by Evie Hunter
‘You’d be robbing me if you looked for more than nine hundred.’
‘For both? Impossible. I have a family to feed.’
Sinead laughed. She knew that his son had his own import business and that his daughter was married to a wealthy oil executive. ‘I’m not in the market for a picture, Maurice. I need some information. I’m sure you’ve heard that the Fire of Autumn has been stolen. Could you –’
He set his cup down carefully. ‘Not even for you. We are talking about dangerous men.’
‘She’s already met them.’
It was the first time that Niall had spoken since they entered the room and Maurice turned his head and gave him a shrewd stare. ‘If you have, then you know what you are dealing with.’
He wasn’t going to help them. ‘Those men think I stole the Fire of Autumn. I have to get it back. Please, Maurice.’
He tapped one pudgy finger on the desk and sighed. ‘You are not the only ones seeking the stone. There are at least two others searching Paris for it.’
‘Who?’ Niall asked.
‘I’ve heard rumours that a certain Russian oligarch and a Chinese businessman are interested but it is also possible that the stone has been offered to the Rheinbach.’
‘What? They want to sell them their own stone back?’
Sinead shook her head. ‘It’s not unusual. The museum will claim on their insurance, but for a lot less than the true value of the stone. What else do you know?’
‘Nothing. There are other rumours of course.’
‘Like?’ Niall didn’t bother to hide the impatience in his voice and Sinead flashed him a look telling him to shut up.
‘Perhaps an auction; I really could not say.’ Maurice shrugged.
Could not or would not? She couldn’t be certain which. It was time to apply a little pressure. Sinead rose from her chair and pretended to examine the contents of one display case containing antique rings.
Maurice followed her. ‘Have you seen anything that catches your eye? I will give you a good price.’ He pointed to an emerald ring. ‘That one came in recently.’
‘I hope you didn’t pay much for it.’ The ring might have had an antique setting, but two of the smaller stones gave the lie. They were machine cut, not cut by hand like the other stones.
‘You are cruel, but correct as usual.’ He turned to Niall. ‘Do you know that they call her the Ice Queen because of her love of stones?’
She hated that nickname. Some men in the business viewed it as a challenge, thinking it referred to her private life and not her passion for jewellery.
‘Ah, I have the most wonderful thing for you. Not diamonds but sapphires – a perfect pair of Sri Lankan stones. Now where did I put them?’
Maurice moved a set of old wooden steps along the floor and climbed them to reach the top shelf. He took a bunch of keys from his belt and opened one drawer. ‘Here.’ He announced with a hint of triumph before descending the steps again.
‘Sit. Sit and try them. They were made for you. They are the same colour as your beautiful eyes.’
Sinead brushed back her hair and allowed Maurice to fix the earrings in place. He handed her a mirror.
He was right. They were perfectly matched and exquisitely beautiful. She couldn’t possibly afford them. Well, Lottie could, but museum curator Sinead O’Sullivan couldn’t. She shook her head regretfully. ‘They’re too expensive.’
‘But you haven’t heard the price yet. Seventy.’
She unclipped one earring. ‘Twenty.’
‘You wouldn’t want to see my children starve. Sixty.’
‘Thirty-eight seven fifty. My final offer and I want to know who’s running the auction for the Fire of Autumn and when it’s taking place.’
Maurice smiled broadly. ‘Done. And may I say it’s always a pleasure doing business with you.’
There was one tiny little problem. She didn’t have a credit card and the police had probably frozen her bank accounts by now. She glanced at Niall. ‘Can you get these for me? I’ll pay you back later.’
She had never noticed the tic on his lower jaw before, but it was jumping madly now.
‘Thousands?’ he croaked.
‘Yes, sir. €38,750. A bargain.’
Niall was still smarting when they left Maurice’s. He’d heard plenty of guys in the Wing complain about women who spent money like water. None of them could hold a candle to Sinead, that was for sure.
‘I’m hungry, can we go for something to eat?’ she asked.
‘As long as you’re prepared to eat table d’hôte. That little visit cost me almost €40,000, on top of your clothes. My credit card is pretty much maxed out.’ He still couldn’t believe how much money he had spent on her in one day.
‘In that case, I’ll have a house salad and glass of water.’
He didn’t believe that demure tone for a moment. There was mischief in her eyes.
‘I think I can run to a meal or two.’
‘Lucky I know a cheap place that does excellent food. We can walk and enjoy the air.’
It was windy, and the clouds were drawing in, making the shadows darker than usual. A few drops of rain fell, threatening more. ‘Enjoying the air?’
She shrugged, for the first time looking uncomfortable. ‘I need to be outside for a while.’
Considering what she had been through, it wasn’t unreasonable. But – ‘Your hair is too noticeable. You’d better wear a hat.’
Hall was under arrest, but no saying how long they would be able to hold him. Niall knew that the bastard was an expert at weaselling through red tape. They stopped at a tourist store and he bought her a dark beret to match her leather jacket.
On her, it looked stylish. But with her hair hidden, there was something familiar about her. He eyed the high-heeled shoes. When he had bought them, he hadn’t realized how high they were. He had been determined to put her in something different. He hadn’t considered strolls along the Seine in shoes that made walking a party trick. Somehow she was coping.
The river was dark and sullen, but she smiled as she walked along. ‘I love Paris. Not just the touristy things like the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, but the river in the rain and the smell of garlic and cologne on the metro and the chatter of people in the markets.’
‘Dublin is my city. Even when I’m living in England, there’s something about Dublin that says home.’ He hadn’t planned to tell her that, it slipped out.
‘Oh look!’ Sinead stopped and leaned over the wall guarding the river. She waved at the bateau bus chugging up the river. A handful of people waved back. She stayed there, leaning a little further as it fought the current on the way to the next stop.
Niall was stunned. That position caused her dress, so respectable when she was standing, to ride up, showing that she was wearing the stockings he had bought her. The flash of thigh at the top of the smoke-grey stocking was mesmerizing. And she had no idea.
He checked around. No one else within range. He allowed himself to enjoy the sight. She shifted again. ‘Careful,’ he called.
She turned to him, mischief in her eyes. ‘Do you think I’m going to fall in?’
He had trouble operating his tongue. Now he could see the tops of both stockings. ‘Be careful.’
‘It’s okay. I know what I’m doing.’
She hadn’t a clue. Despite himself, his cock swelled. Why hadn’t he noticed the purity of her profile before? Because she always wore glasses, he realized.
‘We’d better walk on before it gets dark. Can you see or do you need to hold my arm?’ It took everything he had to make the offer. Moving on would mean that she hid those enticing thighs.
‘I’m just slightly short-sighted, I’m not blind.’ She sounded a little offended, but straightened up and moved to his side. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or disappointed.
They walked along the quay, pointing out sights to each other. Niall wasn’t surprised when she knew about the architecture of the buildings, o
r that she usually had a story to go with them. A half hour walk through Paris with Sinead was an education. He didn’t tell her that his version of the city usually involved catacombs and sewer systems.
‘Who do you remind me of?’ he asked. It was driving him mad, an itch he couldn’t scratch, that feeling that he knew her from somewhere.
She broke off her account of the dispute between Matisse and Picasso. ‘I like to think I’m a unique individual, not a cheap copy of someone else.’ She sounded annoyed and he couldn’t blame her.
She shrugged. ‘It’s probably Summer. We are cousins, after all, and there is a family resemblance.’
The hairs on the back of Niall’s neck stood up. There was a lie somewhere in that. But what?
14
The restaurant Sinead led him to was old and dimly lit. The menu was scribbled on a blackboard, in French. There was no translation and a limited choice. They arrived before the rush and the waiter found them a table. The patron came out and kissed her effusively while exclaiming at her paleness. He looked Niall up and down and sent out a bottle of Cahors that he swore he kept just for her.
Sinead didn’t even bother to read the blackboard. ‘Two of whatever you’re having yourself, Manu.’
‘Steak for me,’ Niall said. ‘They seem to know you?’
Sinead looked around her. ‘It’s one of my favourite places. I come here every time I’m in Paris. Sotheby’s has an office here.’
She sat down, and her skirt rode up again, another flash of thigh, this one even more tantalizing than the last, because it was within touching distance. Niall shoved his hands into his pockets to prevent himself reaching out to see if that skin was as soft as it looked.
Get a grip, man. It’s not as if you haven’t stroked every inch of that skin already. But it was different when they were out in a restaurant and he was looking at the lure of the forbidden. She shifted and the skirt fell back into place. Niall took a breath. He could cope with this.
Their soup arrived, a rich onion soup, fragrant with sherry. Sinead ate with enthusiasm. ‘I had forgotten how good Manu’s cooking is. He used to work in a two-star restaurant, but left to take over his father’s zinc.’
‘Zinc?’
She waved her arm around. ‘This place. His family’s restaurant.’
She stretched out when she had finished her bowl, clearly relaxing. That damned skirt rode up again.
‘Are you enjoying your soup?’ she asked.
‘Hmm?’ He couldn’t drag his attention away from her legs. He should tell her. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. But then she would pull down her skirt. He could see one of her suspenders now. He had picked them out in the shop, thinking they would drive her mad. He had no idea how mad they would drive him.
‘Niall? Are you feeling all right?’
He flushed and jerked his attention back to her face. ‘Yes, fine. Perfect. Amazing.’
‘You seemed a bit distracted.’ She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, the movement somehow as erotic as the stocking top. He didn’t know where to look.
‘I’m wondering how Manu can top that soup.’
She laughed. ‘He’ll manage it.’
The main course was Andouilles et crozets. ‘Peasant fare,’ said Manu. ‘But tasty.’ Garlic and spices wafted off Sinead’s plate. Niall’s steak was cooked to perfection, but he still hungered for a taste of her dinner.
‘Lucky I won’t be kissing anyone tonight,’ Sinead said. ‘This gives you wicked bad breath.’ It couldn’t have been clearer that she was not planning to invite him into her bed tonight.
‘I’ve got garlic on this, so I’m immune.’ It was worth a shot.
‘You won’t be scoring either then.’
Dessert was tarte Tatin served with crème fraiche, crisp and glossy with caramelized apple. He looked at it longingly. Most of the time he was quite happy with meat and vegetables, but this was torture. With the ingrained discipline of years of training, he ignored the temptation.
‘Aren’t you having any?’ Sinead asked.
‘I’m coeliac.’
‘Really? You never said.’ She scooped a bit of the golden apple off the top of her dessert. ‘Have a taste of the apple. It’s gorgeous.’
He shook his head. ‘That would be enough to trigger a reaction.’
‘In that case, I’ll have to eat it all by myself.’ She made a production of putting the spoon into her mouth, closing her eyes in simulated bliss and making purring sounds as she savoured it.
Watching her luscious lips curl around the spoon was setting off a different reaction. But he couldn’t look away. Never had any woman in history spent so long eating a slice of tarte, or enjoyed it so much.
When the plates were cleared, Sinead suggested they move to the counter to have their coffee, and free up the table for the hungry people waiting. Niall was not in the least surprised that so many people were willing to stand in line. This was the sort of meal that food critics raved about.
Even the counter was crowded. Niall snagged the single remaining high stool and helped Sinead up onto it, while he stood beside her. She settled herself, crossed her legs – and her skirt rode up again, revealing the tops of both stockings. Niall began to sweat. He swallowed.
By the time he had control of his tongue again, Sinead was chatting away to the man sitting on the stool beside her. He was dark-haired, with smooth olive skin and a lot to say.
‘I am French, not Canadian,’ he was telling her. ‘I choose to live here. This is a country where you can take your glass of wine outside while you smoke. In Canada, I told my friends about this, and the staff in the bar came running up. “Sir, are you planning to steal one of our glasses?” I said, no, of course not, but they still told me to leave. When I insisted on finishing my drink first, they banned me from that bar. So now I live in France.’
He introduced himself as Daemon and continued to chat, but Niall noticed that his eyes kept dipping. To where Sinead’s stocking tops were clearly on view.
He wasn’t the only one. The bar was crowded, and at least one other couple had noticed. They nudged each other and whispered, but did not speak to her.
Niall positioned himself to shield her from the eyes of the other patrons in the bar.
Sinead was oblivious. She asked questions, exclaimed at what Daemon said, and generally flirted like a professional. And her eyes never once dropped below her waist level.
Why, the little madam! She knew what she was doing. It was a deliberate tease. Niall had to admire the artistry of it, but he would never have expected it from Sinead. She was just full of surprises. He had no intention of letting her get away with it.
His inner Dom, usually buried beneath layers of ironclad control, rose to the surface. He leaned over and whispered into her ear. ‘Pull your skirt up another inch.’
She froze. For endless seconds, she didn’t even breathe. Niall held his own breath, wondering what she would do. An eternity passed while their little corner of the café was locked in stillness. Without turning her head or acknowledging his order in any way, she moved, crossing her legs so that her skirt rose an inch higher.
Yes! She had obeyed. He had given her an order and she had submitted to it. His cock rose, rock hard. He moved behind her so that it wasn’t visible. Sinead continued to tease Daemon about his Canadian roots and resolutely ignored the inch of pale thigh. Niall managed to join in, asking the odd semi-intelligent question about the weather in Toronto.
Manu refilled their wine glasses, reminiscing about the last time Sinead had eaten there, along with a bunch of friends. He was not in a position to see her display. She cut across him at one point, changing the direction of the conversation.
‘Pull it up another inch,’ Niall told her.
This time, she obeyed at once. Now her skirt was so high that he caught a flash of her rose-pink panties. There was a muted buzz in the atmosphere as the table opposite them noticed Sinead’s display. Niall moved so that he blocked their star
es.
Daemon looked from Niall to Sinead and back again, aware of something in the atmosphere. ‘Say, what is it with you two? Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?’
‘No!’ They answered in unison.
‘There’s something between you.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Sinead told him. ‘He’s a business associate of mine.’
Nettled, Niall leaned down and murmured into her ear. ‘Go to the Ladies room, take off your panties and give them to me.’
She turned shocked eyes to his. He held her gaze, silently commanding her to obey his order. He didn’t repeat himself, just waited.
‘Nature calls,’ Sinead told Daemon. She placed her glass on the bar. ‘Back in a couple of minutes.’ She slid down from her stool and disappeared into the back of the café.
The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. The minutes dragged on. Sweat dripped down his back, cold against his hot skin. He had almost forgotten how to breathe when she came back, smiling and cheerful, weaving her way in between the crowded tables as she returned to the bar. She apologized for taking so long, and as she climbed back onto her stool, she pressed something into Niall’s hand. He opened it barely enough to catch a glimpse of rose-pink.
She had done it. His Dom roared in triumph. Sinead had submitted to him, obeying his orders, and was now naked beneath her dress. Only the two of them knew, and the knowledge made his cock swell.
The panties in his hand were damp.
He couldn’t resist running his hand down her back, caressing it gently. ‘Good girl.’ She shifted subtly, moving into his touch. He dropped his hand lower, below her waist. He could feel the curve of her buttocks, unobstructed by panties. He dipped his fingers inwards, pressing into her warmth.
‘Mmm,’ she said. Her skirt was rising up again.
‘What’s that?’ asked Daemon.
‘Oh, nothing. I’m getting a little tired. Perhaps it’s time to go home.’
Niall couldn’t agree more. He had a raging hard-on and needed to do something about it. He had to get Sinead to himself. He needed to get his hands on her.