"I didn't," he replied evenly, enjoying her look as her mouth fell open. He nodded to the bronze tableau.

“Everything there is as close to reality as I could make it. That includes myself and your mother."

“Damn,” she breathed. She bent closer to the bronze, as if measuring, then back at Josh. "So you're really that...well-endowed? Mom is one hell of a Lucky woman.”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Not that it is really any of your business, Sarah, but I'm not much bigger than average. Or so I've heard. If you think I'm huge, then it's your boyfriend's fault, not mine."

“Don't have a boyfriend right now," she muttered. She put her back to the bench, facing him. Her hand was still on his arm, and their bodies were disturbingly close. "I think I want a man. A man who is more like you. . .Daddy."

In an instant, the atmosphere changed, became charged with danger.

Sarah's eyes were bold and frank as they met his, her lips plump and kissable. She swayed closer to him, until he could almost sense her young, fertile heat, feel how her swelling, mature chest moved with her rapid breath...

“Ah, here you are, Senor Sunderman! And Sarah is with you! Good!"

Maria's voice was loud and cheerful as she entered the workshop. Her eyes were bright and sparkling. She looked at the two of them, then spoke to Josh. "Now, you must tell me what is safe to touch, and what I should leave alone when I clean."

Josh moved quickly away from his daughter, grateful his loose t-shirt hid his swelling cock. Sarah, for her part, looked ready to commit violent and bloody acts on the unsuspecting maid.

"Sure," he said, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears. "Let me just show you around."

When Sarah stalked out, a few minutes later, he didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

“ALL right, Mr. Kincaid. Tell me why we're here today."

Mortimer Kincaid had a face made for punching, Rachel thought. A few year older than herself, he had sleek, dark good looks, expensive suits, and a six-figure income as a corporate defense attorney. But despite his attempt to look solemn, his expression always defaulted to a condescending smirk.

“You won on Tuesday, Rachel," he said. He was flanked by other members of his defense team and several executives from Antioch Chemical. "But that doesn't mean a whole lot. You got a lucky draw in the jury pool and had a sympathetic judge. You know as well as I do that when we hit the appeals process, the damages could be cut in half. Or more. They were clearly far more punitive than the events-"

“Punitive?" growled one of Rachel's clients, a grizzled truck driver named Whit Lombardo. "I'll tell you what's punitive. Punitive is me telling my grandkids they can't fish in the river when they visit, because any fish they eat could poison them. And that they can't swim in the water, because it might make their skin fall off."

Kincaid blinked like a snake. His eyes were a disturbing grayish-green, flecked with gold. Rachel shivered, disturbed at the utter lack of humanity in his gaze. "Will you control your clients, Rachel? As I was saying, we think the best for all concerned would be for us to negotiate an equitable-"

"No. I'm doing the negotiating now, you Little weasel."

The words were harsh and flat and utterly indisputable. Rachel looked with surprise at the owner of Antioch Chemical. He looked to have aged thirty years since she saw him last. His face was lined with strain, face skin sagging and loose over the bones of his face, but his pale blue eyes were cold and clear. He folded his shaking hands and turned a frank look on Rachel.