He emerged sometime later and settled down to wait in the pretty cobbled courtyard that the marina maintained for its guests. Pulling out his phone, he cleared a few texts and skimmed through the e-mails, finding nothing critical. He was just starting to type a reply to the forward an old wreck-diving buddy had sent him—bad joke, even worse picture—when movement from the ladies’ locker room caught his attention.
He looked up and saw Cara. He froze.
And he stared.
The snow-white gown shimmered with the movement of beads and unidentifiable glittery things that picked up the light and dipped and clung to her curves. One of her shoulders was covered, the other bare, and the subtle contrast between the gleaming white and the cream of her skin made him want to touch and taste, as did the severe perfection of her twisted-up hair with its zigzag stripe, and how it was softened by a couple of curled sections that fell free to cover the earpiece she wore to match the one he had on. The skirt had seemed longer when the saleslady had held it up, but he wasn’t complaining about the way it hit Cara midthigh, showing off legs that seemed far longer than her diminutive size would suggest; nor was he complaining about the narrow silver shoes with their crisscrossed chains and funky zippered fastening, which punked things up and took the look from “wow” to “wow, it’s Cara.”
No, he wasn’t complaining at all. In fact, he wasn’t saying anything, because he didn’t have the words.
She glided over, heels tapping unerringly on the cobblestones without a wobble, as if some feminine magic were at work. She carried the gleaming white shoulder bag he’d insisted on despite the saleslady’s objections that it was too big for evening wear. When she got up close to him, he caught her light, flowery scent and saw that she’d put on makeup, had somehow been carrying it with her even though they’d had no hint of the gala. Magic again. As she drew near, her eyes warmed and a smile grew. “Thank you.”
The drool, it seemed, was a sufficient compliment.
He wanted to give her more, though. Going for the inner pocket of his tux, he pulled out the long, narrow box that held the necklace that had caught his eye… and suddenly felt awkward as hell standing there, holding it while her eyes got big.
Too late, he heard the mental warning sirens and recognized the inner what the hell are you doing? He was supposed to be proving to her that they could work together without the personal stuff getting in the way. Not dressing them up in clothes out of their shared vision and handing over bling. He concentrated on breathing, trying to get his tongue unstuck from his epiglottis. This didn’t have to be a big deal. It was just funny money, he told himself, and it wasn’t like he could put the box away and pretend it hadn’t happened. So he would give it to her and try not to make this into more than it needed to be.
He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to pull that off, though.
“I don’t know what this is or what it’s supposed to mean,” he said, holding out the box. “I just know I needed to get it. How about we call it a peace offering, or a symbol of our new working relationship, or some such shit. Anyway…” Taking a deep breath, he flipped open the lid. “It reminded me of you.”
The single strand of sparkling black gems drew the eye down to the central stone, which was a clear, pure white that shimmered and glowed when the light hit it. It was sleek, sophisticated, and dramatic as hell.
“Oh,” she breathed, reaching for it and then pulling her hand back as if afraid to touch, instead putting her hand over her mouth.
Some of the nerves smoothed out inside him. Okay, good. This was good. He could do this precisely because it was Cara, and because she deserved to have someone do something for her now and then, rather than the other way around. More, he had a feeling from the way she inhaled and squared her shoulders that she was being careful not to read too much into the gesture.
“Let me,” he said, not realizing until after the words were out there that he had said the same thing when he’d gone down on her in the cave. But he’d meant it then and he meant it now. She gave and gave to everyone else, and deserved to have someone give back to her for a change. And if he was playing with fire, he could handle himself. Had been for a long time now.
Her eyes were steady on his for a moment; then she turned away and presented him with her back, which was bare down to nearly her waist. Her spine was straight and proud, the curve of her neck elegant, the soft skin behind her ear terrifyingly vulnerable. He wanted badly to touch her, thought from the rhythm of her breathing that she wanted it too.
“I’m not wearing my gun,” she said, but although she had probably been going for a conversational tone, it came out breathy and suggestive. Or maybe that was because his brain immediately supplied the detail that she also wasn’t wearing a bra.
He cleared his throat. “Stay close to me. We’re better off shielding up and getting the hell out if there’s any trouble.”
“Okay.” The word was soft, as if she were agreeing to more than just the plan. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
He fumbled a little with the box and the way it held the necklace in place, then lifted the glittering strand free and draped it around her front, absurdly conscious of the way his own breathing hitched as she bent her head forward so her coiled hair would stay free of the clasp. The moment suddenly seemed very intimate, as if this were something he should be doing in a bedroom, not a cobbled courtyard, with a couple of people pretending not to watch from one of the café tables nearby.
Her skin was soft and warm, her bone structure impossibly delicate. It took him far too long to slide the clasp’s little tongue into its little receiver, in an act that he told himself not to read too much into—not that he wasn’t already stiff and uncomfortable inside the tux trousers, and sorely tempted to reach down there and readjust.
By the time the mechanism clicked into place, he was breathing hard and sweating. He backed away fast, holding out his hands in a gesture of nope, didn’t touch anything, more to reassure himself than her. “Okay, you’re good.”
She took a deep breath and turned back to him, eyes bright with emotion. “Thank you,” she said simply. Easing up on her tiptoes, she got a gentle grip on one of his lapels and tugged him down so she could kiss his cheek.
The gesture was as simple as her words—a pure thank-you that didn’t ask anything more of him, didn’t seek or give promises. And for the first time in his life, he wished there were questions and promises, wished there were something more. But there was only gratitude in her eyes when she settled back and took a moment to smooth his lapel back down, stroking the place over his heart, and there was nothing more than polite inquiry when she chirped, “Ready?”
No. “Yep.” What was she thinking right now? When they were younger, he’d almost always been able to read her thoughts from her face, except when they were wagering. That was one of the things that had made her so damn tough to beat at the patolli: her ability to bluff. Was she bluffing now, or had she really managed to set aside her feelings and frustrations and put him back in the friend zone?
Never mind that—what was he thinking? He couldn’t give her what she needed, yet he wanted her to want him. “Selfish” didn’t even begin to cover it.
Unaware of his inner morass, she said brightly, “Well, then, the gala awaits us.” She took his arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Was she already playing the role of his ditzy arm candy, or did she really not feel the heat crackling in the air around them? His skin was tight, his magic revving a sharp spark in his blood and a deep ache in his wrist, beneath his marks. Frustration snapped at his heels, thinning the control he’d kept on himself all day as he’d watched her bask in the simple one-piece bathing suit the saleslady had chosen for her, or sat beside her as she drove the boat with reckless enthusiasm, winding up the motor past redline now and then, and laughing at the slap of the wind in their faces, the feeling of freedom. He’d wanted her then and told himself to keep his hands to himself. He wanted
her now even more… and the sight of her wearing the sparkling black collar he’d chosen for her sliced right through that self-control and had him reaching for her before he was even aware of having made the decision. He caught the back of her neck and felt the necklace brush the side of his hand as he drew her close.
And then he took her mouth in a kiss that had his pulse going from zero to a buck twenty in no time flat.
Their first two kisses had been her idea, and things in the cave had happened partly because of the magic… but this kiss was his. He slanted his lips across hers and took, levered her mouth open and claimed. And when her surprised gasp trailed off on a moan of surrender, he didn’t back off and give her a moment to catch up; he moved in and took more.
Then she murmured and crowded closer, blossoming open into the kiss, and he stopped being aware of anything beyond the woman in his arms and the heat they made together. Some warrior part of him was still monitoring the world, ever vigilant, but the rest of him was lost in the kiss. They twined together, seeking and tasting. The texture of her dress reminded him not to rip and tear, not even to wrinkle, as they had a job yet to do. But that constraint only added to the sharp excitement as he ran his hands gently down her body and then back up again, grazing the sides of her hips, ribs, and breasts and wringing a moan from her.
The sound startled him. He tore his lips free and pressed his brow to hers. He was breathing hard, laboring to suck in enough oxygen to keep him on his feet, but that battle was nothing compared to the one inside his skull. “You should slap me for that,” he said, his voice raspy. “Hell, punch me. Shoot me, even. I frigging deserve it.”
She pulled away but didn’t go far. Instead, still in his arms, she blinked up at him, then pressed her lips together as if tasting him. “Why? Because you kissed me?”
“Because I kissed you, because I talked you into a hooky day we both knew would only make it harder to pretend we’re just working together… Hell, because I went behind your back to spy on the winikin and didn’t tell you about the liaison thing.” He paused, exhaling. “Most of all because I should be guilty as fuck-all over the way I’m handling this. I know things can’t go anywhere between us, and we’re screwed if even this much gets around back home.… But I can’t keep my damn hands off you.” He skimmed a fingertip along the edge of the necklace, which was warm from her skin. “You’re going to have to be the one to stop this… because I’ll be damned if I know how.”
A flush deepened at her throat and on her cheeks, and her eyes took on a dangerous gleam that had him bracing himself for a slap, a punch, maybe even a shot.
Instead, she eased in and brushed her lips across his in a gentle, fleeting touch that poured lightning into his veins. And when she eased away, she was smiling with wry humor. “Let’s let it go for tonight, okay? We’re here; the others aren’t… and this is the first time in my life a guy has cared enough to beat himself up over me. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll enjoy it while I can. Besides, we’re running out of time if we’re going to get this job done.”
“Cara…” But what was he supposed to say to that? He’d known her all his life, and she could still startle the hell out of him. Then again, he probably shouldn’t be surprised—she’d shown over and over again that she was tough, resourceful, and resilient, and able to deal with whatever was thrown at her. Only… he didn’t want to be something she had to deal with. He didn’t know what he wanted, except to keep that light in her eyes. So instead of pushing her like he wanted to do, getting her to tell him what she was really thinking, he crooked his elbow and held it out. “Ready to become a thief?”
“Absolutely.” She took his arm and they set off along the courtyard, heading for the piers where the cruise ships docked. And if there had been a flash of relief in her eyes, a hint of vulnerability at odds with her tough-girl demeanor, he let it go. For now, anyway. They could figure out the other stuff later. Right now, they had to get their hands on the screaming skull artifact and keep each other out of trouble… and his instincts said that was going to be easier said than done.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Monterey Princess was huge and slick, the crowd was glittery and ornate, and Cara was a wreck. Oh, she camouflaged it well—she’d had plenty of practice burying her emotions, after all. But she was seriously shaky inside as she and Sven boarded the small, luxurious cruise ship, handed over their scant luggage to an attendant with bushy eyebrows and bulging pockets, and joined the flow of expensively decked-out humanity headed for the main ballroom.
She was only peripherally aware of the touches of polished wood and sparkling crystal that went into making up the aura of understated elegance surrounding them, or the more overblown glitter of the crowd. Instead, she was wholly aware of the man beside her: the heat of his body; the leashed strength beneath her fingertips, where she had her hand loosely at the crook of his arm, not letting herself cling.… And the deceptive lightness of the necklace he’d bought her, which skimmed across her skin when she moved, reminding her of his touch.
Focus. She’d poked at him about needing to keep his mind on the job, but she was the one who needed the reminder. She might have convinced him that she was cool with the way things were between them, but exactly the opposite was true. She was heated and churned up, and all too ready to make a mistake. The boat ride and the kiss, combined with clothes that were far too close to the black-and-white of the nahwal’s vision… it was all too much. She was restless, twitchy, and anxious. Fine currents of heat ran through her body, coiling in her belly and warming her inner wrist, right where she wore his mark.
In the main ballroom, the crowd had formed an amorphous line that wound through the main salon, where the artifacts were being displayed in gleaming cases that looked deceptively flimsy, but weren’t. Brightly colored signs adorned each case.
Making herself dial into their surroundings—and not her escort—Cara scanned the scene, noting three exits and four guards: solo guys in their twenties and thirties, wearing tuxes and earbuds, with weapons under their jackets. The bulk of the partygoers were elegantly put together in tuxes and nice dresses, with a few outfits leaning toward tacky. One in particular had her doing a double take, checking that the body stocking and artistically placed white feathers covered all the relevant parts of its fiftyish female wearer. They did, but the dress, combined with bright orange sandals that laced up to her knees, evoked a Henny Penny mascot far more than it did anything else.
“Wonder if she thought that was Mayan?” Sven said in an undertone, with a head tilt in Henny’s direction. But although he went for the joke, his expression was serious as he searched Cara’s face, no doubt wondering whether she was going to be able to handle the op.
“If it is, you can count me out of that ritual,” she tossed back, shooting him a hard-edged look out of the corner of her eye, hoping it came off as purposeful rather than brittle and a little desperate.
It must have worked, because he nodded toward the display that held the screaming skull. “Shall we wander in that direction?”
“Lead the way.”
They should have blended in as they rambled from display to display, pretending to be more into each other than the artifacts, but even in the well-heeled crowd they drew looks, no doubt because of the glossy gleam of perfection that came with Sven’s Nightkeeper genetics. The tux was off-the-rack and a bit tight in the shoulders, his hair disheveled from the ocean breeze, but he drew the eye and held it, and made a girl think about stripping off that tux and running her fingers through that hair.
When a sleek blond twenty-something model-type on the arm of a much older man turned her head to arch an eyebrow at Sven, Cara nearly bared her teeth. Back off; he’s mine. Only he wasn’t, wouldn’t ever be. So she ignored the trophy blonde and forced herself to focus as their calculatedly wandering path brought her and Sven into range of their target.
The sturdy base of the elegant wood-grained stand was bolted to the floor, and a see-through dome sh
aped like a step-sided pyramid covered the top and was locked into place. Within that fairly formidable vault—well, formidable to anybody but a translocator—a velvet-covered stand shaped like a human hand held a gleaming black stone as if preparing to hurl it, sinkerlike. Only this was no game ball; it was carved into the shape of a human skull, with its mouth agape in a terrible scream. The screaming skull, which represented the Nightkeepers and their duty to save mankind from the end-time war, had been found in only a very few Mayan sites and on only a handful of artifacts. Of the artifacts, most—including this one—had been dismissed as modern-made fakes, when, really, they had been made using magic, not machines.
Cara’s skin prickled to goose bumps and she had to fight a shiver, though the ballroom had been too warm only seconds earlier.
“Cold?” he asked with a sidelong look.
“No, it’s just… Never mind,” she decided. There was no point in letting him know she was more nervous than she’d expected to be. Even though they would be magically swapping the statue for a good fake and making an anonymous donation that would more than cover the theft, it was still stealing. The knowledge had her on edge, as did the heat that pulsed beneath her skin, a whole-body awareness that she couldn’t afford to feel. She shook her head, trying to clear the wayward thoughts. “Let’s do this.”
She started to move off toward the farthest guard, but Sven reached out and snagged her hand. When she turned back, startled, he tugged her closer, then leaned in to say with quiet firmness: “You don’t have anything to worry about, Cara. I’ve got your back. I swear.”
Another shiver worked its way across her skin, because she didn’t think he’d ever promised her anything before. That he was doing so now meant something. She didn’t ask what or why, though. She just squeezed his hand. “Same goes. I’ve got your back—promise.”
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