Francesca had politely declined the lecherous attentions of Geraint’s medical friend, whose hands had shown as much interest in her as in his patient. Somehow, in the guise of showing her what he was doing, the octopus seemed to get an arm around her waist or fingers fluttering along her arms. She had hidden her distaste and allowed her accumulated irritation to explode in anger at a smug and healthy-looking Geraint in the parking garage. He suffered the onslaught quietly and then they’d moved on to the research labs. It was the fruits of that visit he was reviewing with such glee now. Another charitable donation had been in order, of course, but that was the price one had to pay for cutting-edge experimental materials that got mysteriously used up in the cause of science. That, and another expensive dinner at Oxford’s best restaurant for Professor Michaels the following evening.