“Careful around him. He’s known as much for murder as he is for art deals. Want me to come? I could be your hunky boyfriend. Brainless, but great in bed.” He sauntered over to her.
In her amazing way of making him feel emasculated, she laughed and smacked his ass. “Not this time. I may have an inside track to his supplier. I hear Luc lost his girlfriend a few months ago and may be on the lookout to replace her, so a big, hunky boyfriend would be a liability. As of right now, you and I have broken up. You cheated on me, you bastard.”
Simon laughed. “If you put out more, I wouldn’t need to sow my oats with lesser females. And yes, I am a bastard.”
She’d willingly enter the bed of an enemy in order to gain every advantage possible. Although he hated Nicola placing herself in the middle of a dangerous situation, they both chose to live their lives undercover, always at risk of being exposed. Still, he felt protective of her. “Call me if you need backup. I’ll take the train over.”
She waved him away, never one to ask for assistance. “You’ll be calling me for backup, pansy boy.”
Simon walked to the small window overlooking Battersea Park on the other side of the Thames and savored a few sips of his drink. Should he ask her? Probably. If a man couldn’t trust his partner, he might as well shoot himself in the head to accelerate the inevitable.
He leaned on Nicola’s desk. “A dinner guest of Henry’s claimed the Lawrence in his gallery was a fake.”
Nicola stopped typing on the computer and whirled her chair in his direction. “Did anyone else hear him?”
“No. She was some pretend college student who I still can’t identify.”
Her brow creased. “How did she know?”
“Something about the eyes in the portrait. Not being an expert on paint, I have no idea what she was talking about, but Henry believes her. She mentioned she was hiding from someone. I want to know more about her. She might be useful. Henry thinks so. He’s decided to use her to find his painting. They helped me acquire the Picasso in Edinburgh and are going to Atlanta in a week for an auction. If they can buy it there, then everything can continue without too much involvement by us.”
“And if they can’t locate it?”
“Then we’ll take control. Locate it and then offer enough money to the seller to take it off the market.”
Nicola shook her head. “That could take a few months. And neither of us can leave until you’ve met with Teodor.”
Simon’s heart raced at the thought of Henry being hurt. Regret and guilt soured the Coke in his stomach. Taking his brother’s painting had been a monumental mistake. “Last night, Roman hinted that he’d sold the painting a week ago to Quinn. We missed the damn thing by a few days. Where is it now?”
Nicola pulled up a satellite tracking program and typed in a unique identifier. A light popped up on the screen in the United States.
“Zoom in,” he ordered.
The screen zoomed in on Georgia.
“Atlanta. Must be the Carleton gallery.”
“Good. If it hasn’t been sold already, Henry can bid on it for a fraction of the value, and we’ll keep the insurance companies and our contacts in the dark. I’ll reimburse him somehow without letting him know how it ended up on another continent.”
Nicola shook her head. “We went through a lot of work to put it out there just to retire it.”
“I didn’t think he’d ever learn about the switch. What are the chances of some punk girl identifying a chemical in a blue pigment?”
“Punk?” A disparaging look appeared on Nicola’s face. She was horribly intolerant of anyone who didn’t fit her version of normal.
“Sort of. She had pink hair when she showed up in Oxford, dressed like a drug addict in need of a fix, although now she dresses more like an American heiress.” Simon pulled out his mobile and sent Gabe’s picture to Nicola.
“Did she have a name?”
“Gabrielle West.”
“Do you happen to have a picture?”
“Check your email.”
Nicola turned back to her screen. “I love your efficiency.”
“Efficiency with a smile, baby.”
She brought up a photo of Gabe riffling through Simon’s dresser. Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth formed into a frown. “The picture’s at a funny angle, so I may not be able to use the facial recognition program, but I’ll try. I’ll also search for missing art experts and thieves and see what I can find.”
Nicola had a cold, calculating, and relentless mind wrapped up in the body of a supermodel. She’d track down the identity of Henry’s bride-to-be. Yet he needed to protect Henry as well. “For now, I want this investigation to remain outside the Office.”
Nicola typed on the keyboard again, looking up Gabe’s alias. “For now.”
…
Henry woke up intertwined with Gabe on the couch, fully clothed and aching from their contorted positions. They packed their bags and fled the hotel before the sun crested the horizon, because they didn’t want to run into anyone from the party. When they arrived at Ripon Manor, they both escaped to their own rooms. Henry contacted the university to arrange for someone to take his classes for the week after recess and then fell asleep. When he awoke, he was starving in so many ways. A few eggs would at least ease his stomach. He searched out Gabe, but Martha told him she’d gone for a walk. It was dark when she’d returned.
Had her abuser been at the gallery? Someone had been there, and damn her that she refused to divulge the person’s name. Chasing the painting was becoming less important than protecting Gabe. The trip to Atlanta seemed more and more perilous.
At dinner, Gabe, dressed in tailored blue trousers and a pewter silk blouse, appeared listless, as though a balloon had deflated a portion of her essence. Her expression, the sullen eyes and taut lips, seemed like a remnant of their conversation the night before. He blamed himself for her mood. Probing into her past did not endear him to her.
Martha served a dinner of fresh rosemary chicken with sautéed vegetables and steaming bread that filled the air with a sweet and savory scent. She left the basket of bread on the table before returning to the kitchen. Henry followed her.
“Martha, would you mind terribly if I served the rest of the meal myself? Go home and have some time with your family.”
“I’m in your way, am I? Good to know you value the companionship of your fiancée.” A soft smile graced Martha’s face. “I left a strawberry trifle in the refrigerator for dessert. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thanks. You’re a treasure.”
When Henry strolled back into the dining room, Gabe was standing by the china cabinet absorbed in the wood carvings that decorated the edges.
“Do you approve?” he asked.
“Very much. The men and women who took care of the house for the past two hundred years did a marvelous job protecting the wood. Not even a chip in the corners.”
Henry moved behind her. She smelled of coconut shampoo infused with red wine. Different and unique, like her. Despite his hunger, he refused to touch her. She needed to make the next move in their relationship or let things simmer where they were. The simmering, however, was boiling his blood.
His breath caressed her ear, but he left a barrier between them. His body’s response to her was instant and hard and weakening his resolve. He fought to calm the urge to pull her into his arms and carry her to a place where secrets didn’t matter, only physical need. Her reflection in the glass of the cabinet showed her waiting for him to do something. He glanced over her shoulder at the dishes on display. “Do you recognize the pattern on the Wedgwood?”
She turned her head, and her lips came dangerously close to his. After a quick inhalation of breath and a lick of her delectable lips, she turned her gaze back to the china.
“Can I take it out?”
“Go ahead.”
She opened the cabinet and removed a teacup. A green vine bordered the rim with red floral accents. His mother
’s favorite serving pieces. Gabe pointed to a signature on the bottom of the cup. “This is a handwritten mark for Wedgwood and Bentley. I’d probably date the set in the 1770s.”
Her admiration of the workmanship showed in the way she held the cup and examined the markings. Replacing the piece in the cabinet, Gabe ran her hand lightly across the wood and then returned to her chair at the table. Too sensual, too tempting.
Henry sat next to her and tapped his fingers next to his fork, an activity that didn’t involve an embarrassing tent in his pants. “Do you have identification for the airplane? I need to purchase the tickets.”
She bit her lip, holding back more of her true self, and then nodded. “I’ll write out the information in the morning, but please, don’t share it with Simon. Not yet.”
He took in a calming breath. By tomorrow, he’d have a name and an address. Henry needed to learn her true identity, craving the information like an adopted child searching for a hint of his past. He’d have to share it with his brother. Simon could locate her tormentor quicker and without exposing them all to unnecessary danger. The knowledge would also enable Henry to better protect her.
Gabe picked at her food, but somehow each bite looked like an erotic overture. Every time her mouth opened for another forkful of something, Henry’s blood burned. He couldn’t watch those pink lips wrap around the tines. Or how she pulled the fork from her mouth without parting her lips. She had to be doing this on purpose to drive him crazy. Since she’d made it clear she wanted to keep their relationship platonic, except for the occasional kisses he was able to steal from her, he needed to go slow.
He rose from his chair and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll understand if you can’t, but I’m asking you to trust me tonight. All night.”
Storm clouds appeared in her eyes. She was battling so many demons. Part of him wanted to hug her and eliminate all her fears, yet the other part, the part with knowledge about rape victims, reminded him that she couldn’t be pressured.
Her eyes focused on him, her look intense. Would she come? No. He saw the moment he lost her; she dropped her gaze to her dish, and her shoulders drooped down in defeat. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t. Not yet.”
He kissed her on the cheek, and then strode off to find some scotch to prevent him from sneaking into her bedroom later to comfort her.
Chapter Seventeen
Alex’s gut assured her that Henry would never hurt her. His actions told her the same thing. He’d helped her hide from Luc in Oxford and helped her to escape from Brian in Edinburgh. He’d slept in her bed and never crossed the line. He’d never lied to her. Alex paused to allow the last piece of ice chilling her heart to melt away. She trusted him. Yes, she really trusted him. And she’d let him walk away.
She lifted the plates and shuttled them into the kitchen, leaving the bottle of wine in the dining room. The old Alex would have finished off the bottle of merlot and the open bottle of chardonnay she’d found in the refrigerator. That wouldn’t solve her dilemma.
Not wanting to leave the dishes for Martha on her night off, Alex washed a dish, rinsed a dish, and then placed it on the drying rack. The warm, soapy water and the sound of the water flowing into the sink and the feel of the heat between her fingers soothed her. By the time everything was neatly stacked on the counter, she’d decided to embrace life, not hide away from it, even if she risked being hurt again.
She climbed to her bedroom, brushed her teeth, and undressed. Button by button, she removed her blouse and then shimmied out of her pants. When she had stripped down to only a black bra and matching silk thong, she glanced around the room at the dime-store art. Regrettably, Henry’s reproduction would have a similar value. How awful to lose not only a valuable piece of art, but a precious family heirloom.
Poor Henry. He was trying to do the right thing by protecting battered women and their children. He was a good man. It had been a long time since she’d met one of those. She should have gone with him when he’d asked. Not because she owed him, but because she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Perhaps it wasn’t too late.
Still dressed only in her underwear, she wandered down one hall and then another to find him. Opening a few doors in search of his room, she located her destination behind the fifth or sixth door. A large cave of a bedroom. With only the hall lights illuminating the interior, Alex crept into the room with caution. She bumped into a large dresser. Her hands rubbed over the intricate carvings and smooth marble top. The shadows in the room came into focus as her eyes adapted to the light. She looked down at the dresser she’d caressed only a moment before. This baby was a Louis XVI–style gilt-bronze-mounted marquetry inlaid piece. She wanted to examine it in the daylight. Her mind flashed to Jean-Henri Riesener, the probable designer. A giggle burst out of her. She’d come here to seduce the most magnificent man she’d ever met and had been seduced by a dresser instead.
She stepped with careful footing to the outline of the bed and the lump under the covers.
“Henry?” She shook the mattress.
No answer.
“Henry?” Was he mad at her? Her heart tumbled a bit.
She could wake him, but that seemed rude and inhospitable. Perhaps this wasn’t such a spectacular idea. She sat on the edge of his bed. He wouldn’t care if she slept next to him. He’d invited her to sleep with him, sort of. After sliding under the covers, she tried to sleep, but her side of the bed was too chilly. She moved closer to Henry and his body heat. The indent his weight created in the mattress helped her roll toward him. A large arm reached out and pulled her in further. Realizing that his arm brushed across her skimpy bra, she felt her cheeks heat into a blush. The rest of her burned with a strong sexual hunger that had been stored away behind icy walls. The ice, left over from Luc’s physical and emotional assaults, had melted and now boiled.
His arm tugged her closer until they lay face-to-face. She inhaled the scent of his breath, a sexy Henry smell laced with scotch. He must have gone off for a drink after dinner, after her rejection. The faint glow from the hall provided enough light for her to see two sleepy eyes staring at her. His expression revealed both a desire for her in his bed and a hope that she leave. The ambivalence entranced her.
“Henry?”
“Hmmm?” His voice was low and reassuring.
“I want to thank you for helping me out last night. Not only did you sneak me out of the castle, but you remained a perfect gentleman all evening. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” he whispered. He continued to stare at her.
He moved closer until their mouths touched. She reveled in the taste of him. His hand caressed her face, slanting her chin closer to him. Their kiss deepened until she was trembling in anticipation. She shifted her entire body toward his and froze.
“You have no clothes on,” she whispered.
He kissed her again, traveling from her mouth to her neck to behind her ear. “I rarely do at night. Except that strange evening when you took off all of your clothes and my trousers remained firmly zipped. And the hotel room.”
“I appreciated that.”
He tightened his grip. “I appreciate this visit more.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been so unpleasant toward you.”
“Already forgiven.” He lifted his hand and caressed the side of her face. “Are you sharing my bed tonight to torture me or seduce me? If you want my opinion, I prefer the latter.”
She did, too. “I don’t know how to seduce you, but if you help me, I’m willing to try.”
Her lips touched his. She felt awkward, but brave.
Henry moaned and pulled back. “Are you sure?”
She kissed him again. “Absolutely sure. But I can’t promise I won’t freak out.”
“We can go as far as you’re comfortable.”
She was starved for this type of intimacy with the well-built guy who had earned her trust and stole her heart. “I feel very comfortable with you tonight.�
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Her words seemed to energize him. His mouth covered hers. Connecting to him became her sole goal. She pressed closer. His hand roamed behind her and unclasped her bra. Alex moaned into his mouth. One tug and the bra was history. His head dropped to one of her breasts, the one Luc had branded. His hand continued its travels down her back, across her thigh, and reached between her legs. She froze as a split second of panic caused her to shudder. He started to retreat, but she clasped his hand to hold it in place. If he pulled away, she’d regret it forever. He took the hint and continued. Damn, he knew exactly what he was doing.
“As much as I love your choice of knickers, they’re in the way.” He pulled them down an inch, paused, and then continued until she felt the flimsy fabric drag across her legs and over her feet.
He returned his focus to her breasts, his scruff adding a unique sensation to the experience.
“That tickles,” she cried out, and then dissolved into laughter.
He continued to overwhelm her nipple until she squealed. He lifted his head with a bemused grin. “Should I stop?”
When she didn’t answer, he slipped a finger into the wetness between her thighs. Anxiety hovered in the background while her body appreciated the decadence of a man’s attention on her most sensitive areas. Not for his benefit, but for hers. She thrust her hips toward him, trying to control the location of his fingers.
His long, powerful legs with the most amazing muscle definition stretched out next to her. The pressure of such a solid man resting so close to her liquefied her insides, yet scared her as well. He continued to pleasure her breasts with his tongue and teeth.
He paused for a moment and reached over to his bedside table. Hearing the tear, she watched him sheath himself in latex. She stiffened briefly to prepare for Henry to thrust into her. The idea that he would dominate her body in the same way Luc had shot a tremor of panic through her. Her face grimaced in preparation for the pain.
Luc had preferred her under him, spreading her legs and lying still, but Henry surprised her by rolling to his back and lifting her to the top position. The shift took away some of the fear. He’d left her in control. Empowered, she slid her body down his and angled him inside her. Each shimmy of her hips and drive forward was hers to decide, but she wanted even more. Pressure grew, and feelings of intense need overwhelmed her.
Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense) Page 13