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    The stunned, vaguely horrified expression on Sierra’s face would have been a lot more satisfying if it had not been elicited by the prospect of marrying him, Fontana thought. So what if they had only met forty-five—he glanced at his watch—make that forty-seven minutes ago? So what if she had made it crystal clear that she considered Guild bosses, as a class, to be legalized mobsters? The fact that she was literally shocked speechless by the notion of marrying him was proving a little hard on the ego, probably because when she had walked through his door forty-seven minutes ago, he’d been nearly floored by the rush.
    It had taken a great deal of willpower just to make normal conversation. He’d experienced his share of fast-acting attractions in the past. Hell, he liked women. But this all-consuming fascination with Sierra McIntyre was startlingly, disturbingly, intriguingly different.
    The effect had struck full force on both the normal and the paranormal plane, shaking him to the core. His psychic senses were as dazzled as his physical senses, and that was nothing short of unique in his experience. Always, always , he had been able to separate the two realms when it came to his relationships with women. But this time it was as if something deep inside him had instantly recognized and responded to Sierra McIntyre, as if he’d been waiting for her without having been consciously aware of it.
    It wasn’t just her looks. He’d seen any number of more beautiful women in his life. Which wasn’t to say that Sierra was not attractive, he thought. The appeal, however, was unconventional and wholly unexpected, at least for him. He usually went for the polished, sleek, sophisticated type, the kind of women who knew how to play the sexual game. He liked them tall. Sierra McIntyre was on the short side, even in her high-heeled pumps. He liked them willowy. Sierra had a definite tendency toward roundness. He liked blondes who wore their long hair in dramatic upswept styles.
    Sierra’s hair was the color of fall leaves. Wildly curly, it looked as if she had lost control somewhere along the line and had simply given up trying to tame it. Her face was intelligent. Her eyes were the alluring blue green of a tropical lagoon, very big and very knowing. They were framed by a pair of serious-looking glasses.
    Although this was the first time they had met in person, he knew a lot about Sierra McIntyre. As was his custom, he’d done his research before he’d plotted his strategy.
    It was Sierra’s gutsy determination that had first drawn his attention. There weren’t many people in Crystal, male or female, who were willing to criticize the Guild and its policies, let alone go after Brock Jenner. Two possible explanations had come to mind. Either Sierra’s obsession with exposing Guild secrets was driven by a personal vendetta or else she was one of those irritating, naive do-gooders bent on righting wrongs and speaking out for those who had no voice.
    Now that he had met her, he knew for certain that the latter was the answer. No wonder Jenner had been so annoyed with her. It was hard to crush do-gooders. You couldn’t buy them off, and overt threats were risky, especially for a man in Jenner’s position. It would not have looked good for a Guild boss to send a couple of goons to a lady journalist’s door, especially when it was a given that the journalist in question would go straight to the cops and then splash the story across the front page of a tabloid.
    Sierra finally got her mouth closed. “What did you say about marriage?” she asked very carefully.
    â€œThis is going to take a little explaining,” he said.
    Her dark brows scrunched together above the frames of her serious glasses. “I think so, yes.”
    He went to stand at the window and looked out at the towering green wall that enclosed the ancient alien ruins of the Dead City. Traces