“Where’s Eden Ross?” Dec asked.

“She and the guy she was with slipped away sometime after our officers arrived.”

“Let me talk to Ian,” Dec said.

“I’m afraid he’s busy. He’s got a couple of agents from the FBI here on some art forgery case.”

Dec cursed softly. Just yesterday he’d had Ian in his office in Providence along with an art expert. Somehow, his brother had gotten mixed up with Hector Arantes, a known art forger, and Hector’s beautiful daughter, Marisol. The case had obviously taken a turn now that the FBI was involved and Ian would have no time to help Declan track down Eden Ross.

“Call your guys and tell them I’ll meet them at the Sandpiper,” he said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He snapped the phone shut and turned for the door, then felt a hand on his arm. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

The blonde slowly circled him, placing herself between him and the door. She leaned into him, her hips pressing against his suggestively. Dec forced a smile. “Business calls,” he said.

“There are more important things than business,” she said, her fingers sliding down his arm to touch his hand.

Dec chuckled. If he wanted her, he could have her, probably right underneath her husband’s nose. They could find an empty bedroom, lock the door behind them, and go at it for ten or fifteen minutes. Or they could make plans to meet later that evening, maybe at a discreet motel across the bay. Hell, there had been a time in his life when he would have welcomed sex without strings. But not now, and definitely not tonight.

“As much as I would like to indulge,” he said, “I’m afraid I can’t.