He eased his arms around her until he had her pinned against a table, his movements slow but unapologetic.
Also incredibly ballsy. He had to know it was a dangerous move, but he did it anyway.
That longing pull between her thighs went deeper.
“Is your father here?” he asked.
“That’s a terrible question to ask while you think you have me trapped. I laid you out once. I’ll do it again.”
He smiled. Not a smirk, no hard edges, but an honest, warm, borderline self-deprecating smile. “If I’d known about your moves last year, we would’ve spent more time in bed.”
An unbidden image of Max beneath her, naked and completely at her mercy, made her feminine parts ache harder. “You’re not helping matters.”
“Neither are you.”
“I’m the daughter of a jewel thief and a heartbreaker. I never help matters.”
“You don’t have to let yourself be defined by your family.”
Her breath caught.
“You told me that yourself last year, Merry. Why would that be true for me but not for you? Are you in the family business? Do you want to be? Or are you something else entirely?”
He was so close, she could feel the sound waves from his words vibrating against her skin. And he was saying all the right things.
You have worth, Merry. Don’t let them fence you in. Believe in yourself. I believe in you.
He was seductive.
Intuitive.
Intoxicating.
Max Gregory could’ve been a con artist in his own right.
She slid her hands up his hard chest, ready to push him away. She wouldn’t have to push hard. He’d move. She knew it as well as she knew her own name.
“What are you here for, Merry?” he said again.
“You’ll just have to trust me.”
“I trusted the woman I knew. But I don’t know if you’re her.”
“No one stays the same. Life happens, and we change.”
“That sounds remarkably like the woman who told me family doesn’t define us.”
“That woman was an idealistic idiot.”
“That woman is an intriguing puzzle, and I have half a mind to figure her out.”
His heart beat strong and steady under her palm. His eyes wavered from her eyes to her lips, and his breath came quicker.
She wanted to be the daughter of a salesclerk and a teacher, and she wanted him to be the boy next door. She wanted to tell him to give his dog a hug for her and to ask how his grandparents were doing. She wanted to curl her fingers into the soft, warm cotton of his shirt, to lose herself in his clean soap scent, to taste his lips, to entice him to kiss her back.
She wanted to tell him she had a fake Mrs. Claus diamond stashed in a safe location in Toluca.
But she couldn’t control what he’d do with the information.
If he knew there was evidence that Daddy was planning to rob his store, he’d get the cops involved. Mom’s wedding week would turn into an endless stream of police interviews. The wedding would get canceled, and Merry would miss her flight out of the country on Sunday.
But if she stuck with her original plan—retrieve the ring and mail it to Max on Saturday—then she’d have done what she needed to do. The real ring would be safe, because Daddy wouldn’t ever have a chance to get his hands on the fake before she alerted Max to the danger. Mom would be on her honeymoon before the cops got involved. Merry would be in France. And Daddy could take a flying leap for putting Merry in this position.
Max was watching her, looming over her, holding her captive with his steady, questioning, demanding gaze.
“I’m not a convenient distraction for whatever your problems are,” she said. “Leave, Max. For both our sakes.”
“You can trust me, Merry.”
If only. “Why would I trust you when I don’t even trust myself?”
“Obviously because we agree I’m the trustworthy one in the room.”
She shoved at his chest, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you for being an ass. That’ll make it easier for me to make you leave.”
“I’m going.” He held his hands up. “But make no mistake. If my family’s shop is robbed, we’ll prosecute to the full extent of the law.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “I’d expect nothing less.”
His jaw tightened again, and he gave an exasperated head shake. “I don’t know what you’re planning, or why, but I can’t help you if you don’t trust me.”
“Why would you help me?”
“I missed you.”
She pursed her lips and looked down. She’d find another Max one day. A man who intrigued her and inspired her and maybe even loved her. She’d be halfway around the world, living as Amber Finch, and she wouldn’t have to worry about her father disrupting her life.
Until then, she’d live with her regrets and try not to make them worse.
Max heaved an audible sigh. Then suddenly his hand was cradling her head, and his lips lingered below her ear. “I’m glad you were okay, Merry.” He pressed a hot kiss to her neck, then wrenched away and strode to the door, leaving her feeling as though he’d branded her skin, her heart, and her soul.
The door clicked shut behind him, and Merry’s breath all whooshed out of her. “Dammit, Daddy.”
This was the last time, she vowed.
This was the last time he’d ruin anything of hers.
Chapter 4
Phoebe Moon crept through the dank, musty underground cavern. This was where diabolical Uncle Sandy had stashed the world’s sound. She could feel it in her tiny bones.
—Phoebe Moon and the Stolen Sound
* * *
One year ago…
Merry loved bookstores, but this particular September afternoon she was well outside her comfort zone.
Because this particular afternoon, reclusive horror novelist Spencer McGraw was here in her Chicago neighborhood on a book tour.
And today, she wanted to sit in the crowd and absorb the vibes. To imagine herself as the reclusive Amber Finch coming out of her private life on a publisher-sponsored thirty-city tour.
As if she wouldn’t hire a stunt double should Amber Finch’s presence ever be requested for an in-person event.
But still, here she was, sitting in the small coffee shop inside the bookstore, pretending to read, earbuds in her ears while she tried to shift away from a scruffy blond guy with a runner’s build, a fake tan, board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, who was inching closer and closer into her personal space.
She fought the urge to check her pocket for her cash, phone, and ID while she leaned as far as she could to her other side, but a lone, dark-haired, linebacker-looking guy was too close there, reading a car magazine.
“Well, now, what’s a pretty thing like you doing at a signing like this?” Surfer Dude said.
Merry started. Glanced around. Was he talking to her?
“A favor for my grandfather,” a resonant male voice on her other side answered.
Surfer Dude’s lip curled, and she swallowed a surprised laugh.
“I was talking to the lady,” he said to Linebacker Guy.
“Ah, she’s a lady now,” Linebacker Guy said. He didn’t look at her, but she was intrigued by the way she couldn’t tell what color his eyes were.
Phoebe Moon was too. Oooh, Merry, they’re gonna fight over you.
Tall, Dark, and Handsome gave Surfer Dude an unfriendly smile. “Where I come from, the ladies are more than just pretty little things.”
“Where I come from, the chicks speak for themselves,” Surfer Dude replied. “This guy bothering you, honey?”
Oh, swoon, Merry! Phoebe Moon said. You haven’t had a date in two years, and they’re both gorgeous.
Merry pulled her earbuds from her ears. “Could you two keep it down? You’re bothering Spike.”
Both men peered at her feet, as though looking for a dog or a pet hamster or a stroller.
“Spi
ke?” Linebacker Guy said.
She smiled at him. “My pet dragon? He’s very uncomfortable with strangers.” She made a show of stroking the air next to her. “It’s okay, Spike. Spencer will be here soon, and we’ll talk to him about you starring in his next novel, okay?”
Surfer Dude’s left eye squinted, and he angled away. “Yeah. Just remembered. I need to go get a book. You, ah…yeah.”
But Linebacker Guy’s brilliant blue-green eyes seemed to see right through her. The corners of his lips hitched up, and a rare bout of hormones and lust combined to twirl in her belly. He eyed the air where her imaginary pet dragon Spike was hanging out. “Sure it’s a good idea to bring a dragon somewhere with this much flammable material?”
“He’s had a firebox-ectomy.” She frowned at him. “I’m not one of those irresponsible dragon owners.”
Can I have a real dragon? Phoebe Moon asked.
No, Merry said sternly.
But what if dastardly Uncle Sandy wants to steal a dinosaur egg. I’d need something bigger than a dinosaur to—
“Enjoy your book,” Linebacker Guy said. That secret smile lingered while he turned his attention back to his muscle car magazine.
Merry’s belly was still twirling.
Men weren’t in her future—ever—so she lifted her book, put her earbuds back in, and continued to watch the crowd.
Linebacker Guy eventually finished his magazine and wandered away. No more men made passes at her. But the twirling in her belly turned to Pop Rocks skittering through her gut the closer it got to the reading.
She rose from her spot at the coffee shop to linger with a clear view of the stage and table where Spencer McGraw would be. Surfer Dude was across the store, chatting with two blondes.
Linebacker Guy was nowhere in sight.
And Spencer McGraw walked right past her.
Not that she noticed.
Neither did any of the close to three hundred other people crammed into the bookstore with her.
Because he looked like a hobo.
A well-dressed, nice-smelling hobo—which should’ve been a clue—but a hobo nonetheless.
His straggly, straw-colored hair covered his ears. His beard was months past needing a trim. Massive dark sunglasses covered his eyes, and his gait was so stiff, she wondered if he wore leg braces under his designer jeans.
That man is bloody brilliant, Phoebe Moon declared.
Don’t say bloody, Merry silently replied.
But she agreed wholeheartedly with the thirteen-year-old protagonist in her head.
Spencer McGraw hadn’t been photographed in public since he was twenty-six years old. He was pushing forty now. He could walk into the bathroom, trim his hair, shave, change—including pulling off leg braces?—and walk back out, and no one would know it was him.
Merry’s heart sank.
She couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t pull off a book tour and keep her anonymity. Not like Spencer McGraw could.
“If that man’s really Spencer McGraw, I’ll eat your imaginary dragon,” a voice murmured beside her.
Linebacker Guy was back.
She subconsciously leaned closer to him. “My imaginary dragon doesn’t like being eaten,” she whispered.
He grinned, flashing a row of straight pearly whites. “So few do.”
Before the table laden with copies of McGraw’s books, the manager introduced the man of the hour, listing his accomplishments—The New York Times list, the Bram Stoker Awards, the starred reviews and praise from all the major literary magazines, the People Magazine Man of the Year designation, and the list went on.
McGraw didn’t smile.
And Merry realized she couldn’t do what she’d come here to do today either.
She couldn’t ask this intimidating, anonymous man to sign a book to Amber Finch. Might as well just leave. She wasn’t big on reading horror—she’d felt terror enough times in her life—and Phoebe Moon was openly speculating about whether or not Spencer McGraw drew his inspiration from eating people, or if he just looked like that for fun.
“Bet he’s got a whole cave full of imaginary dragons who haven’t had firebox-ectomies,” Linebacker Guy said.
Merry’s lips twitched upward. “He has enough money to buy them claw enhancements too.”
“Gramps isn’t going to believe this.”
“The dragons or the man?”
“He’d believe the dragons.”
The room burst into applause as the manager finished listing all of McGraw’s accomplishments.
Still, the man didn’t smile. He gave a single nod, then moved stiffly to take his place behind the table stacked with his books.
Sheesh.
And people were afraid of Daddy.
Daddy smiled. Just last month, he’d stopped by for a visit. An uneventful visit, thank goodness—Missed my girl. How about some chess?—and he and Merry had spent a few hours playing board games, talking about his latest legitimate job selling used cars in a little town in northern Illinois, about Mom’s most recent divorce, about the summer’s blockbuster movie and if it had been better or worse than the book.
She once again hadn’t told him she’d quit her online medical billing job because she was writing books that were making her enough money to support herself.
But she’d noticed he was getting older. His distinguished, deep gray hair was threaded with white, the lines around his eyes deeper and crinklier, his bones creakier.
Maybe, she thought, he was getting too old for pulling heists.
Maybe, she thought, he’d finally found his honest calling in selling used cars.
Maybe, she thought, his last jewel heist was behind him.
To the best of her knowledge, he hadn’t robbed anyone in at least a year. Maybe two. When Daddy left her apartment, he got straight in his car and drove away. He didn’t linger. Nor did he come back.
She knew, because she’d watched.
He didn’t have any more tells that suggested he was hanging around for any reason other than to see his daughter.
Because he loved her.
And he knew how badly she’d been rattled by his jobs in the past.
Maybe, she thought, she truly could be settled.
Maybe, she thought, she could consider her own future.
Linebacker guy leaned into her. “Don’t suppose you want to get this book signed for me? That guy’s scary as hell.”
She blinked back at him, then down at his stack of books.
He had a copy of Phoebe Moon and the Sneeze Snatcher right on top of his muscle car magazine.
Her lips parted, her eyes bugged, and her pulse surged. “Yeah, I can see where you’re having trouble.” How she kept her voice steady, she’d never know.
He looked down too, and he laughed. It was rich and deep and intoxicating, with a hint of self-deprecation mixed in. “Ah, that. It’s for my niece.” An honest smile lingered on his full lips, giving an extra oomph to the effect of his square jaw and thick dark hair. “My sister-in-law gave me an hour-long lecture about girls yesterday when I told Olivia she was wearing a pretty dress.” He tugged his ear. “Guess her point stuck, because I spent about thirty minutes trying to find the right smart-girl book.”
Merry, he has family, Phoebe Moon squealed. You’ve always wanted a family. And he thinks I’m smart!
She had to duck her head and swallow hard, adding in a few blinks for good measure. “I hope she likes it.”
If he noticed the way her tongue choked on the words, he didn’t comment. “Me too,” he said, and she could hear a warm smile in his voice.
Tell him, Merry! Phoebe Moon crowed. Tell him you wrote it.
She could. She could say it right now.
But she’d never said it before. Asking Spencer McGraw to sign a book to Amber Finch was far different from telling this man who held a copy of her book in his hands. Spencer McGraw probably had no clue Amber Finch was a fellow author. Their books were universes apart. But thi
s man—telling him would be like offering him a part of her soul.
The staff at the bookstore was organizing people into rows based on their numbers. Merry checked the wristband she’d been given when she’d arrived for the signing. Ninety-seven.
It would be a while.
Or perhaps she’d simply sneak out. Away from the creepy Spencer McGraw and away from this handsome man with a soft spot for his niece.
“Huh,” Linebacker Guy said. He held out his wristband. Number ninety-eight. “Looks like we’re stuck together for the next few hours. I’m Max, by the way.”
Say it! Phoebe Moon said again. Tell him you’re Amber Finch.
Not a chance.
But maybe she could stay for a few more minutes. It wasn’t like talking to a guy meant she had to marry him. Or confess any of her secrets.
She stuck her hand out. “Merry. And you’ve met Spike, of course.”
Max laughed again, Phoebe Moon swooned again, and Merry—well.
Merry decided that a couple of hours of firsthand research into what Mom found so enticing in men that she kept marrying them couldn’t hurt.
Because Daddy was getting older.
Wiser, perhaps.
And for the first time in years, she was intrigued by something other than a plot twist.
* * *
Max stepped out of the bookstore, shaking his head at how a fun two hours chatting with an odd but intriguing woman had been ruined by a severe case of the creeps.
He’d met Spencer McGraw once before, when the man had come to With This Ring to pick up the Mrs. Claus diamond, but that man had been far different from the eerie dude signing books today. And now, Max had a ninety-minute drive ahead of him and no funny ladies with imaginary dragons to take his mind off McGraw.
Except—wait. “Merry!” he called.
The raven-haired woman cast a quick glance back at him. Her eyes—like double-chocolate mocha spiced with surprise, wariness, and amusement—scanned him quickly while she shifted until she was facing him, holding her bag of books in front of her. “Hi,” she said hesitantly, as though they hadn’t spent the last two hours talking.
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