Shower of Stars: Excerpt

Chapter Three

The sifting of her hair through Jack's fingers sent a tingle across Charlie's scalp that vibrated over every inch of her skin. She was sure her face held the same expression of idiotic bliss as the dog's had when she'd scratched behind his ears. Fortunately, the meteorite hunter's eyes were focused on the long strands of hair slipping across his hand. “You almost changed your mind.”

“Changed my mind?” Charlie asked vaguely.

“You almost put your hair back up in the elevator,” Jack said, as the last piece fell from his fingers.

“How do you know that?” Her pleasant trance evaporated.

“Security cameras,” he said, turning toward the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Do you always spy on your visitors?”

“Only if they're reporters. To make sure they don't decide to investigate somewhere they're not welcome.”

That wasn't very promising. And he'd seen her checking her reflection. Charlie hoped that a strong shot of caffeine might overcome her humiliation so she briskly followed him into the kitchen. Fitted out in modern stainless steel, it had all the latest gadgets including an impressive coffee/cappuccino/espresso machine that Jack was flipping various levers on. As he passed her a filled mug, she inhaled appreciatively.

“Straight from Brazil,” he said with an understanding nod, and filled a mug for himself. “Miguel supplies me with it.”

“Is he a friend or a business partner?”

“Both. He's an expert metalworker and does all the cutting and polishing of the meteorites I sell.”

This was an improvement; the man had actually volunteered some information.

“I'd think that cutting the meteorites would lower their value,” Charlie observed.

“Depends on the meteorite. Some are valuable because of where they come from—like Mars or the moon—so it doesn't matter what they look like. Some, like a stony-iron with large olivine crystals, are valuable because of their beauty. But you can't see the crystals unless you slice into the meteorite. That's where Miguel comes in.”

He led her back into the living room. Taking the mug from her hand, he put it down beside his on a low table and steered her over to one of the stands Charlie had noticed earlier. “You've done your homework, I'm sure,” he said, giving her one of his there-and-gone smiles, “so you know the three basic classes of meteorites: iron, stone and stony-iron.”

Charlie nodded, hoping he'd continue.

“This is a slice of a stony-iron pallasite from the Atacama Desert in Chile.”

The meteorite seemed to float above the white, waist-high base, balanced on delicate curves of black wire rising from a slender stem of the same dark metal. It was a thin, roughly rectangular slab about a foot long and six inches high. The highly polished silvery stone was pierced by irregularly shaped pale brownish-golden crystals.

Jack pushed a button with the toe of his shoe. Charlie gasped as a brilliant beam of light poured through the crystal “windows,” bathing the meteorite in an exquisite glow.

“It certainly looks as though it's from another world,” she said. She glanced up to see the light shimmering across her companion's face, as he gazed at the rock. Almost as if hypnotized, he reached out and ran his fingers over the black encrusted edge.

“This is the fusion crust. It formed when the meteor burned its way through our atmosphere after Earth's gravity ended its journey from some distant corner of the galaxy.”

Charlie started to reach out herself, then hesitated. “May I touch it?”

Dropping his own hand, he nodded.

Her fingers slid along the sliced surface, skimming over the cold gleaming metal and making shadows on the luminous olivine.

“It's absolutely beautiful. Is it valuable?”

“Not particularly. A few thousand dollars.” He toed the button again to turn off the light. “The ones in this room are just for display. I keep the really unique specimens in special cases under lock and key. Then there's my private collection,” he added with an infinitely slow smile this time, and a drawl so thick you could have cut it with a knife.

“I'll bet you keep it right alongside your etchings,” Charlie said tartly, as she braced herself against the impact of those blue eyes warmed by an interest in something other than meteorites.

He laughed. “The only etchings I collect are the Widmannstatten structures on my iron meteorites.” He held her gaze as he stepped close to her side, causing her to involuntarily tilt her head back. Weaving his fingers into her cascading hair, he slowly slid his hand around her waist to rest lightly on the small of her back.

Charlie stifled a gasp as heat rippled upward and downward from his touch.

A low, threatening rumble made them both look down at the dog. Major's upper lip was curled away from his teeth, and his head was lowered in a hostile stance. His dark eyes were fixed on Jack.

Charlie began to laugh. She had acquired a guardian Kuvasz.

“It's okay, Major,” she assured him, ruffling his ears.

Jack dropped his hand, and Major stopped snarling.

“Your dog doesn't understand the difference between a gentleman and a mugger.”

“Oh, doesn't he? Maybe he sees you as a rival,” she said, stroking the dog's head and taking slow deep breaths.

Incredibly, she heard him chuckle, a rich sound from deep in his chest. “I'm flattered.” He took the dog's muzzle in his hand and gently tilted Major's head. “Just remember I can close the bedroom door, and you can't open it.”

“But I can,” Charlie pointed out.

“Not if I tie you to the bed.” He let go of the dog and straightened with a wicked gleam in his eye.

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