It Takes a Thief

by Kay Hooper

  And she could no more resist that than she had been able to stand against the promises in his remarkable eyes. For the first time, she understood her mother's reference to "essences" and how a man could fill a woman's senses with that inner part of himself. Dane was doing that, infusing her somehow with the flickering wildness she had seen in him, igniting her own desires so that they burned brightly.

  Her arms slipped up around his neck, fingers tangling in his silky black hair, and she felt his hands slide down over her back, holding her more tightly against him. The stark caress of his tongue half satisfied a terrible craving inside her, just as the feeling of his hard body pressed to her yielding one partially sated the same hunger. But it wasn't enough.

  She didn't care that they stood Just inside the woods a hundred yards from the childhood home she wanted desperately to be hers again, didn't care that Dane had to go back there, that he would be missed soon. She was no longer questioning trust, or honor, or Dane's enigmatic reasons for being here.

  She was luxuriating in sensations. Somehow, perhaps because he was a gambler and a charming, grace-ful man on the surface, she had expected less physical strength in him despite his size, less power. But beneath the fine cloth of his curiously formal clothing, she could feel the solid muscles of an extremely strong and active man. His grace had become a feline thing, the fluid suppleness of a body under unthinking control. His hands, big and long-fingered, moved over her body with an almost delicate mastery, as if he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she belonged to him.

  And Jennifer knew it too. Not as a conscious decision, for consciously she would always rebel at the thought of herself as a possession. It was something else, something deeper and more absolute, an acknowledgment that went beyond thought or reason. She was his, no matter what, his by some primitive reckoning they both understood instinctively.

  "No," she murmured, an automatic protest against what was, as his lips lifted from hers.

  "Yes." He kissed one side of her trembling mouth, then the other, his big body taut against hers. "It's too late now." His voice was deep, husky.

  "The game – ?" she whispered.

  He half laughed, a rough sound that was almost a groan. "Who the hell's talking about a game ..." His mouth fitted Itself over hers again, possessing.

  A vague sense of alarm swept through Jennifer, even as her mouth responded to his. No game ... No game now, so quickly, and no chance of not being hurt if it ended badly. It was real, it was all real, and she had known it would be.

  She felt one of his hands in her hair, tangling, holding her head firmly while he plundered her mouth, and a whimper of pleasure and pain escaped her at the force of him. Instantly, he gentled, the fingers in her hair caressing, his lips softening, the hard arms around her cradling.

  "Dammit, Jenny," he muttered, lifting his head and staring down at her, "how am I supposed to keep my mind on my job? Why did you have to be the one to walk into the study last night?"

  "Of all the gin joints," she managed unsteadily.

  He laughed a little. "Right. You had to walk into mine. The lady in red, a stolen bracelet in her hand and panic stirring in her eyes."

  "It wasn't stolen," she said idly, fascinated by the way his lips shaped words. "Just taken back."

  He kissed her again, eyes restless. "Whatever. You haven't been out of my mind since then. And now I've got to go back into that house and play poker with a shark."

  "Do you have to?" She had forgotten everything else, and his words implied that he would soon leave her – an implication she was passionately against.

  "Yes." He stifled a sudden groan as she moved against him in protest, her body instinctively seductive, and he slid his hands down to her curved hips, holding her firmly away from him. "Jenny," he warned huskily.

  Some part of Jennifer's mind told her to get her splintered control back quickly before she made a total fool of herself, but it was gone. Irretrievably cast to the winds. She knew he wanted her and that was enough, for now. "I want you," she told him fiercely.

  Dane half closed his eyes, fighting for a command over his body and senses that he hadn't expected to lose, a control he had never before lost. The professional part of him that had always maintained a certain detachment had vanished. He wanted her, right now, here in the woods like some pagan act, their clothes scattered, moss for a bed. He wanted her naked against him, wild in passion, and that need burned in him like a fire almost out of control.

  But it was Jenny he wanted, the very – what had she said earlier? – the very essence of her, not just a female body matching his in passion. And that desire couldn't be satisfied by a brief and necessarily hurried joining hidden In the woods. He wanted to take her to bed for a week, a month, to learn her so thoroughly that no part of her held a surprise for him – except the surprise of eternal fascination.

  "Jenny," he said roughly, "there isn't time."

  She went still, gazing up at him as her blue eyes shaded abruptly toward gray. Uncertain. Doubtful.

  He framed her face in his hands. "I want you," he told her in a tone that left no doubt of truth. His thumb brushed her trembling lips in a small caress, and he managed a crooked, rueful smile. "But I can't stop other things I've already set in motion. And I won't cheat either of us by trying to fit lovemaking into a schedule."

  "Because it isn't a game?" she whispered, very aware of his emphasis on the word lovemaking.

  "Because it isn't a game," he agreed. "A few days – and then there'll be time for us." His gaze moved restlessly over her face. "Do you understand, Jenny? The other things aren't more important, they're Just – more imperative right now."

  Though her body still throbbed with unsatisfied desires, Jennifer's mind was at last beginning to clear. And if a large part of her trusted him implicitly, there was still that rational, reasoning part that distrusted instinct and demanded answers. His discovery of Kelly's counterfeit plates had sounded accidental when he had explained it to her; why was it now so "imperative" that it had to be dealt with on a careful schedule?

  Why had he really come here?

  "Jenny?"

  Her hands had slipped down to rest on his chest, and she unconsciously gripped the lapels of his jacket. "What are you, Dane?" she asked, mystified.

  His crooked smile reappeared, and the violet eyes, masked now, were very intent on hers. "A gambler and a thief. You're thinking of hitching your fate to a rogue star, honey. And that's the last warning you'll get from me."

  She absorbed that as he took her hand and led her to the car, but when he opened the driver's door she paused, looking at him searchingly. She felt peculiarly displaced, as if some headlong rush had left her quivering on the brink of something, half-committed, still vaguely uncertain. She tried to think, wondering if that were possible right now. "Umm . . . you were going to tell me if I rattled Kelly."

  "You did." Dane, too, seemed distracted, but his shuttered eyes never left her face. "He came back into the parlor and then excused himself again immediately. Phone calls to take care of, he said."

  "So, he'll look for the plate? And find it in that guard's room?"

  "Very likely."

  "Then what? The guard will deny taking it."

  "Of course, since he's innocent."

  "He'll be fired, won't he?"

  "Maybe." Dane hated saying that in a hard tone. hated seeing the dismay on her face. Without Intending to, he added more gently, "He'll be taken care of, Jenny. I promise. He won't suffer for this."

  She relaxed just a bit, clearly trusting him in that. "I-I see. Then what will you do?"

  "Play poker." He shrugged. "Find out what's going on. Look for the other press, the plate. Find out if Kelly's passing counterfeit money."

  "Because you owe a friend in the Treasury Department?"

  "Because I owe a friend."

  "Won't Kelly be suspicious when the guard denies everything?" she asked, talking now more for the sake of prolonging their time together than any
thing else.

  "Probably. I'll deal with it, somehow."

  Jennifer fell silent. There seemed nothing more to ask, except the one question she wouldn't voice aloud. When will I see you again?

  "Jenny..."

  "I know," she said hurriedly. "I have to go."

  He reached out to tip her chin up, and leaned over the open car door, kissing her firmly and thoroughly. And that kiss left her in no doubt that desire was still very much present, and still very real.

  "Don't forget me," he said softly.

  Silently, she got into her car and started it as he closed the door. Then, with a last half-baffled look at him, she drove slowly off down the rutted track toward the main road.

  Dane remained there until he could no longer see or hear the car, until the forest swallowed it – and her. Then he turned slowly and started back toward the house. A glance at his watch told him he still had time before dinner, that the interlude with Jennifer had spanned minutes only.

  He wondered if he was being a damned fool.

  A soft whistle caught his attention just as he found a way back into the overgrown garden near the side of the house, and he paused, looking around.

  "Here," Skye said in a low voice, stepping out from the early evening shadows beneath what might once, In an era of garden parties, have been an arbor.

  Dane looked at him for a moment, then glanced around to make certain they were alone. There was no one in sight, no sound to be heard. Joining his partner in the dimness of the arbor, he said in an equally quiet tone, "Taking a chance."

  "Couldn't be helped," Skye said. "Mind if I ask you a question?"

  "You will anyway," Dane muttered.

  "You're so right. When are you going to tell your lady the truth?"

  Dane didn't answer for a moment, or look at the other man. Instead, he gazed toward the house, senses automatically probing to alert him in case someone approached. "The truth?" he said finally. "Ten years of lies, shadows, and half-truths. What can I tell her?" Then, realizing, he shot his partner a sharp look. "You saw us out there."

  "Sorry. Purely unintentional, I assure you. I was looking for you. And you didn't answer the question."

  "Yes, I did."

  "Cut it out," Skye said roughly. "You know what I'm talking about."

  They stood gazing at each other, two men who had been partners for a decade and best friends much longer than that. Both big men, both with bright eyes and shadows inside. Men whose shared pasts formed a bond rarely put into words. Men who knew each other too well to be able to dissemble; between them, there was little left except the unvarnished truth.

  "She talked about honor, Skye," Dane said tautly. "What could I say to that, except more half-truths? What could I tell her? If I have any honor left to me, it's been hacked to pieces over the years."

  "That isn't true, and you know it."

  "I don't know anything anymore. Except that I am what she thinks I am. A gambler and a thief."

  "No. That's the masquerade."

  "Is it? When does the actor become the role? We both know it happens sooner or later. Maybe I need Jenny to remind me that I crossed that line a long time ago."

  Skye drew a deep breath and released It slowly. "So. You're in love with her."

  It hit Dane like a physical blow, a fist driving into him, bruising some integral part of him. But he didn't deny it. Because the unaccustomed tangle of emotions suddenly made sense, and he saw what his partner had seen first.

  He was in love with Jennifer. At some moment during the past twenty-four hours, she had become vitally important to him, as necessary as his next breath. He didn't know when it had happened. Perhaps minutes ago, when he had held and kissed her. Or before, when she had so comically related her mother's intention of poisoning his wife, if one existed. Or even last night, when a lady in a red dress, a stolen bracelet in her slender hand, had gazed at him with panic In her eyes.

  "Damn," he said softly.

  "All this talk about honor," Skye murmured, "because you're a gambler, and her father lost her home in a poker game. So she asked you – or you're asking yourself – If there are any lines you won't cross. There are, Dane. You think I don't know after all these years?"

  "How can you, when I don't?"

  "But you do know. That certainty was always yours, or you'd have never gotten into this business. It's being in love – with her in particular – that's thrown you. You've already committed yourself to this job, which is one Instance of Integrity, by the way; you're stuck in the masquerade for the duration, and it's sheer habit to stick to those half-truths you were talking about. She's got buckets of doubts, understandable after what happened to her father. But I didn't notice those doubts holding her off very far a few minutes ago."

  "Voyeur," Dane muttered, but with a spark of amusement.

  Satisfied with the reaction, Skye went on calmly. "I'd be willing to bet, assuming Jennifer's instincts are in good working order, that she knows integrity when she sees it. She'll probably be mad as hell when you finally confess, but I doubt she'll be very much surprised."

  "She could never love a gambler," Dane said roughly.

  "She's already loved one," Skye pointed out, and before his partner could respond, he added, "And, to you, gambling is business. The odds and skill fascinate you, not the winning. You might have folded a few times with a winning hand, but you've never dealt off the bottom to win. That's another line you haven't crossed."

  "I may have to cross it this time."

  After a moment, Skye asked, "Is Kelly that good?"

  "Rumor has it. And unless he starts passing that phony money from the start, I'll have to back him right to the wall. We don't have a hope in hell of finding that press unless he leads us to it, and I doubt hell go anywhere near it until he needs money badly. I have to win this time. I have to."

  "It's business, Dane."

  "No. This time, it's personal. I want to beat him. Don't you see? I can't tell myself there's a precise line between right and wrong, a line I'm balancing on. Not this time."

  "You want to beat him because you're in love with Jennifer. Hell, it's so obvious. That is your point of honor. You can't stomach what Kelly did to Jennifer and her mother; you can't walk away from it; and you can't leave somebody else to clean up the mess. You promised her she'd have her home back. And you'll get it back for her, come hell or high water. Because you love her, and you made a promise. If that isn't integrity, then I don't know what is."

  Dane chuckled suddenly, the sound of balance restored. "I don't know if you're right, but it sounds good."

  "I'm right. Trust me."

  After a glance at the luminous dial of his watch, Dane murmured, "Ten minutes until dinner. God, this has been the longest hour of my life. They'll think I'm lost out here." He looked at his partner. "Why were you looking for me?"

  "A slight hitch in the plan."

  "'You couldn't find Seton's room?"

  "Oh, I found the room. And Seton found me in it, worse luck. The only thing I could think of was to have him pack a bag quick and get him out of there."

  Dane frowned a little. "So Kelly will assume he got nervous when Jenny showed up, and bolted?"

  "Cross your fingers."

  "Where is he now?"

  "He had an excuse for a car parked out back, so I trussed him up and put him in the backseat. There's a service road leading to the main highway; I drove a little way along it and pulled off. That's three ways onto this place I've counted," he added parenthetically. "Security must be hell."

  Dane was thinking it through. "The plate?"

  "Top shelf of his closet. Kelly should find it easily enough, I'd think."

  "Okay. What'll we do with Seton?"

  "I've considered that. Remember Tony from Baton Rouge?"

  "Of course I remember."

  "I'll give him a call. He owes us one, so he'll be happy to keep an eye on Seton until we can get the rest of this cleared up. Two hours by car, and he's here."


  Dane nodded slowly. "Good enough."

  "I thought so."

  "You have any trouble with Seton?"

  "Did he try to be a cowboy, you mean? No. He came along meek as a lamb."

  Dane wasn't surprised. He'd seen hulking brutes who bashed people's heads in for fun obey Skye without a murmur. "All right, then. We go on from here as planned."

  Dane met his host halfway back to the veranda, and Garrett Kelly's brows lifted at the sight of him.

  "We were wondering about you," he said politely.

  "I'm part cat," Dane told him in an easy, lazy tone. "Never happy until I've found all the comers. Lost track of time, I'm afraid."

  "You should have worked up an appetite, then." Kelly said.

  "Yes. Yes, I certainly have."

  Five

  Jennifer hardly knew how to respond to her mother's inevitable questions after she returned from Belle Retour and Dane. She was still trapped in that peculiar feeling of suspension, of waiting, poised without breath on the edge of something. But she had underestimated her mother. Francesca, after one penetrating look at Jennifer, merely smiled and asked nothing.

  That reaction bothered Jennifer, and when she went to wash up before dinner she took the opportunity to look into a mirror, searching for whatever it was that her mother had seen. But she looked familiar to her own eyes, unchanged. A bit pale, perhaps, but that was nothing.

  Surely that was nothing.

  She slept fitfully that night, waking often with a start, her heart pounding. Morning brought her the grim awareness of her own scattered emotions, and she made a determined effort to gain control over herself. The result, and one she was all too aware of, was that she achieved a kind of surface calm, beneath which nothing changed.

  She didn't want to think, and retreated to her study immediately after breakfast to work. Since she was a freelance commerical artist, she usually worked at home, and managed to immerse herself in her routine. For at least several hours, she kept her mind blank, trusting to automatic awareness of her work. But after lunch she couldn't recapture that mood, and sat at her board, a half-finished layout pinned before her.