Love Unlocked

by Libby Waterford

  There was a pause. He had a bad feeling about whatever was happening on the other end of that phone call.

  He managed to make their exit as Eve started talking again.

  “John, stay safe, you promise me? I’ll take care of everything. You do your part, I’ll do mine. I promise.”

  Even though she had ceased navigating, there were signs directing him to their hotel, so he followed them. Anxiety permeated the sports car’s tiny cabin.

  Eve’s cool voice returned. “I understand. Be there and I’ll bring the painting.”

  She held the phone away from her ear, frozen in silence as they drove. The pink towers of their destination appeared over a grove of palm trees. Montecito’s Mediterranean climate didn’t disappoint at a perfect 72 degrees with a sky as bright a blue as his eyes could handle. Eve was rigid in her seat, oblivious to their surroundings. He was scared for her; he wanted to be able to take all of this badness away and replace it with beauty, light, to keep a smile on her face always, to protect her from the evil people she’d dealt with in the past.

  As they glided to a stop at the valet stand in front of the hotel, the spell seemed broken and she unfroze, swearing violently and startling a poor valet who looked about twelve years old. She threw open the door to her car, grabbed her purse and phone, and waited impatiently for Hudson to turn over the keys.

  He pulled her in close as they approached the lobby. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

  “Deacon has John.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s got him. Locked up. Holding him as insurance to make sure I get the painting.”

  “Fuck.”

  “The man is insane, Hudson. John tried to sound calm on the phone, Deacon let me talk to him, at least, but I could tell he was scared. Who knows what Deacon might do, even if I can get the painting? This is all my fault.”

  “Hey, John’s going to be fine. You have a job to do, and I’m going to help you do it.”

  “This makes things more complicated. John was going to be my driver when we go back for the painting tonight.”

  “Then let me take over for John. We can get Deacon what he wants and then it will be over.”

  “You would do that?”

  “Eve, you don’t always have to do everything alone.”

  She didn’t answer, but pasted what Hudson knew was her fake society smile on her face to greet the concierge.

  They were silent on the way to their room. A king-sized bed was the main feature of the beautifully appointed one-bedroom suite. Hudson hadn’t exactly envisioned the sleeping arrangements. The only agreement in place was the no-sex rule, but the invisible rope that had bound them together since they met was growing shorter by the hour.

  Even with the danger they faced, and his ambivalence about what it all meant, he’d still existed in a state of semi-arousal all day, the throb of the car’s engine stoking his need for the woman who always seemed out of reach. Everything about her made him regress to a caveman version of himself where things like propriety and decorum went out the window and were replaced by the intense need to claim, to devour, to mate with the object of his desire. Eve. She was the first woman who’d reached him on so many levels. She made him look at things a different way, stoked his creativity. She made him laugh. She was a goddess to look at, a dream to touch. He felt protective of her in a way that was both selfless and selfish. He needed her in his life, even after their brief acquaintance. He would not feel complete until he could claim her on the most intimate of levels, until he knew what it looked like and felt like and tasted like when he was buried inside her and she was climaxing beneath him.

  The damn bed seemed to mock him and his futile thoughts.

  Eve plopped down her suitcase. “I’m going to freshen up.” She sailed into the bathroom.

  His fantasy came to life when she emerged a few minutes later, clad in a short wine-colored robe that showed off her slender legs and accentuated the curves of her glorious breasts.

  “Hudson.” Her voice held a hesitancy that her body seemed not to share. “Would you…be with me?”

  Eve was this close to a meltdown. Her emotions had taken more abuse in the last week than in the entire decade before that, and it hadn’t exactly been an easy ten years.

  The news about John had been the final hit. Why did everyone she love seem to come to harm because of her? The pattern was repeating itself with Hudson. He was a good man, an honest one, and she was turning him into an accomplice to a crime he must abhor, putting him in Deacon’s path, when that was the last thing she wished for him. But it had been impossible to stay away from him, to keep him out of her life. She was falling for him, and she needed him with her more than she needed to know he was safe. She’d always been selfish, and it seemed she couldn’t stop.

  So when they’d arrived at the room, she’d reached a decision. Why put off what they were both aching to do? They might not get another chance, and she craved the oblivion that giving in to her desires would bring.

  She had a moment of self-doubt. He still wanted her, didn’t he? She could pretend to be the cool sophisticate, but she didn’t want to be that person with Hudson anymore.

  So when she asked, “Would you…be with me?”, his momentary stillness almost killed her. Then he rushed toward her, his hands, his lips, his body covering hers with all the desperation that a woman could hope for, and she let herself go.

  Their pent-up desire bubbled over in a frenzy at first, making every touch and kiss hot and needy.

  Then some girlish, sixteen-year-old part of her squealed in her head. You’re going to have sex with Hudson Cleary! She shuddered all over, pulling away from the man in order to collect herself.

  She lay back on that enormous bed, the beautiful bedding a luxurious cushion for her silk-clad body. She took in every detail of Hudson’s face, from the chiseled planes of his cheekbones to the seductive curl of his lip. He was stretched to his breaking point; it wouldn’t take much to send him over. She wanted to go there with him, but she wanted to explore first. This might be the only time they would be together in such a way, so she wanted to remember every caress, every sigh. She parted her lips, and he let out a ragged breath.

  “Eve, sweetheart. I’m with you.”

  The endearment melted the rest of her heart into a puddle of longing. Sating her hunger for him seemed within her grasp, at last.

  She reached for him, but Fate was cruel. A sharp knock on the door had them both locked in place.

  “Delivery!” someone said and knocked again.

  Eve swore as colorfully as she knew how. Hudson bellowed, “Go away!”, which made her smile.

  “You have to sign for it,” came the voice. Hudson stalked over to the door, as put out as she, but she stopped him.

  “It might be one of Deacon’s thugs,” she said. “Let me look.”

  She put an eye to the peephole. A tiny uniformed woman and a room service cart stood alone in the hall. Eve drew her revolver from her handbag and flipped off the safety, then held it behind her back. She opened the door slowly.

  “Room service delivery. Champagne and caviar compliments of a Mr. Mondrian.”

  Eve glanced up and down the hallway, then indicated for the woman to enter. She left the cart and had Eve sign the check before disappearing.

  Eve breathed out and stowed the gun safely away before inspecting their gift. There was indeed an ice bucket with a vintage bottle of champagne, a lovely plate of caviar, cheeses, and fruits, and in the middle, an envelope with her name on it.

  “I’d never thought champagne would be such a mood killer,” she said dryly, slicing open the envelope with a knife from the tray. Its entire content was a photo printed on regular printer paper with a few words typed on it.

  “What’s this all about?” Hudson asked. He’d apparently resigned himself to the moment being over sex-wise, and he’d chosen a seat across the room from her.

  She held the paper up. The photo showed John t
ied to a chair, an ugly bruise on his cheek. The typed words read, “Get it for me or he dies.”

  “It’s not the threat so much as the implication that he knows exactly where we are,” she explained. “He knows we’re staying here, probably knows our room number and could get in here without breaking a sweat. We’re not safe, but we’re also not in danger until we deliver what he wants. He needs us for that.”

  She was trying to be strong, but the stress was taking its toll. Her hands shook as she put down the note. Hudson was at her side in an instant.

  “Hey,” he said, stroking her arm. “We’re going to figure this out. John will be okay.” He glanced at the room service tray. “It’s too bad, though. I’m a sucker for caviar.”

  She’d nearly been in tears, but she laughed. “It’s probably safe to eat. But it would feel wrong. Let’s order some for ourselves, shall we?”

  “Make mine caviar with a steak chaser.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The art museum’s fundraiser gala was being held at the Montecito mansion of dot com billionaire Jim Kwan. Oprah and Elton John were his closest neighbors. Needless to say, security was tight.

  Eve tapped her fingers on the Evora’s center console. Hudson was supposed to be on the guest list, with an anonymous plus one, but her nerves were spread thin over so many worries, she was liable to snap over the next crisis, which was basically guaranteed.

  Even though her desire to keep him out of harm’s way was one of her most fervent wishes, she did feel better knowing Hudson was at her side as they slid up to the valet stand in front of the enormous Italianate mansion.

  She noted the other couples emerging from the cars in front of them and exhaled. She fit in wearing an off-the-shoulder midnight blue cocktail dress, its flared bottom skimming the tops of her knees.

  She moved to open the car door, but a touch on her arm had her turning to Hudson.

  He squeezed her arm briefly. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  Her heart stuttered. What had she done to earn his help, his support? She was afraid to love him because, above all, she didn’t deserve that. Every moment they spent together made it harder to keep that particular emotion at bay, and would make it harder to walk away when this business was finished.

  “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said softly.

  “I always keep my promises, especially when I make them to myself,” he said with a half smile.

  Eve allowed herself a small smile. “Well, in that case.” She leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek so he wouldn’t see the tears that threatened her mascara-laden eyes.

  Five minutes in, she was beginning to realize that her tried and true methods didn’t work as well stateside. Here, she couldn’t pretend to not understand a certain language when it suited her, and break into fluent French or Italian at will. Maybe she should have adopted a European persona. No, that would have drawn too much attention, and she didn’t need that.

  Perhaps she was jittery because the stakes were sky-high, but she felt that everyone in the room was staring at them as they made their way from the entrance to the crowded bar. She had to concede they may just have been staring at Hudson.

  He was easily the most stunning man there; he’d been born to wear his perfectly tailored gray suit. Even though she’d strapped on four-inch heels, he still towered over her. How unfair that he was beautiful dressed to the nines as well as when wearing old jeans and a frayed flannel shirt. Tonight, his artistic layer of stubble was gone and he smelled like his aftershave, spicy and male.

  If John hadn’t had his life depending on her actions over the next few hours, she would have dragged Hudson back to their hotel room and had a private party for two in their gorgeous suite instead of mingling at a boring museum fundraiser. That obviously wasn’t happening, so she better step up her game.

  They had two objectives: to scope out the house’s security, and to confirm the Mondrian’s location. They would return for it later that night.

  She made mental notes of the entrance alarm and was sure the entire place was wired at every window and door. Two burly security men guarded the entrance and the rear door that led from the ballroom to the rest of the house, but they were likely stationed there only for the duration of the party.

  The gala was a fundraiser for the Santa Barbara Art Museum’s art education program, combined with an unveiling of the Mondrian owned by Jim Kwan and that he was lending to the museum on a permanent basis. The painting was on display somewhere nearby, awaiting delivery. If she’d had more time, Eve would have easily been able to snatch it en route, or simply replaced it with a copy. This was going to be a more audacious crime, and one that would be noticed right away. Not the way she usually did things, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Deacon had John, and as long as he was holding her old life over her, she would never be able to start afresh.

  There was a silent auction going on around the edges of the ballroom, while a dance floor took up the center and a band played jazzy standards. Unobtrusive waiters slid by with trays of champagne and little caviar toasts.

  “Now I regret all the caviar we had earlier. You’d think there’d be more substantial food. Can’t this guy afford it?” Hudson grumbled as he took three toasts in one hand, earning him a swat on the arm from Eve.

  “Don’t be greedy. Didn’t you just eat a steak?”

  “What can I say? Crime works up my appetite.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Let’s get this over with,” she said under her breath. “We need to locate the painting.”

  Hudson nodded, took her hand, and started threading his way among the crowd. She loved the feel of his rough palm against her skin, and she wanted to feel those hands all over her body. She frowned at the mental detour she was taking and pulled away from him.

  “What?” he asked. “Wrong way?”

  “No. I was thinking about…my concentration is shot,” she admitted.

  “Thank God. Mine, too. Are you sure we can’t go have a quickie in a bathroom?”

  “Maybe we’d feel better,” Eve said, joking, but barely.

  “There it is,” Hudson said.

  “The bathroom?”

  “No, the Mondrian.”

  The painting hung on the wall of a small antechamber connected to the ballroom. Eve took stock of the premises quickly, so as not to arouse the suspicions of the single guard stationed inside. There were a few other people milling around, a couple of them talking as they looked at the small canvas.

  She looped her arm through Hudson’s. They took a slow tour, admiring the painting, which was really quite exquisite. Eve let Hudson talk about composition and technique and she listened with half an ear as she studied the situation. There was another doorway, but where it led, she didn’t know. One guard, dressed in a polyester suit, stood between the painting and the open door. He didn’t appear to be packing a weapon, but he did have an earpiece, so there were probably other security men on the property. She spotted a camera in one corner, and noted the fire sprinklers set high above in the eleven-foot, carved wood ceiling.

  Eve inspected the painting as closely as she dared. They were in luck, as it lay flush to the wall, with no room for a wall alarm and no wires to indicate it was rigged to any other security device. Time to test the waters. She took a sip of her champagne and started giggling, as if she were a bit tipsy. Dragging Hudson with her, she made for the unknown door, turning the knob to find it locked.

  “Ma’am, that’s not the way out,” the guard said as she started laughing, as if she’d made a silly mistake.

  “Oh dear, of course not,” she said.

  “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you some more of those caviar things,” Hudson said, as if he was used to her getting a little sloppy.

  On the way out, he mouthed, “Sorry,” to the guard, who nodded and shifted back into position near the painting, his back to the locked door.

  There were even more people in the main ballroom.
Most were milling around, inspecting the silent auction items. Was there anything worth bidding on? It didn’t matter; they were not there on vacation.

  How she craved that, though. She wanted to be with Hudson, anywhere they could relax and be together and wear each other out with orgasms.

  That was unlikely to ever happen. Eve drained the rest of her champagne to wash down the bitter thought.

  “Let’s split up for a while,” she said. “I’m going to try to find out how to get to that other door. Why don’t you look at the silent auction and we’ll rendezvous by the exit in twenty minutes?”

  “Ten four,” Hudson said, with a wink.

  If John wasn’t God knew where with a gun to his head, she would have been having fun.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, Hudson squeezed her hand before sending her off and disappearing in the crowd.

  ***

  Hudson snagged three more tiny appetizers and another glass of champagne. They might be there on a mission but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to enjoy himself. He didn’t think John of all people would begrudge him some caviar and bubbly.

  It had been a long time since he had been to this kind of swanky soirée, filled with affluent donors who wanted to rub shoulders with people who knew art. He appreciated the fact that they were there to support the museum’s art education programs. But the crowd was mostly a bunch of stuffed shirts who didn’t know anything about art except the more expensive, the better it must be.

  He’d thought that getting dressed up and set loose in a sea of suits and jewels would have chafed him, brought back all the stresses of his shows and schmoozing and playing the game one played when trying to be a selling artist. But it was kind of fun. He didn’t miss the game; he missed having something to contribute. As much as he valued his experiences over the past two years volunteering time and energy to various causes around Chelsea, he still didn’t feel like he was living the life he was meant to live. He’d been trying to live Stephanie’s life, to give back a small measure of what the community had lost when they’d lost her. That felt good, but it didn’t feel like him, like what he was meant to do.