by LETO, JULIE
“If only I had that power. No, I believe today exceeds all others. I am, after all, with you. Everything is different now. Everything is better.”
Man, oh, man. Lucy couldn’t resist snuggling close and inhaling the scent of the bay as it mingled with the fine wool blend of his jacket.
“I think you’re the one who has changed everything,” she murmured, but from his gentle squeeze of her waist, she knew he’d heard.
“Someone certainly has,” he replied, then he laughed. “My grandfather still takes long, leisurely strolls like this every afternoon before siesta. He claims it keeps him young. But I fell out of the habit years ago. If not for the robbery, I would have been sequestered at the office today, shut up with reports and paperwork. Instead, I’m walking with a beautiful woman in the crisp, fresh air and enjoying the simple pleasure of holding her hand.”
And on that note, Lucy fell hard.
Never in her life had a man revealed himself so willingly, all the while shattering nearly every pre-conceived notion she’d had about him since before they’d met. A man devoted only to urbane pursuits would not have laughed so genuinely at the preschoolers barking and clapping with the sea lions lazing on the end of the pier. A man obsessed with only the most sophisticated pursuits would not have hailed a cab so they could backtrack to Ghirardelli Square and stand in line for a brownie nut sundae that melted down the sides and dripped pure, gooey heaven onto their fingers.
A man raised on entitled expectations would not have licked the fudgy sauce off her hand. Not, at least, in public. But even amid the crowds of tourists jostling past them, the feel of his tongue flicking into the crevices between her fingers invoked an intimacy she couldn’t deny. He was reawakening yearnings and desires she’d tried to contain all morning—needs he would willingly fulfill, if only she gave him the chance.
But there was no more time. She’d had her fun last night, and this afternoon was simply a long and luxurious goodbye. Once their driver retrieved them and returned her to her apartment, she’d shed the Lucienne Bonet persona for good. She couldn’t risk hurting Alex by stealing his father’s ring. Not even for Danny. She’d help him some other way.
But more than that, she couldn’t risk hurting herself.
He spotted his car and gave the driver a curt wave to acknowledge his presence. For that split second, the starched, straight-backed Alejandro Aguilar made a return appearance, though he instantly disappeared the minute he turned his openly hungry gaze back to her.
The man brimmed with passion. She couldn’t imagine how she’d ever viewed him as cool and unaffected, though that had been Danny’s assessment, not hers. But now, she looked at Alejandro with eyes opened by a night of hot sex and a lazy day in the crisp sunlight. What else might she learn about him, if only she had time?
Time.
She had about as much of that as she had cash on hand. He’d already slid his palm to the small of her back to guide her toward the car. In less than a half hour, he’d deposit her in front of the apartment, and thirty minutes after that, she should have shed her hair extensions, popped out her colored contacts, swapped her sleek business attire for jeans and a sweatshirt and disappeared into the rolling San Francisco fog.
In the time it took most women to get ready for work in the morning, Lucy would say goodbye to the woman who’d snared the world’s most intriguing and sensual man, then let him slip away.
Thanks to traffic, the drive took twice as long as she’d expected. Although the city of San Francisco was only about thirty-five square miles, steep hills and winding roads impeded easy travel. Usually, she relied on public transit. If not for the occasional quick getaway or visit to Danny in jail, Lucy would not have needed her car, which she kept far from her apartment in a Financial District parking lot easily accessible by streetcar or bus.
Concentrating on how she could get to her vehicle and hit the bank to cash her check before the close of the business day, she hadn’t noticed the fixed direction of her gaze until Alex moved his hand across her knee.
Lost in thought, she’d been staring at the ring.
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about it,” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
He tilted his hand toward her, so that she got her first full-on look at the piece of jewelry that had turned her life upside down.
“My father’s ring.” He twisted and turned his hand so that late afternoon light caused the center emerald to sparkle like deep, Caribbean waters. “Michael brought it to me yesterday. I wasn’t going to wear it, but…”
As much as she wanted to ignore this final temptation, the art dealer in her would not let her off so easy.
“It’s remarkably unusual,” she said, taking his hand into hers. Noticing the center stone, she winced. The unsightly scratch almost looked like a rudimentary number 2…or was it, perhaps, a Z?
Though the black opals on either side were pristine, the emerald was clearly damaged and the gold worn. How on earth could an old ring like this save Danny’s life?
“Is this what was in the box you had on your desk yesterday?”
It was a natural question, she thought. Now that he’d introduced the topic, she had no reason to hide her curiosity. He’d expect as much from Lucienne Bonet, a fact that threw her fully back into character for the first time since morning.
He nodded. “Apparently, it’s been in my family for generations. It even comes with a legend, though I’m reluctant to believe a word of it.”
She glanced up into his eyes. In the dark depths of his gaze, she saw longing and, if she wasn’t mistaken, pride. But most telling was what was missing. Up until this moment, every word he uttered from declaring the time to ruminating on the weather held the power of conviction.
Not now. She heard uncertainty in his words. And maybe, hope.
“Tell me,” she encouraged.
He removed his hand from hers and waved away her request.
“Es tonto,” he said. “A childish story. A fairy tale.”
She scooted closer and slid her hand up his leg, enchanted by his denial. She wanted to hear this story—and not because it might explain the ring’s value to Danny. His father’s legacy clearly meant something to Alex and she wanted to know why.
“Please,” she begged. “I love fairy tales.”
“Even the kind without happy endings?”
A sad smile welled up from deep inside her. “I’ve learned not to worry too much about endings anymore, Alex. In my world, it’s the endings that cause all the trouble.”
12
ALEX SWALLOWED DEEPLY, disoriented by a sudden wave of uncertainty.
He’d already revealed so much to Lucienne. He’d told her things he’d never shared with any other lover—insights into his childhood and upbringing that he rarely thought about, much less spoke out loud. But somehow, telling her about his father’s crazy belief that he was the direct descendant of a legendary lover and hero pushed him beyond his comfort zone.
But then, wasn’t that what the ring was all about?
“It belonged to a man named Joaquin Murrieta,” he said.
Her expression was quizzical. “Murrieta? Like your father?”
He nodded.
“Is that why the name sounds so familiar?”
“Probably, unless you’ve done extensive research into the history of colonial California.”
She frowned. “That’s not exactly my area of expertise. But the name still rings a bell. I think…there was a book about him on the shelf in your office.”
“There was?”
She nodded. “Right below your father’s portrait. First edition, actually. I listed it in the holdings of the auction house, but I didn’t see any reason to move it. I figured that if your father kept it so close, it must have been a personal favorite.”
How had Alex not noticed? Probably because he spent so much time trying to avoid looking at the mural.
“Who was he?” she asked.
�
�From all accounts, a notorious bandito.”
“Bandito? Like who, Zorro?”
If he continued, he’d sound like an idiot at worst and a man caught up in delusions of grandeur at best. Neither circumstance would be particularly appealing, but he’d come this far. He might as well dive into the deep end. He didn’t reply, but pierced her with a potent stare.
She took a second to absorb his meaning.
“You’re joking, right?”
He shook his head. She pulled his hand into the light and up to her face.
“That’s a Z?”
“Reportedly.”
“It could have been etched by anyone,” she said, with an odd note of desperation. “Maybe to increase the value of the piece by attaching it to a romantic myth?”
Alex might have considered that as well, if not for the fact that he’d examined the documentation himself. “If that were the plan, it failed miserably. The last time the ring changed owners through a sale, it fetched thirty-five dollars at a Los Angeles pawnshop.”
She grasped his hand tighter. “The black opals alone are worth ten times that amount. They’re huge.”
He couldn’t contain a wry smile, which, if her blush was any indication, she interpreted precisely as he’d meant her to.
“A similarity between you and the ring?” she asked saucily.
“You must be the judge.”
She cleared her throat and glanced toward the driver, whose head was turned dutifully toward the road.
Still, they were in a sedan, not a stretch limo.
“That’s a conversation for another time and place,” she said.
“If you insist,” he teased.
She sat up straight, shifting focus. “Do you have papers to support the ring’s legacy?”
“Ramon put together an impressive collection of letters and journal entries that trace directly back to the man who commissioned the ring and then lost it to my notorious ancestor in a game of chance.”
“Where?”
“Here, in California, I believe.”
“No, I mean, where are the papers?”
It took Alex a split second to remember, and when he did, he leaned forward and grabbed his driver’s shoulder. “Take us to El Dorado Auction House. And hurry.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The documentation for the ring,” he said. “I did not lock up the portfolio before the thieves broke into the auction house. I’d only just received them from Michael and did not think to look for them before we left.”
“Why would anyone steal papers? They’re not worth anything. I mean, not on the open market.”
“No, but they are worth something to me.”
The driver diverted to the auction house. The police, done with their investigation, had released the building an hour ago, according to the text message that Alex had ignored in favor of enjoying ice cream with Lucienne. Now, he could barely get the key into the door or remember the alarm codes in his charge to reach the office. He found the leather portfolio shoved between two books with faded titles on the spine, precisely where he’d left it.
“The ring must mean a lot to you.”
Lucienne’s tremulous voice barely broke through the rapid pounding of his heart.
“Excuse me?”
She gestured at the way he clutched the history of the ring’s progression to his chest as if it were a priceless first edition rather than a dusty collection of old papers. He relaxed his hold, but the damage was done.
“May I?” she asked.
She must think him a crazed lunatic. He instantly held the package out to her. With a smile, she accepted his offering between flattened palms.
With only a brief glance over her shoulder, she made her way across the mess on the floor to his desk, sat down and spread out the papers in front of her. She flipped on the magnified lamp and used it to scan the harder-to-read pages. She lingered quite a while on the journal entry from the señorita who’d witnessed firsthand the change in Joaquin’s prowess once he’d won the ring. Of all the documentation Ramon had gathered, this had been the most convincing evidence—at least, to him.
And the most provocative.
“Do you need help with the translation?” he offered.
His attempt to keep his tone even wavered. Barely a day ago, he could have cared less about his father or the ring. Now, so much had changed.
Was it because of the ring…or because of Lucienne?
She did not answer immediately, but clutched the paper tightly, her mouth moving wordlessly as she read. Her eyes widened a bit, but he didn’t know if this was because of her struggle with Spanish or the document’s racy content.
When she turned to face him, her expression revealed nothing.
“Yes, a translation would help.” She smiled slyly as he held out the page, encased in slick, crinkly plastic.
She turned the chair to face him.
Strolling through the city, he hadn’t realized just how short her skirt was—or just how curvy her breasts looked in her silky, backless blouse. With a deep breath that he hoped would stave off his instinct to seduce her, he knelt beside her and lowered the light so that he could see the faded ink.
“It was written by a woman,” he explained.
“I got that much,” Lucienne replied, running her fingers lazily up his arm.
He shifted and tried to ignore the heat low in his groin. “She says here that she was Joaquin’s betrothed, promised to him because her father owed the bandit a debt.”
“Sucked to be a woman back then.” She reversed the direction of her hand so that her touch slid down his arm.
Her fingernail scraped across his knuckles. The vibrations of her touch reverberated against the gold of his ring, which suddenly felt hot and heavy.
“Sí.” He shifted so that his eyes were level with her breasts and her legs were tucked against his side. “Luckily, things have improved.”
He looked away from the paper and watched her lick her lips. “They have, haven’t they? What was her name?”
He flipped the paper over. “Maria Rosa.”
“I love when you roll your rs,” she said, breathless.
He leaned in closer and thought about pressing his lips against the hollow of her throat when he repeated the name.
“Maria Rosa,” he continued, grinning when she sighed, “was not a total stranger to the ways of men and women. In fact, prior to his winning the ring, Joaquin took his future bride for a test drive, so to speak.”
Lucienne leaned in close. “And I bet he was a magnificent lover,” she said, her lips brushing against his cheek.
“Actually, no. That’s why she wrote this letter to her more knowledgeable married sister. Apparently, before the ring, he’d barely lasted five minutes and didn’t even remove his boots.”
“Barbarian,” she murmured, spawning a trill of awareness through his veins.
“Once he had the ring, however, he developed a sudden interest in taking his time.”
“How like a Murrieta man.”
She slipped the letter out of his grasp and scanned the pages until she found the passage. She read aloud—in perfect Spanish.
“But he came to me again last night a different man. He climbed in through my window, and with a whispered plea promised that if I didn’t shout out, he’d convince me to marry him because I wanted to and not because of his bargain with papa. He had me sit on the bed and watch him undress, slowly. He told me how heavy his guns were on his hips. He showed me the scars on his shoulder and chest. He invited me to touch the puckered skin. I was afraid to go near him, but he asked so kindly, I took my candle and did as he said. Then he removed his boots and pants. He asked me to watch him while he washed the dust and grime of the street from his body. Then he invited me to dry him with the blanket from my bed. I am almost shamed to admit that I did.
“Is that where you got the idea?”
The break in her recitation caught him unaware and his obvious shock s
parked her explanation. Her pronunciation was not perfect, but her lilting voice had conveyed the sheer innocence and wonder of Maria Rosa’s discovery of her lover’s naked form. He’d been smooth, Joaquin, to try and undo the damage of his first tryst with his future bride.
“He asked her to dry him off, like you did for me,” she continued. “Is this where you got the idea?”
He shook his head. “You alone inspired me, querida. I haven’t read this letter before, not with care. I just skimmed it for the general idea.”
“It’s pretty hot stuff, considering the source,” she said.
“I thought you needed a translation,” he chided.
She smiled. “No, I just wanted you closer. I’ve done some work for a group of Colombian collectors, so it helped to pick up the language. My Spanish isn’t as perfect as yours—”
“You speak beautifully,” he assured her, trying to ignore the spike of hope this fact inspired.
Since he’d met Lucienne, he’d known he wanted to sleep with her. Making love to her had been a fantasy come to life, but he’d never considered that perhaps he did not have to leave her once his time in the United States was over. If she spoke his native tongue, maybe she’d want to learn a bit about the culture.
Firsthand.
“She was shocked by the sudden change in Joaquin.” Lucienne leaned forward, turning her body so he could see the text she was pointing to. “She says here that he convinced her to touch him and watch how her fingers transformed him. That must have been heady stuff to a girl who had no say in whom she married or who crept into her room in the middle of the night.”
Their shoulders pressed together and Alex inhaled her sweet perfume, tinged by the scents of the bay and the aroma of chocolate that lingered around her lips.
“Is it heady to you?”
His voice was raspy with pent-up passion. His skin, even beneath his clothes, sparked with needfulness. When she slid her hand down his chest and expertly released his belt, the rush of blood to his groin made him waver on his knees.