“Yeah? The broad ax wins. You lose.”

“Might be worth it.”

“Gag me.”

His lips curved up into a wider smile. “Whatever turns your crank.”

A shudder ran through Sydney at the unbidden visual. She took a quick drink of her own champagne, wishing it was a good, stiff single malt. It might have been a long dry spell, but she wouldn’t entertain sexual thoughts about Bradley if he was the last man on earth.

Bradley chuckled. “So, tell me. What’s next?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“On your list. What are we going after? I gotta tell you, Wainsbrook, you are my ticket to the big time.”

“Should I just e-mail you my research notes? Save you some trouble?”

“Whatever’s most convenient.”

“What’s most convenient is for you to stick your head in a very dark place for a very long time.”

“Sydney, Sydney, Sydney.” He clucked. “And here I tell all my friends you’re a lady.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I voluntarily give you any information.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then he leaned in. “I have to admit. The chase kind of turns me on.”

Fighting the urge to fulfill her broad-ax fantasy, Sydney clenched her jaw. What was she going to do now?

She was on probation at the Laurent Museum due to her lack of productivity this year. If Bradley scooped one more of her finds, she’d be out of a job altogether. Her boss had made that much clear enough after the auction this afternoon.

What she needed was some room to maneuver. She needed to get away from Bradley, maybe leave the country. Go to Mexico, or Peru, or…France. Oh! She quickly reversed the smile that started to form.

“See?” purred Bradley. “You like the game, too. You know you do.”

Sydney struggled not to gag on that one.

He held up his empty glass in a mock salute. “Until next time.”

“Next time,” Sydney muttered, having no intention whatsoever of giving him a next time. She figured the odds of Bradley following her overseas were remote, which meant the Thunderbolt of the North was wide open.