Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Veronica Forand

  “I think I’ll go take a shower.” She tried to walk by him, but he blocked her path.

  Henry shook his head like an exasperated parent. “I need to trust you, Gabe. You obviously don’t trust us, which considering your need to run and hide from a mystery man, I sort of understand. But I need to trust you. Otherwise, I’d rather go it alone.”

  “Simon doesn’t trust me. He never did.”

  “You smashed things in my house, live under an alias, stole a bike, made a pass at him in front of his brother, and rummaged through his belongings. Why should he trust you?”

  “He probably shouldn’t.”

  Henry stepped closer and brushed a blond wisp away from the front of her eye. “I believe in you, although you’re seriously pushing my limits. I find you intelligent, classy, full of life, and a breath of fresh air. You’re even in possession of a family heirloom I can’t afford to lose. And yet I don’t know how to gain your trust.”

  “Every time I trust someone, they either let me down or die.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. They felt safe. “I’d never hurt you, and I promise to avoid death at all costs. By the way, you looked ridiculously uncomfortable trying to seduce Simon, so I’m assuming you still like me, but you’re trying to push me away. Don’t.”

  Henry pulled her into a deep kiss, powerful enough to knock her off her axis.

  “You’re not mad at me?” she whispered as they came up for air.

  His chin rested on her head, and his arms tightened around her shoulders. “Disappointed you went through Simon’s things. Jealous as hell when you rubbed your body against his. But never mad at you.”

  She stepped back from him and looked toward his face. “I’m scared. I don’t generally inspire lots of faith from people.”

  “I trust you. Just stop driving me crazy. Dinner’s in an hour.” After another kiss on her lips, he turned and left her alone in the room.

  The taste of the kiss lingered on her lips. Three weeks? She could make it to the end, but would her heart?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Henry could kiss Gabe forever. Yet he didn’t have her forever. A chill spread over him. He wanted more time. Three weeks could never satisfy his growing attachment to her. She filled him with a sense of warmth he’d never felt before. Yet she was still an enigma. Snooping in Simon’s room? What was she doing? Did she think Simon was the enemy? He trusted Simon with his life.

  When Henry had learned of the existence of his older half brother, he searched him out. What he’d found had disgusted him. His father had provided every material advantage to his future heir. The other son had received nothing. Simon’s mother had worked as a housekeeper for some of the well-to-do in town. He’d excelled despite his hardships and earned himself a spot on a club football team and a university education.

  He and Simon had spent long days together as teenagers. From what Simon had told him, the earl enjoyed beating his mistress as much as he’d enjoyed beating his countess. They’d banded together to protect their respective mothers. A bond was forged even stronger than the half blood they shared.

  He found Simon in the kitchen slicing up chicken. After pouring himself some cabernet sauvignon, he sat at the table.

  “Sorry about our houseguest.” She was a walking contradiction and the most frustrating female on earth.

  Simon never lifted his eyes from his cutting board. “She’s smart. Really smart. She located the gun in the first pass around the room. Given ten more minutes, who knows what she would have found. She doesn’t trust me, and she shouldn’t. Yet she managed to use that body of hers to try to find out more about me. You overreacted a bit, but puppy love can make a boy do silly things.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You certainly do. You’re an open book. Gabe, however, is a pretty good actress. She’s also overflowing with street-smarts on top of her crazy art knowledge. She’d be an asset to MI6, if she weren’t American. If she’s American.”

  Henry wouldn’t give her up to Simon’s work. Granted, he had no controlling interest in her, but he did have his three-week engagement, at least, to keep her around. “I need her more than you do right now.”

  “I understand.” Simon slid the chicken into the skillet. The sizzle released an amazing aroma of olive oil and rosemary. “I scrounged up an invite to an underground exhibition in Edinburgh.”

  Twelve stone lifted off Henry’s shoulders with the news. Maybe he did have a shot at rescuing the painting. For all of his father’s faults, and there were many, Simon was his greatest gift to Henry. “Can you get us in?”

  Simon grimaced. “I can take Gabe, but you’re a bit too posh for this type of event.”

  “Why?” he asked. Gabe couldn’t attend the event without him. He wouldn’t allow it.

  Simon looked up from the skillet. “She’ll easily pass for my latest piece of ass. You, however, are a total nerd.”

  “I’m going.” He sounded like a spoiled brat, but damn it, it was his painting.

  “Then we’ll have to give you a makeover, because someone will slit your throat if they think you’re searching for art someone stole from you.”

  “I made over Gabe, and she looks fantastic.”

  Simon laughed. “You had a lot to work with when transforming Gabe. Making you over won’t be as easy.”

  “I can do it.” Gabe, sexy despite being dressed in her jeans and a black T-shirt, crossed the kitchen and opened the refrigerator for a glass of orange juice. “I can make him into an art dealer with anonymous wealthy clients. I’ll even be his arm candy.”

  “No. You have to be my companion.” Simon shook his head, but didn’t smile. He’d stopped playing games with Gabe, thankfully. “If Henry is there on business for his clients, he needs to be alone. I’m always accompanied by some female, usually Nicola. It would seem odd if I went solo. You can stay by my side for a little while until I leave you with Henry so he doesn’t put his foot in his mouth.”

  She sat on one of the stools and picked at the black olives. Black olives and orange juice? And they doubted his ability to blend in?

  “Fine.” She continued to steal from Simon’s dinner prep.

  “Fine?” They were crazy. Henry needed her with him. He’d look like a fraud if he was left alone, despite his earlier claims to the contrary.

  Simon smacked Gabe’s hand with his spatula before she could finish off the olives. “We’ll keep Gabe as close to you as possible without her appearing like your date. If she stays next to you all night and whispers in your ear every time you’re asked a question, people will suspect you’re a copper.”

  “I’m sure Henry can pass himself off as someone important if he tries really hard.” Gabe’s smile told him she was enjoying this turn of events.

  “We have one problem. Gabe has no identification.” Simon turned to her, and Gabe’s hand froze before a slice of tomato entered her mouth. “Do you?”

  “Identification? Not with me.”

  Simon’s fist clenched and then released as though he wanted to throttle her. “Can you get some?”

  “I’d rather not use my own ID right now. Do you have a good source who could make me one?”

  Henry waited for his answer, but Simon placed his hands on the countertop, inhaled, and turned back to the food preparation without answering. He did have the ability to obtain her a fake identification. His employer could make her into anyone.

  The chicken looked done, and Simon placed it on a serving platter. “We don’t have time. You can’t fly without identification, so we’ll have to drive and that means we leave in two days.”

  Gabe’s shoulders relaxed, and then a glint of humor sparkled in her eye. “Road trip? I call shotgun.”

  …

  The sophisticated and trendy crew of three spent seven miserable hours traveling to Edinburgh. Henry wanted to escape both Gabe and Simon by the end of the day. He insisted they stop for lunch and appropriate breaks. Simon, however, wanted to arrive before a footb
all match began, and Gabe wanted to tour the Old Town before it became too dark. Their lunch at a charming inn near Manchester had been marred by rude comments and the incessant tapping of Gabe’s fingers. After lunch, Simon and Gabe, who had appropriated the front seat of Simon’s Range Rover, refused to speak to him for messing with their plans. He ignored them as well and tried to catch up on some of his reading.

  Gabe insisted that Colin Fisher, Henry’s new identity and a man she seemed to prefer over plain Henry, wear designer jeans, the black leather boots she’d demanded he buy on their shopping spree, and a white linen shirt open at the neck. Since he rarely ventured out as the Earl of Ripon, except to the occasional benefit, he shouldn’t worry about being recognized. Just in case, however, Gabe slicked his hair behind his ears. The gel caused his scalp to itch. She wouldn’t let him pack more comfortable clothes for the ride home, saying he had to stay in character the entire journey. It would be a miserable weekend. And the prospect of locating one stolen painting among thousands was slim.

  Henry did find a light at the end of the tunnel through hell. The Balmoral Hotel. Opulent, elegant, expensive. Simon paid, or maybe his employer did. His brother wouldn’t say.

  When they entered the suite, Simon locked himself in one of the bedrooms, leaving Gabe and Henry to fend for themselves. Gabe immediately raced to the other bedroom, but Henry arrived first and claimed the space.

  “Henry, you better share that bed with me. I refuse to sleep on the couch.”

  “You claimed shotgun in the car; I claim the bedroom.” The prospect of sharing the room with her looked good. Better than good. Even if he slept on the outer edge of the bed, he’d be within arm’s reach of her.

  “Fine. I’ll go ask Simon if he’ll share.” She sauntered across the reception area.

  Henry caught up with her halfway to Simon’s room. “I get the right side of the bed. We both remain fully clothed.”

  Gabe smiled like the Cheshire cat. “Deal.”

  She turned and walked back to their bedroom. He remained on the large recliner in the living room for an hour to give Gabe time to fall asleep, although she never did what was expected.

  Trying to enter the room quietly, Henry maneuvered toward the bed, but Gabe had shut the lights off. He couldn’t see a bloody thing. He tripped over her suitcase and fell with a thud.

  “Henry, I’m trying to sleep. Be quiet.”

  He struggled to stand up, then limped over to the bedside table and turned the light on.

  Gabe was sprawled in the middle of the bed. She was wearing his T-shirt. She’d better have something on underneath. He only had a limited amount of restraint, and she’d already taxed most of it. She hadn’t pursued a more intimate relationship with him since Ripon. He wouldn’t pressure her, but damn, he wanted her. Sexual frustration would not help his performance at the art show.

  When he finished dressing in his boxers and a clean undershirt, he slid beneath the covers careful not to touch her. He failed.

  “Can you move over a foot?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed, her breathing was heavy, and her body was weighed down like a petrified tree. It was like someone had snapped their fingers and knocked her out. He tried to get comfortable, but unless he wrapped his arm around her, half his body would be off the bed.

  Giving up, he rolled toward his tormentor and rested on the edge of her pillow. Her scent smelled of his shampoo and her own particular brand of aphrodisiac. She yawned and shifted her head onto his shoulder. He remained uncomfortably aware of her for most of the night, staring at the wall and wishing he wasn’t a gentleman.

  After what seemed like a five-minute nap, he sensed someone watching him. Cracking open an eye revealed Simon standing next to the bed, fully dressed and ready to start the day.

  “I heard from Roman, tonight’s host. He wants to meet you. Now.”

  Gabe’s arm stretched across Henry’s chest. Simon raised his eyebrows and grinned.

  “Me?” Henry asked.

  Gabe slowly came to life, but continued to rest her head on Henry. Her subtle movements woke up parts of Henry’s body better left sleeping.

  “He doesn’t trust you’re legitimate, and he’ll barricade the exhibition before he allows an undercover officer entry.” Simon started toward the door.

  “I’m up.” Henry stretched, but Gabe’s position restricted his movement. “What about Gabe?”

  Simon shrugged. “He doesn’t need to see my current lover. She’s unimportant to him.”

  Henry’s stomach dropped. Without her, he’d have to rely on the knowledge gained in the two art history classes he took years ago to prove he was a legitimate buyer.

  She wrapped her arm around Henry’s waist and gazed up at him from the pillow. “Morning. Sleep well?” She kissed his cheek. “I slept like a baby.”

  At least one of them did. Moving Gabe away his shoulder, Henry swung his legs off the bed and sat up. “I didn’t sleep at all because this sexy blonde wearing a T-shirt and probably nothing else planted herself on my chest and cut off the circulation in my arm. I may be unable to shake anyone’s hand today.” He shook out his arm. It was numb, but functional.

  “Have fun at your meeting. Can you order me an American breakfast from room service? Double the bacon, double the coffee. No cream.” She pulled the covers over her shoulders and placed Henry’s pillow on top of her head.

  Henry ignored her and headed to the shower. He needed to get his game on.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alex glanced in the mirror and didn’t like what she saw. The minuscule length of the black skirt left her feeling skanky, the pewter blouse opened too much, revealing her lack of a bra, and the four-inch heels would cripple her by noon. On the other hand, it should be hard to recognize the real Alex without her brown hair and the conservative clothes she’d always worn with Luc.

  In the lobby, she shimmied her way from the elevator to the restaurant. After a deep breath, she wandered in. Simon sat with his back to the wall, facing her. He’d exchanged his typical jeans and tight T-shirt for an Armani suit and an open-collar shirt. The transformation took him from bouncer to billionaire.

  Henry sat next to him. He wore black from head to toe, and he rocked it. Maybe it was the slicked-back hair with natural blond highlights that contrasted with the midnight shades. Whatever it was, her split personality not only ached for the nerdy guy in the castle surrounded by a gang of children, but the delicious bad boy who looked decadent in designer clothes and kissed her senseless.

  A heavyset dark-haired man sat with them. She couldn’t make out his face from the way he was positioned in his seat. The men spoke in low voices regarding something she probably knew more about than all three of them combined.

  Simon, Henry, and the other man stood when she approached.

  Alex tried to keep her accent generic American. Not too difficult after being gone for so long. “Baby, there you are. I was getting nervous in the suite all by myself.” She ran her hands over Simon’s shoulders and nuzzled his neck. She refused to glance at Henry, because the guilt would show in her eyes, her attraction would change her body language, and they wouldn’t stand a chance at convincing this guy she was with Simon.

  Simon’s arm curved possessively around her waist. “Belinda. You met Colin Fisher last night. This is Roman Ledovskoy. He’s hosting the party tonight.” Simon called the waiter over and ordered her some coffee and a fruit plate.

  She ignored Henry and observed Roman. His age fell somewhere between forty and fifty. Expensive clothes, platinum Rolex with a mother-of-pearl face. She put out her hand, and he grasped it, not releasing her until she lowered her eyes in deference to him.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Roman scanned her body, perhaps considering her as potential conquest. “Simon, you have impeccable taste in women.”

  In a breathy whisper, she replied, “You’re too sweet. Will there be dancing tonight? I love dancing.”

&nb
sp; “Regrettably, no.” He zoned in on her legs. “It is more of a cocktail party. A time to view some beautiful art.”

  Alex sighed. “I’m sure it will be fun anyway.”

  The waiter returned with her coffee. She added cream and three packets of sugar, and then took a tentative sip. Disgusting, but Alex was known to drink only black coffee. “It’s never sweet enough.” She reached for more sugar.

  Simon placed his hand on her knee and squeezed hard to shut her up. She’d have a bruise there if he did it again. Remaining silent, she retracted her hand from the sugar bowl and took another sip of the coffee. Tilting her body slightly toward Simon’s gave her a better view of Roman. He was not one to be trifled with. A lot like Luc in attitude, but not even a close second to him in appearance.

  Roman turned his attention to Henry. “As I was saying, the drawings will be the highlight, but I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with many of the oils.”

  Henry acted bored and spoke as though this meeting was a waste of time. “I’m interested in romanticism and neoclassicism portraits and still lifes. There are few drawings in which my clients have ever shown an interest.”

  “I am fairly certain we will have several pieces to your liking. If not, there will be similar exhibitions of new pieces in some other cities this year.” Roman stood. “It was nice meeting all of you.” He lifted Alex’s hand and kissed it. “Until tonight.”

  After Roman disappeared, Henry called for the check. “I need to go back to the room and review my notes.”

  Simon nodded to him. “You did great. If Belinda curbs her sweet tooth, we might pull this off.”

  They all stood.

  Alex leaned on Simon’s shoulder. “Honey, if you had ordered me room service, I wouldn’t be suffering from hypoglycemia.”

  “You can order something when we get upstairs. Simon’s buying. He loves to spoil his girlfriends,” Henry said before walking away.

  “My employer’s an earl. He pays extremely well.” Simon laughed and placed his arm around Alex’s shoulders to escort her up to the suite.