She tasted like fire, hot, tempting, tantalizing, and oh, so dangerous. When she stroked her tongue over his, as she stretched up and let out what sounded like a restrained growl, his entire body tightened and he hauled her into his arms. There was nothing timid or shy about this woman, not the way she looked, not the way she looked at him, and not in the way she kissed, and for a moment he knew this was where he belonged.
The thought burst through his dulled senses like a razor, cutting through the fog. He lifted his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut for the briefest of moments as he caught his breath.
“Well.” Laurel’s strangled voice managed to boost his ego a good notch and as he looked down at her. “That was not a good idea.” He felt her hands tremble slightly as she pushed against his chest, but he held on, flattening his hands against the base of her spine. “Not a good idea at all.”
“Agreed.” The last thing he needed was Laurel Scott in his bed. But right now, that was the only place he wanted her. “But I think we can also agree we need each other.”
She arched a skeptical brow at him.
“Where the crown is concerned,” he added. “Let’s start with dinner tonight. Some more conversation. Just to make sure we’re on the same page. I’ll pick you up at your hotel. Or the museum, whichever you prefer. Seven o’clock.”
She frowned. “You want to take me to dinner?”
He lifted his other hand and brushed it against her cheek, felt a rush of pleasure as her cheeks flooded with color. “For a start.” And because he could, he brushed his lips against hers again. Brief, but enough to make her eyes cloud and his own mind fog again. Interesting. He released her before he was tempted to take more than he should. “Your hotel?”
She nodded.
“Excellent. And do me a favor?” He glanced down at her shoes. “Wear flats?”
A new level of distrust deepened her gaze. “Why?”
He grinned. “Because I asked you to.”
Chapter Seven
Laurel didn’t breathe easy until she was back in her hotel room, leaning against the closed door, a hand pressed against her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been taken so off guard. One second they’d been arguing and the next . . . and the next. Laurel’s breath hitched in her chest. Lord, but kissing like that should be illegal.
But . . . she’d gotten what she’d gone for. He’d bought it. She was in.
She should feel relieved, back in control, but instead she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d swallowed a mouthful of stones.
She’d realized the instant she’d walked into his office he’d see through her plans to flirt her way into his inner circle. Somehow the more she tried to control the conversation, the less she had. Why did she find it so hard to lie to him or keep up any pretense? The question had presented an answer. Obviously she needed to change tactics and stay as close to the truth as possible. Add money into any equation and people tended to believe you, so using the recovery fee hadn’t been untrue. She did need the money. After that, the meeting smoothed out. Obviously she’ d have to proceed with caution as her real—or almost real—self from here on, but the ground would be more solid now.
She dug her fingers into her hair and bent double as she groaned. Jesus, she was in trouble.
Ten minutes later she was in even bigger trouble. Standing in front of her closet in her bra and panties, she couldn’t for the life of her decide what to wear to dinner. Dinner . . .
“Oh, no!” She raced over to her laptop and logged in, calling Joey as she pulled on a T-shirt. When Poppy answered, guilt dropped her into her chair. “I missed her, didn’t I?”
“You did, but she’s fine.” Kind amber eyes radiated in the aged face that had been her one constant over the years. “You worry too much, kiddo. You don’t have to eat dinner with her every night.”
Yes, she did. Because she’d promised. Because it was the only thing she looked forward to. “I’m going out tonight, actually.” Laurel managed a weak smile. “It’s a work thing.”
“That’s a shame,” Poppy teased and took Joey’s usual spot. “Joey is sending you a care package tomorrow. Some of her drawings. You’re still at the Empire in Lantano Valley?”
“For a while still,” Laurel said and tucked her feet under her. Maybe now was the time to drop some hints about the trouble she was in. “Poppy, I know you haven’t asked—”
“And I won’t.” Poppy’s face went stone still. “You’ll tell me what you need to when you need to. Just let me know when we need to leave.”
Her stomach pitched. “You knew?”
“I’ve known ever since you showed up on my doorstep with the little one something was on your heels. It’s about to catch up with you, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.” But not if her fledging plan to use whatever Alastair had on the Tremaynes to her advantage worked. “I’m being careful, but it’s tricky. It . . .” Laurel struggled for the right words. “It might not be a bad idea to keep an eye out. You know, be extra cautious. Maybe drive Joey around instead of walking anywhere?”
“Okay.” Poppy nodded. “I won’t bring a gun in the house.”
“I wouldn’t want you to.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. At least she hoped not. Alastair had never threatened Poppy or Joey that she knew of, but the closer they got to the end of their “business arrangement,” Laurel couldn’t help but worry that her daughter wasn’t as safe as she had hoped. “Just be careful. I love you. Kiss Joey for me?”
“And Burt?” Poppy winked, but she could see she’d instilled some caution in him.
“Of course Burt.” Laurel chuckled. “I need to finish getting ready. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“If you don’t, don’t worry. She has plenty to keep her busy. Take care of yourself, okay? I love you, kiddo.”
He clicked off and Laurel pressed her fingertips against the screen. All this time she thought she’d hidden things so well. She must really be slipping if both Poppy and Nathan could see through her. Nathan. Maybe it was time to let go and see where things took her. Who knew what information she’d be able to impart to Alastair if Nathan thought she’d let her guard down.
Laurel sighed. Or maybe it was time to stop procrastinating and get dressed.
If only the little fuchsia jersey dress calling to her came with a force field. Anytime she was in Nathan’s vicinity, whatever plan she had went straight to hell.
Maybe that was her problem. She was thinking too much. Anticipating too much.
One thing was for certain, she couldn’t let Nathan Tremayne get any further under her skin than he already was. That would only spell disaster for everyone involved.
“Gah!” She was thinking herself in circles. Laurel Scott was in control. Tonight, tomorrow. Always.
She yanked the fuchsia dress off the hanger and shimmied into it, all the while muttering to herself over the muted din of the TV and its nightly monotonous news. She’d given up any hope of hearing any news story about Jackson Tremayne’s visit to the police station. The story had burned out before it hit the wires and had moved past the point of anyone caring.
Six forty-five. She had a few minutes to spare, although the way the side zipper of the dress was fighting her, she was probably going to be late. “Please zip, please zip,” she prayed to the fashion gods. “I swear, zip tonight and I’ll eat salad the rest of the week. Ah.” She tugged one more time, half afraid she’d hear the sound of feminine nightmares—the ripped seam. “Thank you,” she breathed, wishing she’d rolled herself into the Spanx that mocked her from their dedicated hook in the closet. “Wear flats he said.” She stared at the lineup of shoes that looked like a chorus line on Broadway. The only flats she had were her running shoes and a pair of black ballet flats she kept for emergency dashes to the vending machine. “Sorry, Nathan.” She plucked up the black Chinese Laundry open-toe booties and s
lipped them on, the platform height kicking her confidence back into the normal range. Okay. She let out a stiff breath. She could do this.
She’d recognized the look on his face back in his office. If she’d let him, that kiss could have taken them both to places they shouldn’t go, though not one they’d soon forget. Dangerous territory, that. Not that she didn’t find the prospect of bedding Nathan Tremayne more than intriguing. Given the sparks she felt between them, they’d be lucky not to set the sheets on fire.
Nathan was waiting for her in the lobby when she stepped off the elevator. The dark suit, black shirt, and black tie struck her as European chic, the edges of his almost-too-long dusty blond hair brushing against his collar. Lounging against the wall on the opposite side of the lobby, he watched her walk toward him, his gaze briefly dropping to her feet before returning to hers as if to say, “really?”
“Confession time,” she said as way of greeting him. “I don’t own any flats.”
He grinned, exposing perfect white teeth. “I was testing you.”
“Let me guess. I passed.”
“With flying colors.” He held out his hand, his expression unreadable as she quickly debated. “But I hope you’re up for a walk. The restaurant’s about five blocks from here.”
“That’s nothing. I once walked two miles in downtown Manhattan in these puppies because it was faster than a cab.” She looked down at his hand, embracing the moment. “One thing before we go?”
“Sure.”
She moved in, pressed her hand flat on his chest to push him back against the wall and kissed him. Her fingers curled into the lapel of his jacket as she teased his lips open, found his tongue ready to tangle with hers. She felt his hand come up and brush against her hip, but he didn’t grab hold, didn’t do anything but kiss her back, and when she was done, when she was satisfied with the result and convinced they understood each other, she leaned back and took inordinate pleasure in watching his eyelids lift and that wicked grin creep across his mouth. “That should do it.” She slipped her hand down his arm and took his hand. “Let’s go.”
***
Nathan’s first revelation of the evening was also the most disturbing: if Laurel Scott wanted him to rob Fort Knox, all she had to do was kiss him.
Waiting for her in the lobby, he’d wondered if the irritating seductress would make an appearance, or would the frustrated, jumbled woman who left his office be joining him?
Apparently bachelorette number three decided to show up, because this Laurel was an intoxicating combination of the two. She must have given herself a serious talking-to. Either that or she’d reexamined her priorities and decided whatever she wanted from him was worth the price he’d ask her to pay. Dangling cash in front of her was something he could keep in his back pocket—as a test if for no other reason. In the meantime, it was time to start pushing for the information—and access—he needed.
“So what’s this place we’re going to called?” she asked.
“Rico’s. My sister Sheila and her husband discovered it a few days ago. I hope you like Mexican.”
“I’ve been living on Italian ever since I got here. Sounds great.”
“J & J Markets?” Nathan remembered Theresa and Daniel Juliano had recently expanded their downtown location—not too far from the Empire Hotel. At her nod, he chuckled. “A Lantano Valley institution. And family, since my sister Morgan’s engaged to their oldest son.”
“Does everyone in this town know each other?” It was as if the thought of intermingled extended families confused her. Adding that question to her comments about loneliness and relationships helped him fill in some blank spots.
“Let’s just say I’m sure your arrival in Lantano Valley hasn’t gone unnoticed by the majority of residents.” He let go of her hand to step around to the other side to walk closest to the street, hiding his pleased reaction when she retook his other hand. “So you’ve lived in New York, Sacramento, and where else?”
“We’ve ventured into the getting-to-know-you part of the evening already, then?” She ducked her head for a moment. “Chicago, Dallas, I spent an excruciating three weeks in Florida one summer. Kill me now, by the way.” She fanned herself with her free hand. “That humidity is murder. And up until last week I was hanging out at the Beverly Wilshire in Los Angeles after a glorious two months in Paris.”
“Hollywood, huh?”
“Hollywood, ugh.” She cringed. “Definitely not my favorite scene, but a necessary evil when the company you work for has more invested in jewelry than anything else.”
“Like the Crown of Serpia.” Lest he forget why he was here.
“I wouldn’t call the crown jewelry.”
“What would you call it?”
“Gone. Thanks to your father, remember?”
It took more effort than expected not to rise to her verbal bait. “I’ve done a bit of research,” he said instead. “I read the crown was made for a Princess Kasha who died under mysterious circumstances.”
“She wasn’t the only one.” Laurel smirked. “The history is fascinating, though, especially for that region of North Africa. The crown is believed to have been responsible for her death back in the late thirteen hundreds. Thirteen ninety-seven, if memory serves. There’s a fissure in the base that some believe contained an early spring mechanism that could have housed a small needle. Conspiracy theorists believe she was poisoned when a needle punctured her scalp.”
“Charming.” Did this crown come with some kind of curse? “Why kill her?”
“An eighteen-year-old woman in line to succeed her father, King Aranthanan, who managed to conquer a good portion of the eastern continent? I can’t imagine why anyone would want her dead.”
“Fair warning. Sarcasm is only going to make me like you more.”
“It takes a certain type of man to appreciate sarcasm.”
“I grew up with two experts in the language.” Nathan nudged her around the corner toward the covered patio across the street. The hand-painted white sign announcing Rico’s was outlined with tiny lights, the soft music emanating from within just loud enough to be heard without threatening conversation. “Hi. We have reservations. Tremayne.”
“Of course, Mr. Tremayne.” The young woman in crisp black slacks and pristine white shirt, a sparkling white apron tied around her ample waist, greeted them with a warm smile from behind a narrow podium. “Welcome to Rico’s. Would you and your guest prefer inside or the patio?”
Nathan glanced at Laurel. “The patio sounds nice,” she said.
“Patio, please.” Once seated, they ordered margaritas. “Looks like Sheila was right.”
“It’s really lovely.” Laurel set her purse on the ground and shrugged out of her jacket. “I’ve been very surprised about this town. It’s different than I expected.”
“As evidenced by our conversation the other morning,” he said. “Thank you,” he said to their waiter who brought them their menus. “Before we get any further into this evening, I think it’s time we put our cards on the table.”
“A poker man. Why am I not surprised.” Laurel folded her hands on top of her menu and leaned forward, her expression locked behind tempting brown eyes. He hadn’t noticed the flecks of gold before, like tiny stars exploding in their depths. “I have to warn you,” she whispered. “I play a mean game of Texas Hold’em.”
Nathan cleared his throat. Given what happened whenever the two of them kissed, he could only imagine the fun they could have with a deck of cards. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. We should be working together.”
“More than we already are?”
“I need to find the crown to prove my father innocent once and for all. You need to find it to collect your fee. We each have our own contacts, our own methods of investigating. Why not join forces? It’s a win-win. I don’t see a downside.” But he could sure as hel
l see a number of upsides.
“The downside is I’m not sure if I can sell you coming on board to my employers. We have plenty of reasons not to think your father is innocent.” She held up a hand and ticked off her fingers. “One, we have your father on tape outside the museum at the time of the robbery. Just because he didn’t physically steal the crown that night doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved. Two, there are your father’s prints on the display case. Three, it’s well-known he has an affinity for rare antiquities.”
If only he could say his father wasn’t a thief and mean it. Instead, he chose his words carefully. “One, by now you know they found footage of my father visiting that exhibit half a dozen times since it opened. He was at the art gallery earlier that evening. A stroll around downtown Lantano Valley isn’t out of the question.”
“A stroll that happened to take him around to the loading dock? Really?”
Okay, yeah, that sounded bad even to him. “Two, there was one print. How does someone leave one print on a display case?”
“Maybe he had a hole in his glove. Or he left it at another time.”
“He’d have to have left it years ago considering the scar he has now. Someone planted it,” Nathan argued. “I can hear it in your voice. Laurel. You know something’s strange here. Otherwise you’d be pushing to press charges instead of thinking about working with me.”
She dropped her hand onto the table. “You have no idea what I’m thinking.”
Maybe. “I’ll tell you what. You let me in to that exhibit room and if I can figure out how the thief—”
“Your father.”
“How the thief or thieves got the crown out of the museum”—how he wished he had some glass under his shoe to crush to deal with his frustration—“then you agree to work with me.” Maybe then he could find a way to broach the subject of Nemesis without sounding suspicious.
Trouble with Nathan Page 9