by Julie Kenner
She crunched her heel down and felt whatever it was give just a little. How odd. It felt almost like—
“Would you please get off my foot?”
A shoe.
CHAPTER 2
MEL FROZE, thrown off-kilter by the owner of the shoe’s deep, rich voice. Then slowly, carefully, she inched sideways toward the French doors and away from the shoe—and the man attached to it.
“Hello?” That voice again. Surely the owner of such a melodic voice wouldn’t trundle her off to jail. “You want to turn around so I’m not talking to your ponytail?”
“Um, no. Actually, that’s not my first choice.” She was perfectly content to stand there staring toward the balcony. Longing for the balcony, actually.
“Humor me,” he said, and there was no denying the command in his voice.
With a little sigh, she reached up, her fingers closing over her ponytail holder. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but she needed to buy time and she really didn’t see any other alternative. She sure as hell didn’t need a B&E on her record, not when she’d gone her whole career without even an arrest. No, right now she was willing to do pretty much anything to get out of there without getting the cops involved. And if that meant turning on the charm, well, then that’s exactly what she intended to do. After all, Gramps had been in over a dozen movies. Surely she’d inherited some acting ability.
She tugged on the band and the thick, chaotic hair that annoyed her so much sprang free, falling to the middle of her back. She flipped it, taking care to make the gesture as sultry as she could without actually turning around to face him. “There,” she murmured. “Now you’re not staring at my ponytail.”
“Not exactly what I meant,” he said, his voice closer now.
“No?” A hand closed on her shoulder and spun her around. “I—” She tilted her head back, ready to kick the flirting into overdrive, but stopped short, all rational thought evaporating.
Gorgeous. Absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent knock-your-socks-off, take-your-breath-away gorgeous. Sandy-blond hair. Rich-blue eyes that were crinkled at the corners with a combination of amusement and irritation. Broad shoulders and a trim waist accented by a dress shirt and tailored slacks.
Forget pretending to flirt, a man this fabulous deserved the real thing, a wonderfully flirty turn of phrase that would ensure he not only let her go but also feel madly, hopelessly under her spell. But her head was in too much of a muddle to produce even a coherent sentence.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
The bubble burst, and Mel straightened, feeling stupid. She’d lost herself in the fantasy, allowing the rush of adrenaline from the whole necklace caper to color her perception about everything, including this man. This stranger. But this wasn’t a movie, he wasn’t her leading man, and she needed to concentrate if she wanted to get out of there with her reputation—and her record—intact.
With supreme effort, she forced herself to play it cool, then conjured a slow smile. “I’m nobody important.” His hand still rested on her shoulder, and she fought a rush of awareness. Whether she wanted to or not, her body was determined to notice this man. However, she was equally determined to keep tight control over the situation. As much as she could, anyway, considering she’d been the one caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Maybe we can keep this our little secret?” In desperation, she actually batted her eyelashes.
“Our secret?” He frowned, his hand moving from her shoulder as his fingertip traced a path down her arm. It was everything she could do not to shiver. “Yeah. Maybe we can.”
“Really?” She cleared her throat, forcing her body back into a more casual, self-assured posture. She had no idea why he was willing to back off, but she wasn’t about to argue. Her grandfather didn’t raise a fool.
“I think so,” he said. “As long as you’re clean.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Arms wide. Legs apart.”
She stared down her nose, trying to gauge if he was serious. Apparently, he was. She did a quick calculation, decided there was no way she’d survive if she took a running leap toward the balcony, and assumed the stance.
His hands skimmed over her, a purely professional pat down, but there was nothing at all professional about the heat generated by his touch. He did a quick press under the curve of her breasts, and she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to will her nipples not to peak. The situation might be completely humiliating, but with this man running the show it was damned enticing, as well.
She closed her eyes and started counting backward from fifty, hoping the mindless activity would distract her. It worked until twenty-five. That’s when his hands skimmed up the inside of her thighs. She jumped, then scooted away from his touch. “Okay, okay,” she said. “That’s just about enough of that.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t argue. Instead he said, “Nice gloves,” then pointed to her fanny pack. “Open it.”
She did, and he poked through the contents.
“Quite the collection of tools,” he said. “Want to tell me why you’re here?”
“No.”
He nodded. “Okay. Then maybe you want to tell me why you broke in only to look at a diamond necklace and then put it right back where you got it?”
“You saw me?”
“I walked in as you were putting it back in the safe.”
“And the pat down was to make sure I hadn’t taken anything before you walked in?”
“Smart girl.”
“No.”
He frowned. “No what?”
“Your earlier question. No, I don’t want to tell you what I was doing.”
“You’re one of those UC Irvine students, right?”
She had graduated from UC Irvine, but she still had no idea what he was talking about. “What makes you say that?”
He ran his fingers through his hair, giving him a sexy, tousled appearance. “Oh, come on. It’s been all over the paper. Upping the ante. Dare after dare. Basic college pranks on steroids. It’s dumb.”
She nodded, trying to look scolded. “Yeah. You’re right. It is.” She casually lifted one shoulder. “Uh, sorry?”
He exhaled, and she wondered if he was going to change his mind and call the cops. Or maybe the dean of students. Time to short-circuit this little têteà-tête and get the heck out of there. “Well, this has been a real treat, but I really should be heading out.”
He studied her, and as his gaze rose, so did the heat in her body, oozing up her legs, her stomach, her breasts, until she felt she might spontaneously combust. Then his lips curved into a smile. The kind of smile that said, “You can’t fool me,” but a smile nonetheless. Maybe she amused him. Shaharazad managed 1001 nights just for keeping the king amused, and got to stay alive in the process.
Maybe his grin was a good sign.
Or maybe she’d lost her grip on reality.
All in all, she really didn’t have the upper hand in this little scenario.
He stood right in front of her, and though he was only a head or so taller, he seemed to loom over her, one giant wall of masculinity. She swallowed and held her ground, but it was all she could do not to step back, to claim her space again. He had a presence, a compelling strength, and her pulse had picked up tempo simply from his proximity.
What on earth was coming over her? She stood straighter, taking deep, even breaths as she forced herself back to the moment. The real moment. The one where she’d been caught breaking and entering. Not the fantasy moment where the gorgeous, sophisticated man discovered her inner charm and whisked her away from “all that.”
After a moment he broke eye contact, stepping back toward the door that led into Miss Emily’s hall. His hand closed over the doorknob. “There’s no sense risking your neck on the trellis,” he said. “I’ll show you to the servants’ stairs. You can get out through the back door.”
She tilted her head and squinted at him, certain that at any moment a big, orange Warning! sign would start flashing over his head. As much as she wanted to get the hell out of there, something in her gut was telling her this just wasn’t right.
“You’re really just going to escort me to the stairs? That’s it? No interrogation? No bright light shining in my eyes? No water torture or hypodermics of sodium Pentothal?”
He shrugged. “Sorry. Not today.”
She squinted. “Why?”
“You seem like a nice girl.”
“I am. Yes. But—”
“Well, there you go. Just try to avoid hanging out with the wrong crowd at school.”
He waved his hand toward the door in a hurry-up gesture, and, just like that, she knew. He wasn’t supposed to be in that room any more than she was. He was too eager for her to leave, too lackadaisical about her presence in the first place.
Had he come for the necklace? She didn’t know, but she didn’t intend to leave until she found out. She’d worked her tail off to return the thing to Emily, and she’d be damned if she was going to stand by and let this charlatan with the bedroom eyes rip the old lady off.
Besides, now that she was pretty certain he wouldn’t turn her in, this was becoming a fun little escapade. And, on the whole, a hell of a lot safer than bungee jumping.
Her mind made up, she took a seat on Miss Emily’s plush divan, then crossed her legs for effect. “Actually,” she said, conjuring a smile, “I think I’m going to stay awhile.”
* * *
KYLE RAKED HIS FINGERS through his hair and considered just picking up the slip of a woman and tossing her out on her rump. He decided against it. For one, manhandling women tended to be frowned upon. For another, he had no idea what she was up to. When he’d first seen her, his heart had raced, certain that she’d violated Miss Emily’s sanctuary. His pat-down had proved otherwise, though. Unfortunately, the pat-down had made his heart race for an entirely different reason.
He told himself that he’d been eager to clear her out the room so he could get down to business, but that was a big fat stinker of a lie. No, he’d tried to rush her out of the room because he found her so damn distracting.
Considering the way she filled out those tight black jeans, he’d lay money that any male with a pulse would have reacted just like him. Because this little thief was one fine-looking woman. Stunning, really, her big green eyes staring up at him in the dark, with equal parts of contrived innocence and defiance.
He tried to ignore the irony. Ten thousand women his grandmother had thrown at him, and the only woman he’d ever found attractive was a feisty little gal he’d caught in a compromising position. He had no clue what that said about his character, but at the moment he didn’t care. He’d watched, silent, as she’d tucked the necklace into its box and then stashed it in the safe. She’d broken in, yes. But she hadn’t stolen. His pat-down had confirmed that.
So what exactly was she up to?
He didn’t really believe the UC Irvine story; she’d jumped too eagerly onto the explanation. But the truth didn’t matter right then. At the moment he had another agenda on his mind, and unless he missed his guess, he figured he had less than fifteen minutes before Emily came looking for him.
He didn’t have any choice. Company or not, it was time to move the process along. He turned back to the safe, then dialed in the combination he’d known since his teenage years. The door swung open and he took out the jewel box that he’d watched Emily pilfer from Frances’s bedroom. He opened the lid, confirmed the necklace really was inside, then slipped the box into his jacket pocket. Tomorrow he’d change the locks on Emily’s balcony door and see to it that she kept her alarm armed even during parties.
He headed toward the door. “Come on,” he said, trying to sound casual as he tossed the words over his shoulder. “We’re leaving through here.”
“‘Come on?’ she repeated. “ Come on? You’re just leaving? Like that? With the necklace?”
“Well, I could have you arrested for breaking and entering, but considering you didn’t steal anything, I think the cops would probably just have a good laugh and let you go. Hardly seems worth my effort.” Okay, that wasn’t the least bit true, but it sounded good. And he sure as hell didn’t want to get the cops involved. If Frances ever caught the scent of what Emily had done, she’d hound the cops until they had no choice but to press charges against his grandmother.
“So you’re just going to let me go?”
“That’s what it comes down to.”
She glared. “ You’re the one stealing a necklace.” She pointed an accusing finger toward his pocket. “Where the hell do you think you’re going with that?”
“I’m returning it,” he said, “to its owner.”
She paled, and Kyle didn’t have to be a genius to realize he’d struck a nerve. “Okay,” he said. “Spill it.”
“What do you mean by ‘its owner’? Isn’t that Miss Emily’s necklace?” She pointed vaguely in the direction of his pocket.
“It belongs to Frances McIntyre.”
“Who?”
“Emily’s sister.”
“Oh.” Her brow furrowed. “No, that can’t be right.”
“Trust me. It’s right.”
She squinted at him. “Prove it.”
“Sure,” he said. “No problem.” He hoped his voice conveyed more confidence than he felt, because he had absolutely no idea if he could prove it or not. His only hope was the engrained family habit of labeling everything. Their father had been a farm worker, and Emily, Frances and their parents had moved from camp to camp. According to Emily, the two girls had learned to write their name on anything. If they didn’t, any one of the other camp children would simply acquire it, and the girls’ belongings would soon dwindle to nothing.
He pulled the box from his pocket, keeping his fingers mentally crossed. Then he opened the case, revealing the stunning necklace. He didn’t waste time enjoying the view, though. Instead he turned the piece over, his eyes going automatically to the clasp. When he saw it, a smile bloomed on his mouth, and he held the necklace out to the girl.
“Looks like I win, sweetheart. I think maybe it’s time I show you to the door.”
She leaned in closer, then scowled at the “F” and “M” engraved on the flat clasp. “How do I know you’re returning the necklace?” she finally asked. “For all I know you could be stealing it.”
He stared at her for a moment, measuring. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out his tiny little cell phone. He tossed it at her, impressed when she caught it with one hand. “Report me.”
He held his breath, praying she didn’t call his bluff.
She held the phone like a worry stone, her thumb rubbing its silver back. “I thought I was returning the necklace,” she finally said. “To its owner.” She met his eyes. “To Emily.”
He shook his head. “Returning it? You mean you came here with the necklace?”
She nodded, and he exhaled. That would teach him to jump to conclusions. He hadn’t actually believed the UC Irvine story, but he’d still assumed she was some sort of thrill seeker who just wanted to see if she could get into Emily’s bedroom and safe. But if she’d been returning the necklace, that raised a whole host of new questions. “So you lied,” he said. “You’re not a student.”
She shrugged. “Sorry. Character flaw.”
He rubbed his temple. “So then what’s the real story? And no BS this time. Where’d you get the necklace, and why did you bring it back?”
“Just being a Good Samaritan.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
“Maybe you have trust issues?”
He ignored that. “Well, someone seriously misinformed you about where to bring the necklace. It belongs to Frances, and that’s where I’m taking it right now.”
“And I’m just supposed to believe you? For all I know you’re heading out that door to pawn the thing.”
/> He raised an eyebrow but kept silent, waiting to see what she’d say next. He knew she’d say something. He hadn’t spent countless hours interrogating suspects without internalizing a few tricks of the trade.
But she didn’t say anything, and for a moment he thought he’d met his match. When she finally broke, he had to give her credit for being one tough customer. Not many people could keep their mouth shut for so long in the face of a gaping silence.
“Look, buddy. You’re not supposed to be in this room any more than I am. And there’s no way I’m letting you out of here with that necklace.”
“I’d say I have a little more authority than you.”
“Yeah?” She lifted her chin, and he had to admit he found the defiance utterly sexy. She didn’t have a leg to stand on and she was still arguing her point. In any other situation, with any other woman, he’d find the gesture obstinate as hell. But this woman got under his skin. Which was a simple fact that he didn’t intend to examine too closely. He had enough on his plate right now without figuring out how to squeeze a sexy little burglar into the mix.
“Okay,” she continued. “Prove it.”
“My name’s Kyle Radley. Emily’s my grandmother. Frances is my great-aunt.”
“Oh.” She blinked, and he thought he’d scored a victory. She’d leave, and he could get on with his life. “So what?”
He exhaled. So much for counting his chickens. “So, this is a family matter. I appreciate that you brought the necklace here. Now I’ll get it back to its rightful owner.”
“Sorry, bucko. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m getting this necklace back where it belongs, and that’s not in your pocket. I don’t care whose grandson or nephew you are.”
“I told you. I’m returning the necklace. To my great-aunt.”
“So you said. But how do I know it’s true? You still might be trying to steal the necklace. Do you have any idea how many major thefts occur among relatives?”
As a matter of fact, he did. A lot. He kept his mouth shut.
“You say it belongs to Frances,” she continued. “Fine. I’ll believe you. But it either stays here with Emily or I see it end up with Frances.” She cocked her head. “You ever see Raiders of the Lost Ark?”