Lost Angel

by Louisa Trent

  Steve looked over at the slumbering Emily.

  When had she planned on making her move, of retrieving The Cuzin and taking off? And how big a patsy was he, anyway?

  Wrecked, choking on her deception, trembling at her falseness, Steve stumbled to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

  A few minutes later, preparations for breakfast well underway, a shy "Hi," had him looking up to see Emily standing bashfully in the kitchen doorway.

  Steve flipped the omelets in the pan. "Hi yourself," he replied, like nothing was wrong when everything was wrong, when nothing would ever be right again. Emily had used him. "Coffee's all made."

  Emily moved a little slowly this morning, a little carefully, he noticed. She was a little pale too.

  Not enough sleep, he decided, taking in Emily's bed-tousled appearance, taking in the blue silk robe she wore, taking it all in. Christ, she was a thief, a liar and a cheat, and he still wanted her.

  He gave her an easy smile, though he didn't feel much like smiling and he wasn't at ease. Too tense. Too angry that her deception made a mockery of the naked passion they had shared the night before. He could forgive her a lot of things, but he couldn't forgive her for that. How could she have trusted him with her body, withholding nothing, and not trust him enough to come clean about the painting?

  Her double-dealing hurt, but he hid his hurt in small talk. "I didn't have chance to tell you last night-I like your new hair color, Angel."

  She fingered the softer, honey-blond strands. "Better than black, huh?"

  "Way better. It's still darker than your true color, right?"

  "Yes. My natural hair is almost white."

  Emily was a beautiful fair-haired angel, but she was not anywhere as innocent as her looks would have him believe. "I want you to take a nap today. You're looking a little drawn." Unlike an angel, his thief-lover was made of flesh and blood; he would not have her fall ill.

  "I'm fine, Steve. Really."

  "You'll do as you're told," he said, shutting off the range and moving the omelets to a warming plate. While Emily poured orange juice into two glasses, he made four slices of oatmeal toast. When the toaster popped, he buttered the slices and brought breakfast to the table.

  Emily settled into the chair he held out for her; he took a seat directly across. "Eat," he said tersely, his own omelet going untouched as in silence he watched her dainty nibbling, his thoughts occupied on things other than food.

  During the black period after Jen's death, he had fucked plenty of women. When you're paying, nothing is taboo except a show of emotion. His caring had never extended past his wallet. Before finding the key pendant this morning, he would have given Emily just about anything she asked for, including what was left inside him emotionally. But in a final twist of irony, Emily wasn't interested in emotional involvement; she only wanted a painted canvas from him.

  After breakfast, Emily started clearing the table.

  He rose from his chair, stalked to her, took the plates from her hand. Time to get things out in the open, time to clear the air.

  "Dishes can wait." Reaching into his pocket, he dropped the open locket into the palm of her hand.

  "Recognize that?" he said. "Fucking your luscious ass was well worth the price I paid for the diamonds, but anal ain't worth the price of The Cuzin."

  Emily winced, but she didn't back away. "Steve, I don't understand. What do you mean?"

  "While you slept in this morning, I found that key pendant amongst your pretty new undies."

  "You searched my things?" she asked, disbelief registered in her voice.

  He dragged a ragged breath into his lungs. It had been so warm inside her, but now he was cold, dead cold. How could he have allowed her to play him for a fool?

  "I was in Paris. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to leave you. Every minute I was there, I kept thinking how nice it would be if you were there with me. But I couldn't take you because I was there for my job. I'm an art insurance investigator, Emily."

  "You do know," she said, barely meeting his eyes.

  "From that first day you showed up at my garage, I knew who you were. In fact, I had been searching for you and a stolen painting. As it turns out, you found me. Now, thanks to this key locket, I have the painting too."

  She shook her head. "I don't understand..."

  "What a little actress you are! You know damned well The Cuzin is in the Dusenberg. "

  "You must believe me, Steve, I didn't know The Cuzin's location. That's why I came to Falmouth. To find you. To determine what you knew about the painting."

  "And the sex? Was that your way of getting information from me, Emily?"

  "No." Her eyes spilled over. "I was broke. I needed the money. And so I whored for it..."

  "Your ass is too tight for whoring. We'll have to work on that today."

  With a little gasp, Emily turned away.

  He pulled her back, grabbed her arm, shook her. Hard. "Look at me when I speak to you!"

  Gray eyes turned cold. The rainstorm last night had nothing on the storm brewing in Emily's gaze. "I was never involved in Mr. Fritz's stolen art ring."

  "You have a juvenile arrest record for theft," he said righteously.

  "Yes, as a scared kid, I stole to stay alive. It was either that or hustling. I'm not proud of what I did, but I'm no art thief. Mr. Fritz asked me to smuggle a painting into Paris for him. I was about to refuse the night he died. Bernard Fritz framed me. He made it look as though I knew everything about his business, that I was involved in criminal activity, when I never was. I was stupid and gullible, but those were my only crimes."

  "Why didn't you go to the police?"

  "With a juvenile record! Who would've believed me?" Her laugh was harsh. "When the gunman threatened me..."

  "Hold on! Gunman?"

  "He wanted the painting. That's when I ran. Since you were the last person to see Mr. Fritz alive, I thought you were involved." She tilted her head. "If you suspected Mr. Fritz's criminal activities, why didn't you go to the police?"

  "Because I wanted The Cuzin, and I knew I would lose the painting for good if I went public about Fritz. That's why I bought the car. The angel on the hood was hot. The only way I could return the hood ornament to my client, and keep the whole thing quiet, was to buy the antique."

  "You spare no expense for your job."

  He shrugged. "Everything is billable. The car is just another work-related expense."

  "Am I a billable expense too?"

  "No. You're a luxury I can't afford, but I want you anyway."

  She asked with surprising dignity: "Will you turn me over to the authorities?"

  "Not if we can work out a deal."

  Her voice turned skeptical. "What kind of deal?"

  "I'll return the painting to my client, collect my commission, and get the word out on the streets that The Cuzin is back safe and sound with its owner. That way, the heat will be off you, and there'll be no interference from the police-which my client wants to avoid. I'm returning to Falmouth tomorrow and when I do, you're coming with me until I'm sure all of this has blown over. That's the deal, the only deal I'm prepared to offer you."

  "Please believe me, I didn't know where the painting was hidden."

  Another lie. How dare she stand there, poised and unapologetic, even as she lied through her teeth? Her dignified attitude infuriated him. He was the injured party here, not her! She had played him for a fool, and now that she knew he was on to her, if he didn't show her that he meant business, she would take off, run again. She would end up on the streets and who knew what would happen to her then.

  "Take off that robe," he snapped.

  The robe was quickly discarded. To his mind, this spoke to her guilt: Emily would do anything to avoid criminal prosecution.

  One of Emily's nipples wore an angry-looking abrasion, the result of a love bite turned wild. Last night he had been half out of his mind for her. Today was different. Today, he was totally crazed.
r />   "Open your legs," he said, giving into the madness.

  She parted her thighs.

  "Wider," he demanded.

  Needing to have a part of himself inside her, his middle finger breached the vee of her legs and entered that female slit he couldn't force himself to give up. He couldn't give it up!

  "Know this," he vowed, his heart searing, "if you run off, I'll come after you. I'll hunt you down like an animal until I find you. And I will find you. Do you hear me? I will find you."

  "I hear you, Steve."

  His finger jerked in and out of her. "This thing between us isn't over until I say it's over."

  "I won't run, Steve," she spoke to the floor, so that he couldn't read the expression in her gray eyes.

  "Look at me, dammit!"

  When she did, he told her the truth, no more lies. "I wanted you from the moment I saw you in Fritz's garage. My wanting you had nothing to do with the painting."

  He didn't ask if she was sore; he knew she was sore. It didn't matter. He would have Emily again. And to avoid criminal prosecution, she would let him.

  She writhed as she let him. "I know you believe I used you, but I didn't, at least no more than you used me. I swear I knew nothing about the painting."

  And sap that he was, he wanted to believe her, wanted to trust her, despite everything.

  Withdrawing his touch from the hot clasp of Emily's body, he pulled the tie from her discarded robe and used it to loop her wrists together. "When we're back in Falmouth, I'll release you. Not here. And don't worry-I have no intention of hurting you."

  She licked her full lips. "Not even if I beg?"

  And he knew, even as it sickened him, that if it took pain to make her stay, he would hurt her.

  "Please, Steve?"

  "Please Steve, what?"

  "Please, Steve, take me to bed."

  "Not very convincing."

  Backing up to the bulge in his trousers, she rubbed her bottom up and down the hard length of his erection. "Oh, God, please. Steve, please. I need you so. I'll do anything..."

  "Anything?"

  "Anything!"

  "Start by admitting you're a cat thief."

  "I can't, because I'm not," she cried hotly, looking over her shoulder at him, her bottom bumping and grinding his cock, her small tits bouncing. "But I'll do anything else. Even play this stupid bondage game."

  It was an offer too good to refuse. If she was game, so was he. Hell, he had to do something to work her out of his system. He had all day and night to do it.

  Without saying another word, Steve gave Emily's silk tie a firm tug and led his bound angel back into the bedroom. He had a cabinet filled with sex toys he hadn't used in years. He intended to use every one of them on Emily.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  "Tell me again why we're doing this," Greg said to Steve as they carried the bed up the narrow flight of stairs to the loft.

  "Emily wants her own digs above the garage and she needs a bed. That's why," he told his younger brother. "And lift your damn end higher. She'll be broken-hearted if we scratch the brass finish."

  "Scratch the brass finish! Bro! Look at what we're lugging here. Who says this piece of junk is real brass anyway? This bed is no prize, believe me. No wonder your girl was able to talk the owner of the used furniture store down on the price. Look at these dents..."

  His girl. Damn! That sounded good.

  And it was so far from the truth Steve wanted to bawl; Emily was only with him because he told her if she skipped out, he would come after her. The Cuzin was back with its rightful owner, but getting the word out on the street took longer. He couldn't exactly place an ad in the New York Times. Until his contacts made the right connections, Emily was stuck with him.

  Steve offered his brother a grin. "Yeah, my mechanic was really somethin' today wasn't she?"

  "Priceless. I tell you, she had that guy whipped! I nearly split a gut laughing when she went toe to toe with that used furniture dude, haggling over the price."

  "I slipped the store owner a fifty on the sly to make up the difference-don't tell Emily."

  Greg laughed. "Why is she so hot for this bed, I wonder?"

  "I dunno," Steve said, hefting the headboard around the corner to the landing. "But this is the bed she wants, so this is the bed she gets."

  "Women." Greg snorted, pushing open the door and carrying his end inside. "Who can understand what they really want?"

  "Uh-oh! Is Ronnie giving you a hard time?"

  "She won't admit we could have a good thing going between us. The age difference, you know?"

  "You'll work it out," Steve said. "Give it time." He motioned with his jaw to the wall. "Let's put the headboard over there for now and go get the mattress."

  "Ma sent over some new sheets. Nothing fancy, she says. Tell Emily they're a housewarming gift and she'll be by later to help hang those curtains Denise wants her to have."

  Steve juggled the dented bedpost to the floor. "Curtains? In the garage?"

  "I saw 'em. They've got frills. Lots and lots of frills." Greg set his end of the bed down on the floor. "I think Ma approves of Emily not moving in with you." His brother hitched his baritone up a few notes and added a falsetto. 'Steve will never buy the book if he can take it out of the library for free'. That's what Ma says."

  "What!" Steve roared.

  "You heard me. 'Emily's an old-fashioned girl', Ma says. 'And your playboy brother better respect that and treat her right.' "

  "I didn't know Ma kept track of my ... er ... reading habits."

  "You'd be surprised at what that woman keeps tract of. But you'll be happy to know, I always stick up for you. I tell her, 'Ma, Steve's just checking out those books.' 'What is he, one of those speed-readers?' she says. And I say, 'Ma, you can't blame a man for skimming a best-seller at the library to see if it's any good before he takes it home.' I catch a lot of flack for that, I tell you."

  "Just to keep the record straight, you can tell Ma I don't go to the library anymore. Until I met Emily, my ... er ... library card went unused. For the last five, maybe six years, I gave up on reading, altogether. I never even touched a book. I've got a lot of reading to catch up on."

  "You tell her, bro. I'm not comfortable talking books with Ma."

  "And I am?"

  "You've got plenty of rooms up at the house. If you ask me, this whole business is ridiculous..."

  Greg thought his big brother was nuts, and didn't mind telling him so. Hell, Steve agreed with Greg's assessment; he was nuts to let Emily live by herself in an unfinished storage area when he was rolling around alone in his big house and suffering insomnia as a result of worrying about her, this after having the garage wired for security, top to bottom. He wanted Emily with him, in his bed, where he could take care of her, but he had made her a promise, and he kept his word, like it or not.

  After Jen died, he had come undone. Putting himself back together had taken time. The good values his family had instilled in him had gotten tossed, and risky, self-destructive behaviors had taken their place. Looking back on that period of his life, he realized that sometimes things have to be torn down before they can be rebuilt. And sometimes the process is a painful one. Though he would've done anything so that Emily wouldn't have to face that kind of pain, he knew she had to travel that road to get to a better place And so, even though it cost him sleep, he would make sure Emily had everything she needed to put herself back together on the straight and narrow, the loft being one of those things. The thing was, to give her a second chance...

  Every night since their return, Emily had worked on fixing up the loft. She didn't want him to help, but she did let him drag her away to eat. They sat on the porch after dinner, not talking much, looking out at the ocean. It was enough. Afterwards, he would walk her back to the garage and they would kiss goodnight at the top of the stairs to the loft.

  One kiss. Closed-mouthed. Even as a teenager, he had never kissed like that. God, it was sweet...


  Steve whacked his brother on the arm. "C'mon, Greg. Let's get that mattress."

  * * * *

  The loft looked cozy, if Emily did say so herself. After polishing the bed, the brass positively gleamed. Who cared about a few little dents when sunlight streamed down from the skylights setting the metal on fire?

  The bed was enormous too; it took up the whole middle of the room. In front of it, covering a large expanse of plywood floor was a blue Oriental rug she had picked up for a song at an estate sale down the street. The sheets Mrs. Gallagher had given her as a housewarming gift matched the rug exactly, as did the curtains Steve's sister Denise brought over. She owned an easy chair too, with plump if faded cushions. Since Steve had the loft wired for electricity, she now had someplace comfortable to curl up in while she read. She couldn't wait to show off all that she had done to Steve when he came over for dinner tonight...

  Emily glanced at the wall clock. Her dinner companion was due to arrive any minute.

  She wasn't much of a cook, and she was a little nervous about the meal. There was no kitchen in the loft, but she had made do with the single burner hotplate in the garage. They weren't having anything elaborate, only stew. Stew was a one-pot dish, a good thing because one pot was all she owned. Stew wasn't fancy haute cuisine by any means, but she had tried to make it tasty. Water and meat went in the pot first, along with an onion and seasonings-lots of seasonings-and simmered. After peeling and slicing and dicing vegetables over the sink in the garage, she had added them to the pot too. She hoped she did everything right, as she didn't have a recipe or anything to go by. The cooking onions and turnip and carrots certainly smelled like stew...

  Emily glanced into the pot.

  The contents didn't look like any stew she had ever seen. The brown liquid was kind of thin, like a broth. Frothy too. Wasn't stew supposed to be hearty and thick?

  While she was hovering over the hotplate, stirring the pot, Steve knocked at the side door to the garage.

  Dropping the wooden spoon, Emily smoothed her hands over her new dress, bought and paid for herself, with her own earned money. That was important to her. Which was why she had returned Steve's diamond jewelry and paid him back the money he had given her.