless, of course, you wish to remove your gown and your corset" Lowering his voice to a husky whisper, he added, "Not to mention the other, even more intimate bits of lace and frills you may be wearing next to your creamy flesh."
    Ignoring the provocative words, Alessandra looked away from his lidded gaze and snapped open her document case.
    Scholarship, she reminded herself. She was here to deliver some research materials, not to think about Lord James Jacquehart Pierson's lean, chiseled body and what it would look like stripped bare of its civilizing layers of linen and wool.
    Printed journals filled with obscure Latin terms. Her fingers fumbled with the papers. She would not be distracted by his hot chocolate eyes or his sweetly sensual mouth.
    "I thought you prided yourself on always behaving like a proper, perfect gentleman," she said, once she had her skittering pulse back under control.
    "Yes, I do. But strangely enough, when I am around you, some mysterious force seems to goad me into acting very improperly:' Jack looked at her through his long, dark lashes. "You are a scientist, Lady Giamatti. Perhaps you can explain it?"
    Alessandra could answer any number of complex scientific conundrums, but she couldn't give any coherent rationale for why sparks seemed to fly whenever they rubbed together. Like steel striking flint, he simply set off an explosive reaction.
    "Science is based on reason, sir," she answered slowly. "Whereas your behavior defies... logic." As did her own
    "Ah, so you don't think my feeble brain can grasp abstract concepts?"
    She looked up from her papers, startled to find he was now close—close enough for her to smell the spice of wine on his breath. Close enough for her to see the dangerous glitter in his eyes.
    Close enough for her to feel the touch of his fingertip against her cheek. "Maybe you were right to say men have misguided notions of honor," he added.
    She recoiled, drawing a wicked whisper of laughter.
    "Afraid I might kiss you again?"
    Before she could answer, Sir Reginald Coxe, head of the Artifacts Committee, hurried into the gallery. "Lady Giamatti! Forgive me for keeping you waiting."
    Grateful for the interruption, Alessandra quickly finished arranging the documents in her case and held them out "I found the copy of Hadrian's Quarterly Review that you needed, along with some other older essays that may be useful for your research."
    "I can't thank you enough," exclaimed Sir Reginald. "But you need not have troubled yourself to bring them by in person. I would have been happy to have my servant return for it"
    "It was no trouble," replied Alessandra. "I was passing by here on my way to Lady Bevan's musical soiree."
    Sir Reginald peeked at the