Immovable Objects

by Marie Ferrarella

  Matters with her brother, however, were still very much up in the air. And would continue to be, she thought, until Anthony began treating her like an equal and not like the little sister whose every move he felt he had a right to dictate.

  This wasn’t a time to think about her brother, Elizabeth told herself, not when those incredible light-blue eyes were looking at her, taking measure. What was Williams thinking? Not for the first time, she lamented the fact that her talents didn’t run to mind reading.

  Elizabeth cupped her glass between her hands, slowly warming the sides with her skin. Waiting for Williams to make the first move.

  It wasn’t long in coming.

  “So,” he pressed when she said nothing to cut into the silence. “Who are you?”

  Cole had never seen innocence mixed with sensuality before. The woman sitting in front of him pulled it off flawlessly. As regal as a queen, as tempting as sin, she was definitely a woman who could keep a man guessing.

  “Just an art lover.”

  He laughed dryly. “You’re a great deal more than that. Most art lovers don’t break into art galleries after hours just to verify the authenticity of a piece.” He knew she couldn’t argue with him, but as a preventative measure, he added a coda. “They haven’t the talent.”

  She smiled at him and he felt the effect rippling into his inner core.

  “I’ve always been a little…different,” Elizabeth allowed, then paused to take a sip of brandy. Her smile became more seductive, less innocent. “Very good,” she murmured as she felt the thick liquid curling through her system.

  Her husky voice wound into his. It took Cole a moment to find his tongue. “It should be, considering the cost.”

  “Do you?” she asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow in response. Did he know exactly what he was worth and want more? Or had money become something that was now just there to him, to be used to facilitate the pursuit of other things? “Consider the cost?”

  It had been a long time since he’d looked at a price tag. “Only in so much as I like having the best.” He looked at her significantly. She was still evading him. “So, what do I call you?”

  She lifted a thin shoulder. “Whatever you like, as long as it’s not insulting.”

  He laughed out loud at that. He was enjoying himself. “I meant your name. What name do I use when I talk to you?”

  For some reason, terms of endearment flocked into her head like so many sparrows looking for a place to land. She deliberately blocked them. This wasn’t a man to give affection to. This was a man to be wary of. Even if he did possess a face and body that could generate endless dreams.

  “Whatever you like.”

  He leaned his face in close to hers. For a moment, their breaths mingled. “What I’d like is to use your real name.”

  That rush was beginning again, the same rush she felt at the start of a job. The same kind she’d felt standing in the alley just before she’d made the lock open. It took effort to keep it from taking over.

  “So that you can check me out?” she guessed, congratulating herself on how cool she’d kept her voice, especially when everything inside her felt as if it was red hot and jumping around. She noted the way Williams was looking at the brandy in her hand. “I know you’re very thorough, but it really won’t do you any good to have the glass checked for fingerprints.” Her smile widened ever so slightly as she looked up into his eyes. She could see that the thought had crossed his mind. “I have no priors, no arrests.” Her eyes teased his. “I am as pure as the driven snow.”

  He thought of the impression she’d made when she’d first walked into the gallery. Every man in the vicinity had stopped and looked. Every move she made whispered the promise of sex and sensuality. That was a long way from purity.

  “Humor me,” he urged quietly.

  Right now, she would have been willing to do a great deal more than that. Very subtly, she let go of the breath she was holding. “My name is Elizabeth.”

  They were too close. For his good, not hers. Straightening, Cole placed a little distance between them. “Elizabeth what?”

  She paused for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to tell him, then finally said, “Caldwell.”

  Was she lying? He couldn’t tell. She didn’t flinch under scrutiny. Something else to admire about her, he thought.

  Elizabeth Caldwell. He didn’t know if it fit her or not. “Is that the name Lorenzo will tell me if I ask?”

  Her look was complacent, confident. “If you ask, Lorenzo won’t tell you anything.”

  “Why?” Intrigued far more than he was comfortable about, Cole pressed her for an answer. “Because there’s honor among thieves and they stick together?”

  She thought of the artist, his browned fingers nimbly creating, his thick gray hair, worn long and caught back against his neck. He looked like a hidalgo of old and had the honor to match. But it wasn’t honor she was referring to at the moment.

  “Lorenzo isn’t a thief and neither am I. He won’t tell you anything because he doesn’t know my last name. He didn’t want to know it.” The less information a confidant possessed, the less risk he ran of getting into trouble for someone else’s sins. “He calls me Gypsy.”

  Gypsy. That fit her perfectly, Cole thought. With very little effort, he could see her dancing around a campfire barefoot, a rainbow of bracelets surrounding her wrists. She’d have a tambourine in her hand and a colorful, swirling skirt around her hips with a gauzy peasant blouse clinging to her breasts. Her skin would be gleaming from the firelight.

  His fingers tightened around his glass. He loosened them before he snapped the stem.

  “It suits you.”

  “If you’re trying to play to my vanity…” Elizabeth let her voice drift off for a moment as she pulled the clip out of her hair. It came cascading down about her shoulders like black velvet. “You should know that I haven’t any.”

  His breath had caught in his throat. It took effort to draw his eyes away from her hair. She certainly did know how to get a reaction out of a man, he thought. “A woman as beautiful as you?”

  “No vanity,” she repeated, never taking her eyes off his face. “Just knowledge.”

  He felt himself being reeled in, curiosity mingled with desire, each strong in its own right. “Knowledge?”

  “Of my strengths, of my weaknesses.” Her eyes held his over the rim of the glass. “Knowledge of how to read the other person.”

  The more he listened to her, the more certain he became that he could definitely use her in this less-than-aboveboard situation he found himself in.

  But he needed to keep his mind on business, not on the way her body would feel beneath his. From where he stood, that wasn’t going to be easy.

  It was time to solidify things before he found himself slipping off the ledge he was standing on. “About my offer, Elizabeth—”

  She twirled the stem of her glass slowly. The liquid inside moved, leaving its imprint along the glass. “As I recall, you never actually made me an offer. Just hinted at it.”

  Cole sat down at the edge of his desk, folding his hands together as he looked down at her. “I’ll pay you half a million dollars to help me get the real statue back.”

  Instead of answering, Elizabeth rose from her chair. As he watched, she perched on the desk beside him. She wasn’t about to let him get the upper hand, and allowing him to look down at her during negotiations would silently give it to him. “You must want that statue back awfully badly.”

  He wasn’t accustomed to explaining himself, but just this once, he made an exception. “I want my reputation intact and I’m willing to pay for it. Besides, time is of the essence. We have a little more than a week before the statue is to go back to its rightful owner.” He had his men out on it, but he had a feeling that if there was a solution to his problem, he was looking at it. “So, ‘Elizabeth,’ will you help me?”

  Something in his tone caught her attention. “You say my name as if you
don’t believe it’s real.”

  There was a fifty-fifty chance she was lying to him. “I’ve only got your word for it.”

  Elizabeth pretended to take his words under consideration. “So, by your own admission, you’re about to enter into a bargain with a woman whose identity you’re unsure of.”

  “Yes.” But I mean to find out who you are, Gypsy. I mean to.

  There was something about the way he said the word that put her on her guard. “Seems to me that’s an awful lot of money to offer to a person you know nothing about.”

  “I don’t know who you are,” he repeated, wanting to clarify the issue. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about you.”

  Her eyes never gave away that he’d managed to confuse her. She smiled at him. “That’s going to require a little more explanation.”

  “I pride myself on being a very good judge of people. You worked that room the second you came in, drawing information out of people, making them want to tell you things.”

  So, Williams hadn’t rejoined her at the gala for a reason, she realized. He’d been observing her.

  “You didn’t fade into the background like some,” he continued, “absorbing things that the rest of the people around you don’t even realize they’re doing or saying. You made people volunteer things.” That in itself was a talent. But there was more. “And you got in here without tripping the alarm.”

  “Obviously I must have tripped off some kind of alarm, or you wouldn’t have been here waiting for me. Come to think of it, why were you waiting for me?”

  “Well, for one thing, you weren’t Ariel Lockwood.” That had set off his internal alarm. But rather than let the impostor know he was on to her, or get in touch with the police, he’d opted to see what she was up to. But even that hadn’t been the main reason he was here. His staying on after everyone else had left had a great deal to do with the look in her eyes as she’d studied the sculpture. There was something there that told him this was a woman to be wary of.

  Because her hair had fallen into her face, Elizabeth tossed her head, sending it pooling over her shoulder. She was aware of the effect that had on the man watching her. Then, still seated on the desk, she turned her body in toward his. Balance had to be restored—and perhaps tipped in her favor. Especially if she was going to work with Williams.

  “All right,” she said smoothly. “If you’re such a good judge of people, what am I going to do next?”

  She was sitting so close to him, Cole could feel the heat of her body radiating out to him. Calling to him. Or was that just his own, responding to hers? He wasn’t sure. Didn’t care.

  He knew what he wanted to do next, but it went against the first cardinal rule he’d imposed on himself when he’d begun his quest for the better life: Never mix business with pleasure.

  Up until now, that had never been a problem. He had far too much self-restraint, was far too focused, too driven, to allow things like dalliances to get in the way of his goals. To cloud his thinking so that he couldn’t focus on those goals.

  But this time it was different.

  “I’m not sure,” he told her quietly.

  His voice rumbled along her skin like tiny shock waves being set off. This time she made sure her smile went straight to his gut. She was taking no prisoners. “Honesty. I like that in a man.”

  He found himself holding his breath. “What else do you like in a man?”

  Elizabeth looked at him for a long, long moment, and tilted her face up to his in silent invitation. “Surprises.”

  It was as if she was pulling him in. He’d always thought of himself as an immovable object, as someone who couldn’t be swayed toward a path if he didn’t want to be. And maybe that was it, maybe he did want to be swayed, did want to be persuaded. To be moved from his position.

  Right now he couldn’t say one way or the other. All he knew was that he didn’t have the ironclad control over his mind and body he’d had for as far back as he could remember.

  It disturbed the hell out of him.

  It didn’t stop him.

  Shifting so that he faced her, Cole slipped his fingers into her hair, framing her face with his hands. He felt the pull intensify, but didn’t fight it. He wasn’t sure he could have if he wanted to.

  And he didn’t want to.

  His mouth came down on hers because he had no choice. He needed to find out what her lips tasted like, what she tasted like. Whether she was as utterly heady as he thought or if, for some reason, he was suffering from battle fatigue.

  He hadn’t taken a day off in eighteen months. His friends had all warned him, said that all work and no play would catch up to him and take its toll. And maybe it finally had.

  And this was the price he had to pay.

  Hell, as far as prices went, he would pay this one gladly.

  His head spun. She tasted of sin. Sin and temptation and Napoleon brandy. And he felt as if he couldn’t get enough of any of it.

  The kiss deepened even as he felt himself growing more and more intoxicated. He’d always known when to walk away before. The only difference was, this time he wasn’t walking.

  Cole believed in being clearheaded at all times. But what he believed was definitely at odds with what he wanted.

  What he wanted was her.

  She’d wanted him to kiss her, wanted to bring him to her. To Elizabeth this represented a struggle for control, for being the one to call the shots, pure and simple. And as long as she orchestrated that, kissed him on her terms, she’d have the upper hand.

  So why did she feel as if she was going under for the third time?

  There was a lesson to be learned here. The proverb echoed vaguely in her brain, something about pride going before a fall. She’d been a little too confident in her abilities to hold her own, to remain unaffected even as she wound a web around a man. Around this man. Right now her thoughts were colliding with one another like drunken sailors on a three-day pass after nine months at sea.

  Elizabeth could feel every single fiber of her body, of her very being, responding to the deep, masculine taste of him.

  She wanted more.

  Darkness encompassed her. Darkness with swirling lights at the heart of it, whirling around faster and faster as the pressure of his mouth bore down on her, taking her to places she’d never been.

  Her pulse, already racing, began to rival an engine traveling at top speed on the autobahn. So much for being able to keep the upper hand.

  Her mouth sealed to his, her senses swimming, Elizabeth was vaguely aware of Cole bringing her up to her feet. She found her body cleaving to his. Found his arms around her, pressing her into him.

  Heat was flaring through her so urgently, so hard, she was surprised her clothes hadn’t burned away in the process.

  A moan escaped her lips.

  Elizabeth wound her arms around his neck, although she had to stand on her toes to do so. The movement of her body rubbing against his was like a match striking the side of a tinderbox and then being thrown into dry brush.

  The flame was instant.

  For one moment, Cole thought like the adolescent he’d never been. Thought briefly of sweeping away the few things on the desk so that he could lie with her there. Be with her there.

  Take her there.

  Or have her take him.

  The realization that he had no upper hand here, that she’d played this out to her own melody and had him dancing to her tune, had Cole urgently taking stock of himself, of the situation.

  He was on board a runaway freight train and he desperately needed to pull the emergency brake while his hands still worked.

  While his mind still functioned in some small, shallow way.

  If he didn’t, she was going to eventually toss him from that train and run right over him. As she’d so boldly pointed out, he didn’t know that much about her. Maybe she was working for someone. Maybe this was all some kind of elaborate plan to bring him to his knees.

  As if
he wasn’t already there.

  He knew that right now he couldn’t afford to trust anything that was going on inside of him. Most of all, he couldn’t allow himself to trust the woman who had brought this all about.

  Not until he had more information. Verified information. She had to be a blip in someone’s life somewhere. Because she was causing a hell of a blip in his.

  Taking a deep breath, he drew his head back, terminating the ride. He could feel the pulse throbbing in his throat, could feel other pulses throbbing throughout the rest of his body. Urging him to return.

  Urging him to make love with her.

  Which was exactly why he couldn’t. Not until the job was over.

  What the hell was this? She felt like someone just getting over a devastating attack of the flu. None of her limbs felt as if they belonged to her. With a mighty effort, Elizabeth struggled to get hold of herself. It was as if her very body was facing complete meltdown.

  Air rushed into her depleted lungs. She held it there for a long moment before releasing it, hoping that it didn’t sound as if she was panting.

  Elizabeth tossed her head, trying for nonchalance, secretly surprised that it didn’t just snap off her neck and roll away. She felt that fragile. But one look at him told her Williams didn’t realize what was going on inside her. Which meant she was a better actress than she thought.

  “Well, glad we got that out of the way,” she said in the most cavalier voice she could manage.

  He cleared his throat. She was a damn sight more affected than she was letting on. No one could kiss like that and remain distant. Well, two could play her game. “Yes, me, too.”

  And then he looked at her. If Elizabeth Caldwell, or whatever her name was, could affect him this way, it was practically guaranteed that she would affect any other man in the same manner. It was like having a secret weapon in his hip pocket.