by LETO, JULIE
He’d never minded—until now.
With Lucienne, his entire world had been upturned. The flavor of her kiss, bittersweet from coffee, lingered on his palate. Her warm scent saturated his nostrils and he ached for another touch of her soft, pliant skin. But even as his body thrummed with desire, his brain fired with anger at his brother.
It was time to put Michael straight on a few important matters—not the least of which was his lover’s innocence.
“So was that public display of affection supposed to impress me?” Michael asked.
Despite the fact that nothing about their circumstances was the least bit comical, Alex chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He crossed the room and grabbed the carafe he’d left for Lucienne. Finding it nearly full, he poured a cup of coffee for his brother, added a teaspoon of sugar and then did the same for himself. He joined Michael by the window, which sported an impressive view of the Golden Gate Bridge, and pressed the drink into his hand.
“Then you regularly plant sloppy, wet kisses on your lover du jour in front of strangers?”
“Trust me, Michael, nothing about my kisses could ever be described as sloppy. And you’re not a stranger, you’re my brother. However, if you wish to interpret secondary meanings to my exchange with Lucienne, let it be this—before you accuse her of anything untoward, you’d better have solid proof.”
With a snicker, Michael took a gulp of coffee. “If I had proof, I would have given it to you downstairs.”
“So instead, you trapped me with a loquacious insurance estimator and then oh-so-helpfully volunteered to bring up Lucienne’s clothes so you could interrogate her while she was alone and naked?”
Michael glanced sideways, but guilt darkened his eyes. “She was wearing a robe.”
Alex sipped his hot drink, tamping down a rumbling of intense possessiveness that had no place between brothers—especially siblings who were still establishing boundaries. Rationally, he knew that Michael would never interfere in his personal life unless he had a reason. But his law enforcement experiences probably made him see conspiracies and suspect double-crosses even when none existed.
“If only her lack of attire were the point,” Alex muttered.
Michael set his cup down on the sill and stalked across the room. Alex was starting to recognize a pattern. When Michael had news he did not want to deliver or a subject that would prove difficult to discuss, he paced. Alex had noticed a worn tread in the carpet at the auction house. Had their father shared the habit?
When Michael finally spoke, his volume was low and his tone measured. “There’s something about her that isn’t right, Alex.”
“Her credentials are impeccable,” Alex replied, controlling his temper.
“And you checked those references? Personally?”
“Perhaps not as diligently as I might have for someone less attractive, but I made a few calls. And I’m an excellent judge of character. Moreover, I’m more than satisfied with her work. She’s proven her expertise. She completed the daunting job of preparing the El Dorado holdings for auction one week earlier than I’d asked, and thanks to her contacts with Ramon’s clientele, we already have prebidding interest on a majority of the pieces. In the absence of any concrete proof to the contrary, I have no reason to believe that Lucienne is in any way a liar, thief or fraud.”
Michael cursed. “Good cons don’t get to be good unless they’ve honed their craft. Doing her job well could have been just another way to gain your trust.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Alex scoffed. “I’d know.”
“If she’s a pro, then even a smart guy like you could be fooled. I’ve seen it.”
Alex crossed his arms over his chest, mostly to keep from punching his brother in the face. He’d never been a violent man, but Michael had insulted Lucienne, and now Alex himself. He might not have Michael’s background in law enforcement, but he wasn’t naive. No industry, save gambling, attracted more liars, cheats and thieves than the world of expensive art. And up until now, he’d yet to be scammed.
“You go too far, Miguel,” Alex said, emphasizing his brother’s given name. “You have no documentation to bolster such an attack on Lucienne’s character. I was under the impression that innocent until proven guilty was the basis of your legal system.”
“I’m not a judge or a lawyer,” Michael snapped. “In my business, sometimes we have to act on gut instincts.”
“Well, in my business, I’ve learned that instincts, while valuable, mean nothing unless there is proof. I can feel that a work is a Monet because of color depth and brushstrokes, but unless I can prove it to the most skeptical buyer, no one will pay a penny for it.”
“If I had paperwork to back me up, I’d show it to you,” Michael shot back. He took a deep breath and continued his pacing. “That’s the problem. I can’t find anything concrete.” He spun and speared his finger toward Alex. “But I will.”
Alejandro bit back his retort. Yesterday, he and Michael had argued over their father. Today, they were raising their voices over Lucienne. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his relationship with his only sibling would develop.
They shared so much beyond DNA and the father named on their birth certificates. They both held themselves to high standards of behavior that contradicted the man Ramon had been. Like Michael, Alex prided himself on doing the right thing in any and all situations. For this reason, he knew his brother hadn’t come here on a whim. Though he trusted Lucienne and had no reason to believe she had anything to do with the robbery, he had to admit that beyond an intimate knowledge of what she enjoyed in bed, he didn’t know very much about her.
But that would change—in time.
“Lucienne was a victim of this robbery herself, Michael. And she knows the combinations to all the safes, as well as the security alarm codes. If she’d been involved, the auction house would have lost more than a half-million dollars’ worth of jewelry.”
Michael grunted in response.
“Not able to get around that hurdle of proof, I see,” Alex assessed. “Then I advise you to drop this insanity. The insurance agent assured me that Ramon’s policy is up-to-date. He only had a few minor claims over a decade ago, all settled without incident. If the police don’t recover the stolen items, you and your mother will be compensated for them, and the auction of the remaining inventory, which is considerable, will go on as planned.”
“This isn’t about money.”
“Then what is it about?”
Michael’s stare met his only briefly. If Alex hadn’t believed his brother incapable of lying, he might have suspected him of keeping a secret.
A very important secret.
Michael moved toward the door. “Just keep your guard up, okay? The thieves already hit her place and took whatever they wanted, so once she gets her locks changed and maybe invests in a big, scary dog, there’s no reason why she can’t return to her apartment. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to help the police investigation.”
Alex nodded. “As will both Lucienne and I.”
The moment the elevator doors slid closed with Michael on the other side, Lucienne emerged from the bedroom.
“Is it safe to come out or is Michael going to arrest me on charges of upsetting his gut?”
Alex extended his hand to her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “How much did you hear?”
She glided over to him, dressed with simple sophistication in a short, fitted gray skirt and a pale green sleeveless sweater that scooped modestly across her collarbone, then draped dramatically low in the back. Her makeup was effortless—a smoky gray on her eyelids, a light dusting of pink powder on her cheeks and a glossy shell color on her lips that enhanced their utterly natural kissability.
She was the picture of casual elegance, and yet, when he took her hand, she was shaking. He reeled her against him, determined to hold her until the shivers subsided, but if anything, the close contact made her quiver even more violently.
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“You know I don’t believe you had anything to do with the break-in,” Alex said, gazing intently into her eyes. Tiny red capillaries spiraled toward her dark irises, testifying to her need for more sleep—something that wouldn’t happen if he gave in to his instinct to carry her to bed and show her how much he trusted her.
“I know you believe in me,” she said, her voice sad. “But that doesn’t mean you should. Especially if I’m causing bad blood between you and your brother. Family is important. I’m not worth it.”
He wrapped his arms completely around her and marveled at how perfectly she tucked into his body. He’d made love to many women, but couldn’t remember once offering comfort to a lover—or engaging in an issue as intimate as trust.
With his paramours, he discussed art, politics, religion and business. He wasted idle hours on gossip and industry speculation. But to broach the topic of personal trust, one first had to attain a level of intimacy. And lovemaking aside, he’d never quite managed to dig that deep into a lover’s heart before. Or vice versa.
Why now? Why with Lucienne?
Despite the pressure from his family to marry and produce heirs who, like him, would bear the name Aguilar, Alex had never sought out a serious relationship. He’d graduated at the top of his class at Oxford, procured highly sought-after apprenticeships with both Sotheby’s and Christie’s, and had earned his family’s respect through the business he generated for the auction house and the expertise with which he did his job.
His relationships had all started much as the one with Lucienne—attraction leading to sex, and then…nothing. Once the lusts had been sated, the liaisons ended. Sometimes with hurt feelings, he supposed, but never any grand heartbreaks.
Not for him, anyway.
For years, he’d rationalized that he was too busy building his professional reputation to give any woman excessive emotional attention. He knew firsthand the hurt that an inattentive husband could wreak on a wife. Instead, he opted to be only a short-term lover.
But with Lucienne, the need to protect her, shield her, support her, was undeniable. Her strength and intelligence aside, he spied vulnerability deep in her dark eyes that stabbed him like a grappling hook and wouldn’t let go.
“You’re worth more than you give yourself credit for,” he said, brushing a kiss over her forehead, then down to her temple, her cheek, her nose.
He was just about to press his mouth to hers when she wound her way out of his embrace.
“I’m not,” she said, her voice shockingly small and tremulous.
She wandered to the windows that overlooked the city, standing nearly in the same spot where Michael had wrestled with his unsubstantiated suspicions. At night, San Francisco sparkled with sexy mystery and lascivious intentions. But in the daylight, the possibilities in a sun-drenched city poised on a sparkling bay seemed endless.
He couldn’t resist edging up behind her and winding his arms around her waist. For a split second, she tensed, but with a defeated sigh, she melted against him. Her shampoo-scented hair teased his nostrils and he couldn’t help but bury his nose in the thick, dark strands and inhale until he was nearly dizzy with desire.
But he didn’t want to go back to bed. The day was too perfect to remain indoors, no matter how delightful the activities could be. The police had not yet released the “crime scene” at the auction house, so returning to the office was out of the question. He’d handled all he could with the insurance adjustors. A beautiful day with a beautiful woman stretched out in front of him. He had no responsibilities, no obligations that would keep him from doing anything except enjoying time with Lucienne—not as business associates, but as lovers.
“How about if we order breakfast and then head out for some sight-seeing?” he suggested.
“I can’t,” she said.
“You have to be starving. I am.” He tried to keep the sensual double-entendre out of his voice, but by her weary look, he’d failed miserably.
“I heard your brother say I could return to my apartment now. I’m sorry, Alejandro, but I have to go.”
And without another word, she headed back to the bedroom. She didn’t shut the door behind her, but she’d erected a barrier just the same—and he wasn’t sure why. He’d defended her to Michael and had proven that he trusted her, even if she didn’t think she deserved it.
Confused, he stalked into the bedroom to find her stuffing the clothes she’d worn yesterday into the glossy gift bag stamped with the hotel’s regal crest.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Leaving.”
“Por favor, querida. I do not wish for you to leave.”
“You should.”
“Why? Because of my brother’s ridiculous suspicions about you? I’ve told you. I don’t believe you were involved in the robbery.”
She hooked the bag over her arm. Like oil on canvas by a Renaissance master, she was slick, bold strokes—from her dark brunette hair to her flashing dark eyes. But her expression, so uncertain and confused, reduced her to a post-Impressionist portrait by a master like Serrault. Only from a distance could he fully appreciate the whole painting. Once close up, she’d dissolve into diaphanous dots of color.
Michael’s accusations had broken Lucienne into a woman of two parts: the art expert who could properly identify a medieval scabbard, with keen expertise and a lost little girl about to venture into the big, bad world with nothing to her name but the clothes she’d stuffed into a borrowed bag.
“I appreciate that you believe in me, Alejandro.” Her voice brimmed again with strength and certainty, but her eyes gave away her fear. “But I need to regroup and I have to do that alone. I hope you can understand.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. She wasn’t his to order around any more than she was his to pamper and spoil, no matter how much he would like to do both. He wanted to demand she stay. He wanted to strip her bare and feed her breakfast from the center of their large, rumpled bed.
“Of course,” he said, forcing an understanding smile onto his face. “But I insist that you call a locksmith first and have your apartment properly secured before you return there.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure whoever broke in took what they wanted last night. They have no reason to come back.”
“You don’t know that,” he countered. “Maybe what they want is you—and if so, I can understand how they feel.”
He arched a brow and she rewarded his suggestive quip with a half smile.
“Well, if you’re going to make me wait for a locksmith, then I’m going to have to take you up on the offer of food.”
“Good,” he said, surprised by how much her agreeing to a meal invigorated him. “I’ll call room service.”
She captured her bottom lip with her teeth and chewed for a second, her eyes darting between the tangled sheets on the bed and the glorious sunlight on the other side of the windows.
“Or we could go out,” he offered.
“Great. I know this place that has amazing, fresh seafood.” She headed toward the door, her bag still in her hands.
Delay or not, she still intended to leave him. Unless, of course, he came up with a better reason for her to stay.
The minute she pressed the elevator button, it chimed and the doors slid open. Before climbing into the lift beside her, he checked his pocket for his wallet and phone. As he did so, the weight of his father’s ring dragged on his hand.
Was this the best he could do with his family’s infamous sense of adventure? Take a beautiful woman he’d just made love to out for seafood on a Friday afternoon? Since he’d ordinarily spend the day sequestered at the auction house, he supposed this was a vast improvement.
And yet, for the first time in forever, Alex wanted more. More than he’d ever imagined—more than she’d ever expect.
Maybe with the ring, he’d get both.
10
LUCY HAD LOST HER MIND. The minute Michael had shown up in Alex’s suite, spouti
ng off his suspicions about her, she should have taken off. Instead, she’d stuck around to hear exactly what Michael knew—which thankfully, wasn’t much.
However, Danny had told her a long time ago that Michael was a dogged do-gooder. The youngest Murrieta brother wouldn’t rest until he had solid evidence to back up what his damned gut instincts were telling him—that the woman who was now sharing his eldest brother’s bed was a liar, a would-be thief and a fraud.
And he was one hundred percent right.
What Michael didn’t realize, however, was that her worst crime had yet to be committed. Even if she never stole their father’s ring—even if Alex never discovered her duplicity and dishonorable intentions—she’d still hurt him more than he deserved. Sooner or later, she was going to have to walk away from the man who’d defended her to the brother who was trying his best to protect him.
In other words, she’d messed everything up.
Sleeping with Alex had been a lark—an adventure—a chance to milk the Lucienne Bonet persona for everything it was worth. Lucy had not created the name for Alex—she’d used it countless times over the years. But until Alex, that’s all Lucienne had been. A false name.
Now she was a living, breathing woman with needs only he could fulfill—desires only he could satisfy. Before Alex, Lucienne had simply been an übereducated, sophisticated nom de plume she could hide behind until the heat from some heist cooled and she could return to San Francisco as Lucy Burnett.
But now, Lucienne belonged to Alex and Alex alone. No matter what trouble Lucy got into from this point forward, she’d never take that name again.
Alex had not only awakened the long-ignored libido of her secret self, he’d burned away all pretense until he’d reached her very core. His Prince Charming’s kiss on her dormant conscience woke her up to all she was risking—all she would lose.
The worst she’d done until now was misrepresent her name and reason for taking the job at El Dorado. But no matter her previous agenda, she’d completed the task he’d paid her for—and in less time than he’d allotted. If not for yesterday’s smash-and-grab, the auction would have gone off without a hitch and Lucienne Bonet would have helped him achieve a grand success without ever taking anything that did not belong to her.