by Evie Hunter
Moving to Geneva and working extra hours to master her new role at the museum had taken its toll in a way she hadn’t expected. While trying to impress her employer with her serious, studious side, she had lost something.
She hated to admit it, but she missed being Lottie. Her alter ego wouldn’t have allowed Niall to bully her in her own home and Lottie wouldn’t have permitted him to leave her bed this morning without a rematch.
‘You didn’t seem to mind earlier.’
And that was obviously the wrong thing to say. He put down his knife and fork, reached across the breakfast bar and touched her cheek.
Sinead stared at the button of his shirt, unwilling to raise her eyes to meet his face.
‘Look at me.’
She kept her eyes fixed on his shirt button, hoping that he would stop. Instead his hand cupped her face and he raised her chin until she was forced to look into his eyes.
‘That was concern. Not criticism. And as for earlier, I liked you just fine.’
The smouldering heat in his eyes told her that he meant it. He released her chin and leaned back but not before she realized that she was shaking.
This thing that had flared between them – whatever it was – was dangerous. And Sinead O’Sullivan didn’t do dangerous and certainly not with someone like him. This wasn’t a nice safe fantasy. It was happening too fast, and she didn’t like the feeling of being out of control.
‘Finish your breakfast and put on some more coffee. I’m going to take a shower and when I come back, we’re going to talk about the ruby.’
Sinead sat at the breakfast bar again and took another spoonful from her cereal. Niall was right. This wasn’t food. She looked longingly at the bits of scrambled egg on his plate. It did look good, but she didn’t have time to make herself an egg white omelette.
After scraping out her bowl, she went to the bookshelf. The cover of the notebook stated that women who read were dangerous. Inside the back cover was a scribbled list of names. She had hauled the battered notebook through school, college and her years in London. Among the names of school friends and work friends were a few special contacts. People she had done some private consulting for when they wanted to expose a fake, or find out if something was worth buying if the provenance couldn’t be completely authenticated.
When she got some privacy, she would make a few calls.
Niall shuddered as he touched himself in the shower. God, what had got into him? He never shared a bed with a woman. Oh sure, he loved women, loved their shape and smell and the feel of their soft flesh under his hands, but he never stayed the night. They played, and then she left or he did.
What had happened last night that he had ended up sleeping in Sinead’s bed, and not just sleeping, but holding her in his arms? God, he was getting soft.
All but one part of him. He looked down ruefully at his engorged penis. It had been in a state of semi-arousal since he woke up. Cooking, and looking at her repulsive breakfast, had calmed him enough that he could conduct a rational conversation. She had looked up at him with those damnable eyes and reminded him of how he had woken up. His cock sprang to instant life and he’d had to take refuge in the shower.
He remembered the way her bottom, surprisingly full for such a slender woman, had nestled into his groin. It had been perfect, round with soft flesh covering firm muscle. He wondered idly if she lifted weights.
Her breasts had been a revelation. Somehow she had concealed them under the ugly clothes she wore and he had convinced himself she was flat chested. Niall swallowed. She was so far from flat chested; her breasts were beautiful, high and succulent and topped with prominent nipples that firmed up as soon as he touched them.
His fingers flexed as if he were still feeling them and his hips bucked.
There was no way that his erection was going anywhere.
He rooted around in Sinead’s collection of beauty products, wondering what women did with all of them. They must have a purpose, or they wouldn’t buy them, but he doubted it. There, that one looked as if it would do. He opened the bottle of Nuxe oil and poured a stream of it into his palm. The smell wafted to his nose, hinting at Sinead.
His erection swelled more urgently.
Niall turned his back so that the shower beat down on his shoulders, and slathered the scented oil down his chest and to his cock. He smoothed it on, poured another dollop of oil and rubbed that around his balls as well as his cock.
He closed his eyes and imagined that the hands caressing his chest belonged to Sinead. He kept his touch light, as if she was exploring for the first time. She’d be tentative at first, he decided, and then she would gain courage. Her fingers would dig into his ribs, run through the meagre strip of hair on his chest. As a teenager, he had hated not having as much body hair as the other kids at Mount Temple. Now he was glad of it. Otherwise Sinead would never explore his chest with her lips like this …
The heat of the water on his back was nothing compared to the heat of her mouth as she licked and kissed her way from one nipple to the other. Ah, now she was nipping at one and sucking it into her mouth. The edges of her teeth were sharp and arousing.
Through his eyelashes he glimpsed the water beading on her skin, made it glow in the dim light of the shower stall. Her wet hair, plastered against her head, made her appear younger. She bit one nipple, making him shudder. As his hands moved down his body, so did her mouth.
Sinead was kneeling in front of him, her eyes large and beseeching. Drops of water caught in her outrageous eyelashes. His hands slicked down his cock, pointing it at her open mouth. His fist tightened as her mouth closed over the tip. He groaned and braced himself against the wall.
His bath-time fantasies had always featured Lottie LeBlanc and her amazing champagne glass routine. In his dreams, she had emerged from her on-stage bath, stalked naked over to him and taken his cock in her mouth with all the skill of a courtesan. Now she had been replaced with Sinead O’Sullivan’s more hesitant but equally enthusiastic effort.
Sinead licked and sucked, running her tongue over the head of his cock, drinking down the drop of pre-cum, murmuring her approval of his length. Her hands ran up and down his thighs, before cupping his balls with gentle fingers.
As his excitement mounted, her grip became less gentle. Her teeth rasped along the stem of his penis and her fingers pinched his sac while the other hand pressed on the sensitive spot behind it.
It was too much. His back tightened and his hips flexed, thrusting his cock more deeply into her mouth. She hummed in approval, tightening her lips and sucking harder while she held onto his balls.
As his orgasm gathered, he opened his mouth and gasped. His legs shook. The pressure and pleasure as he exploded, jet after jet, was almost too much to bear. He opened his eyes and, for a fleeting second, saw an image of Lottie kneeling at his feet.
4
How long could one man spend in the shower? Sinead glanced at her watch. Almost twenty-five minutes now. It must be the long hair. As if he had heard her thoughts, the bathroom door opened. Amidst a cloud of steam, Niall emerged, a towel slung low on his hips.
Sinead averted her eyes and pretended she was reading. Eye candy didn’t begin to describe it. She knew he was big, but Niall was seriously built. He looked like a cover model for a Men’s Health magazine bodybuilding special. He whistled as he crossed the hall and disappeared into the guest bedroom. Her libido perked up. She couldn’t believe that she had actually shared a bed with him. Had spent the night lying in his arms and then this morning he had …
Stop that. This thing – whatever it was – was only happening because they had been thrown together by the theft. It wasn’t real. When this horrible mess was over, he would return to his own world and she would still be here.
She tossed the magazine aside – it was upside down anyway – and she hoped he hadn’t noticed. Sinead stretched. Despite the earth-shattering orgasm earlier, she was stiff from the hours she had spent sitting in the police stati
on the previous day. She wondered if Niall would be amenable to some exercise. She needed some time away from him. And with a body like that, he must do some serious workouts.
Maybe she could suggest a trip to her dance studio and leave him to work out in the gym while she got some exercise? She didn’t care what class she took. An hour of Zumba would take the edge off.
When she danced, her mind was free to wander. She could put any problem at the back of her brain and a solution would usually pop up by the time she was ready to shower.
Sinead hurried to her bedroom and tossed some exercise clothing into a bag. This mess about the Fire would be sorted out soon. She hadn’t stolen it and there couldn’t be any real evidence against her. Of course her fingerprints were all over the jewel room – she worked there – duh! But when the police interviewed the security guards and watched the CCTV footage, they would realize they had made a mistake. All she had to do until then was keep calm and try to find the real thief.
‘Going somewhere?’ Niall’s voice startled her. The man was half cat. She wished that he wouldn’t sneak up on her like that.
‘Dance class,’ she said. ‘If I sit around here all day I’ll go crazy.’
He shook his head and she sighed, determined not to fight with him. She tried to sound reasonable, ‘Look, I need to exercise and they have a great gym there.’
That sealed the deal.
At the studio, Sinead stared at the display board in the lobby. It was all classes aimed at housewives or mothers with young children. No Zumba until this evening, but there was pole-dancing starting in five minutes.
‘Do you know that your mouth twitches when you’re trying not to smile? As if the smile is trying to escape.’
She glared at Niall. ‘I do smile.’
‘Not enough.’ He tapped the end of her nose. ‘I’ll see you in 90 minutes.’
‘Arrogant ass,’ she muttered, to his departing back. By the time she changed and found the right studio, class had already started. Sinead took a place at the back and warmed up before approaching her pole.
The other students appeared to be beginners. She should have checked that. It didn’t matter. At least she was dancing, and she could do her own thing. Sinead warmed up, then moved into a body wave, lifting off the floor, undulating her hips in a slow provocative wave. Sinead smiled at the simple pleasure the physical exercise gave her. It had been a while, but she hadn’t forgotten everything. Next, she grasped the pole and spun, going from a simple front hook to a back hook to a fireman spin to get back into the swing of it.
She jumped and swung high, arching her back as she spiralled around the pole, her hair flying out behind her. Next, she tried a flagpole move and her lats screamed in protest. Ouch. That hurt. How had she lost her dance fitness so quickly?
If Lottie was here she would have laughed her head off. She swung up on the pole again, determined to get it right.
When the music changed she realized that she had an audience. ‘Sorry,’ she said sheepishly. It wasn’t fair to show off in a beginner’s class.
The teacher clapped her hands. ‘Take five, everyone.’ The other students dispersed, giggling, and the teacher approached Sinead.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to …’
‘Don’t apologize.’ The blonde smiled. ‘I haven’t seen you perform since the club in London. I thought you had a gig with Cirque in Paris?’
Sinead froze. This was the second stranger in two days to recognize her. ‘Um, no. I don’t,’ she mumbled, playing along. What the hell was Cirque?
‘Well, you should. You’re wasted here. Geneva’s so dull.’ The blonde didn’t wait for her response. She scribbled on the back of a card and handed it to her.
Sinead glanced down at the card. Tasha. She definitely didn’t know her. It must be a case of mistaken identity.
‘Tell them I sent you. They’ll have no problem finding you work.’
‘Thanks.’ Sinead smiled politely. ‘I’ll do that.’
The studio door opened and the students filed back into the room.
Niall racked the 265kg squat bar and stepped back, panting. Amazing how a couple of days away from the gym could hurt him. He’d made up for it now, and had the proof in his shaking muscles. But the heavy lifting routine had helped him clear his head. Now that he had a break from Sinead’s heady scent and mesmerizing eyes – where had that thought come from? There was nothing special about her eyes – he could think clearly.
He had to remember that he had two jobs here, and neither of them involved playing knight-errant. Recover the Fire of Autumn for the museum, and make sure Sinead turned up for her court dates and obeyed her bail conditions. She was the one who had got herself into this and he was not here to rescue her.
He was still at a loss to know why someone with so much going for her had stolen the ruby. It didn’t make sense, and anything that didn’t make sense bothered him.
He dashed through his shower, refusing to think about his shower earlier this morning.
Sinead was waiting for him outside, foot tapping while she checked her watch. The librarian was back. She was still dressed casually, in jeans and a baggy T-shirt, but her face was closed off, hair scraped back into a tidy but unattractive bun. She had gone back into her shell again. ‘You took your time,’ she snapped.
‘A guy’s got to moisturize, you know,’ he said.
Her mouth tightened. ‘Not funny.’
‘Look, how about we go for a walk and discuss the situation?’ He wanted to change the subject but he did need to talk to her.
She nodded grudgingly. ‘We’re not far from the lake. We can do the Lake Shore Walk.’
The thirty-one-mile walk that circled the lake was one of the biggest tourist attractions of Geneva but the locals all loved it too, and at this time of year, when summer was over and the city wasn’t yet inundated by skiers, it was relatively peaceful.
Sinead walked along briskly, not looking to see if he was following. Amused, he strolled along, his long legs allowing him to keep up with her. Did she ever slow down, he wondered?
‘So tell me about the night of the theft,’ he said.
She turned her head to look at him, but didn’t slow her pace. ‘There’s nothing to tell. I was at home, having a quiet night in. When I got up the next day the police were camping on my doorstep and I was arrested.’ Her face was calm but there was a slight, betraying wobble in her voice.
‘Do you have an alibi for that night?’
‘Only my paint brush. I was painting over those yucky beige walls in the bathroom.’
Niall had no trouble recalling the pale green walls with a few small shells stencilled on them. At one point this morning, he had focused on one of those shells while the pressure mounted in his balls. He forced his mind back to the business at hand.
‘Did anyone see you?’
She shook her head. ‘I was alone all night. I even drank my coffee black because I was too busy painting to go out for milk.’
‘What was on the radio?’
‘I have no idea. I was listening to music on my iPhone.’
How could someone as intelligent as Sinead have left herself without an alibi? As it stood, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, to back up her claim to have spent the evening at home. She wasn’t stupid. In fact, she was so intelligent he bet that she scared most men away. Why hadn’t she set up an alibi? Why leave herself vulnerable like this?
‘You’re very calm,’ he observed. ‘In your place, I’m sure I’d be sweating bullets.’
She stopped and swung around to face him. The lake behind her wasn’t as blue or as bright as her eyes. ‘Look, I know I didn’t do it. Yes, it would be nice if I’d been in the gym or out with friends who could vouch for me. But I didn’t do it. They have excellent security at the museum. When they examine the evidence properly, they’ll find out it was someone else.’
‘Rheinbach said your fingerprints were found at the scene.’
She made a rude no
ise. ‘I’m the curator. My fingerprints are all over the museum. There isn’t an exhibit there that I haven’t touched at least once. Your fingerprints are all over my apartment now. It doesn’t mean you burgled me.’
‘And he said that people saw you.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s not true. I wasn’t there. Maybe the thief wore my lab coat or something. If they question the witnesses properly, or look at the CCTV footage, they’ll see it wasn’t me. It couldn’t be me, because I wasn’t there.’
The obvious answer was usually the right one, and all the evidence pointed to Sinead as the thief. But her certainty was convincing. Was it possible that she had been framed? If so, he realized, his job of tracking down the missing ruby would be a lot harder. And instead of being free to go chasing it, he was stuck here looking after Sinead O’Sullivan.
She took a breath. ‘Until the police do their job, I’m trying to look at this as an unexpected holiday, a chance to get my apartment fixed up the way I want it. I’m just scared that when it’s all over, my reputation will still be tarnished. “There’s no smoke without fire” is what people will say. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life proving I’m not a thief, not to you or anyone else.’
She didn’t wait for his reply, but turned and marched on.
Bloody ass. Sinead tramped along the path, trying to put distance between them. Did he think she had stolen the Fire? It was too stupid to contemplate.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she fumbled as she pulled it out. She didn’t recognize the number. ‘Hello?’
‘Miss O’Sullivan, this is Gerhardt Arnheim of Arnheim Associates.’
It was the lawyer she had contacted the previous day. Her Uncle Tim had recommended him. Mr Arnheim had sounded none too pleased at being called on a Sunday morning, but as soon as she mentioned Tim’s name he had changed his tune. Now he was all urbane politeness.