Unforgettable

by Joan Johnston

  He was hungry for her, his thrusting tongue seeking the honey to be found within.

  Lydia gave in to the desire to be joined with this man, who’d let her see behind the shield of strength and power that most men of her acquaintance wore. She turned to straddle Joe, leading him inside where she wanted him, moaning as their bodies became joined, so they were one.

  Their loving was gentle and tender. And savage and satisfying. Joe took her to places she had never been. Teased and touched and taunted, giving her pleasure—and joy—almost beyond endurance. Until at last she lay in his embrace, lungs heaving, completely sated.

  Lydia had made love before, but she couldn’t remember wanting to give so much of herself to another human being. Or allowing herself to feel quite so much. What did it mean?

  Lydia was afraid to look at Joe, afraid to discover that he’d retreated behind the stone wall that had come down during their lovemaking. She waited with bated breath to see what he would do next.

  “We’re going to be late,” he said, his fingers gently brushing a few sweaty strands of hair from her brow and setting a kiss in its place.

  It felt like love, even though she knew that was impossible, considering the circumstances. “I don’t care if we’re late,” she murmured, too languorous to move. She pressed her nose against his throat, treasuring the closeness she felt towards him. It amazed her to think that Joe Warren, with whom she’d shared her body—and who was threatening to steal her soul—had been a stranger a mere twenty-four hours ago. She felt as though she’d fallen under some sort of spell. How else could she explain capitulating to such a ruffian?

  She felt a deep sadness, because she knew that the lovemaking—and the feeling of being loved—that she’d just experienced, shattering though it had been, wasn’t likely to be repeated. She and Joe would find the Ghost in the next forty-eight hours, or they would not. Whatever the case, in two days he would walk out of her life, and she would never see him again. There was no sense fantasizing about some sort of happily ever after. It wasn’t going to happen.

  The certain knowledge that Joe would be gone soon gave her the courage to say, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  He made a disgruntled sound in his throat.

  “I mean that in a good way,” she quickly added. She leaned up on an elbow so she could look into his eyes which, despite their ice-blue color, seemed filled with warmth. “I have a hard time trusting men, which is why I never do things like this.”

  “This being sex?” Joe clarified.

  “Sex with someone I just met,” Lydia said to make her meaning clear. It wasn’t that he hadn’t given her a choice. He simply hadn’t been shy about reaching for what he wanted. “You’re not what I thought you were.”

  “What was that?”

  “A hoodlum,” she said with a smile to ease the sting of the insult. “You don’t follow the rules.”

  “What rules?” he said.

  “Of civilized society.”

  “I can’t pretend to be what I’m not. If I’m not good enough for you—”

  She put her fingertips across his lips. “Class has nothing to do with it.”

  He arched a disbelieving brow.

  “It’s the way you make me feel. Like . . .”

  He kissed her fingertips, then threaded their fingers together as he asked, “Like what?”

  Lydia became aware of a sudden knot in her throat. She was terrified of telling him too much. Terrified of revealing how much she wanted to be loved and how much she feared she never would be. She swallowed painfully and said, “I feel like you’re seeing me, and not Lady Lydia, the Duchess of Blackthorne’s wayward daughter.”

  “What’s the difference?” he asked.

  Lydia smiled. “It speaks volumes that you don’t have a clue.”

  He gently brushed her hair away from her face and asked, “What time does this charity shindig start?”

  “Seven o’clock.”

  “We’d better get a move on,” he said as he untangled their hands. He rose, completely unashamed of his nakedness.

  For the first time, Lydia saw the full extent of the damage to his leg. It was a wonder he could walk at all. She opened her mouth to remark on it but decided he was well aware of the problem. Instead she asked, “What time is it?”

  He looked at his battered watch. “Five past six.”

  “Oh, my God. How did it get so late?” Lydia bolted upright, realized she was naked, and grabbed at the sheet.

  Joe grinned and said, “You’re more of a distraction than I counted on.”

  Lydia winced at the dismissal of what they’d just done as a “distraction.” She wondered if the hurt she felt had shown on her face because he suddenly leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth.

  “Come on, baby,” he said in a husky voice. “Time for work.”

  Lydia felt the ache in her heart ease. She hadn’t been called “baby” since she was one. It felt strange . . . and strangely nice.

  She let go of the sheet and stepped out of bed. What was the expression her father used? No sense closing the barn door after the cows are gone. She smiled when she saw Joe’s body respond to the sight of her. She turned her back on him, feeling a prickly awareness of his gaze on her as she headed into the bathroom.

  This time she shut the door. And locked it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lydia did a slow inspection of Joe Warren as they waited their turn to be admitted to the ballroom at another of Rome’s five-star hotels, where the charity gala was being held. She had to admit she was impressed. Joe had frowned ferociously when she suggested that a tailor should come to the hotel to make sure his tux fit impeccably.

  “Think of it as camouflage you need to invade enemy territory,” she’d said with a smile meant to encourage his cooperation. “Even though your tux is rented, it can’t look like it’s rented.”

  Joe had nodded curtly, and she’d called her father’s tailor in Rome before the PI could change his mind. The effort had been worth it. The tux emphasized Joe’s sculpted shoulders, his narrow waist, and his long legs—all of which she could mentally see beneath the fitted cloth.

  In the light from the chandelier she could see, beneath the shadow of beard, the whitened scars that reminded her he’d been a warrior.

  Lydia found herself remembering how that male bristle had felt against her naked flesh. Joe turned suddenly to look at her, and she flushed, afraid that he’d somehow read her mind.

  She stared straight ahead, but she could feel his eyes on her, doing the same sort of slow assessment she’d done of him, from her low-cut bodice to the violet silk that sheathed her hips. It wasn’t an entirely uncomfortable experience, because Lydia had discovered, to her dismay, that she wanted Joe Warren to like what he saw.

  Which made no sense.

  The man had been nothing but trouble from the moment she’d met him. Joe Warren would be in her life only until she achieved her goal of retrieving the Ghost. He lived in America, for heaven’s sake! Other than family trips to her father’s ancestral home in Richmond, Virginia, she’d spent as little time in the United States as possible. She’d been raised in Great Britain and Europe and had always imagined herself living there forever after.

  There was no possibility of a life with Joe on her side of the pond, either. He would never fit in with her crowd. His military service had apparently made him efficient and effective. But his manners were rough, and he brooked no nonsense. Lydia’s friends didn’t quite lead frivolous lives, but many of them were wealthy enough to enjoy lifestyles oriented more towards fun than work.

  Lydia felt Joe’s eyes on her, and a frisson of excitement ran down her spine, as though his callused hands were actually touching her. Lydia didn’t dare look at him, because she was sure he’d be able to tell the effect he had on her. She’d set boundaries all her life to keep men at arm’s length, but nothing she did seemed to matter where Joe was concerned. He’d simply stepped past the barriers she�
��d established as though they didn’t exist.

  The most disturbing thing was that she’d liked his kisses and enjoyed his touch. No, that wasn’t true. She’d loved his kisses and reveled in his touch. Lydia was so used to men being intimidated by her beauty, so used to men wanting her approval, that she wasn’t quite sure how to handle a man who took what he wanted and brought her along for the joyous ride.

  Lydia started when Joe took her hand in his, threading their fingers together again as he had in bed, reminding her of the intimacy they’d shared. He handed their invitation to the greeter at the door, then tugged to keep her beside him as they entered the glittering ballroom.

  She turned to glare at him for pulling her along like a dog on a leash, but he forestalled her by muttering, “My leg’s killing me.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at their joined hands and then at his wounded leg. That damaged leg seemed to provide excuses for all sorts of behavior. He’d managed fine all the way here. He’d managed fine standing in line. He took a halting step, and she pursed her lips, remember how he’d almost fallen carrying her from the shower to the bed.

  Maybe he was telling the truth. But if he was in pain, it was his own fault. Before they’d left the hotel room, she’d offered him the cane she’d bought for him, and he’d refused it yet again.

  Lydia purposefully ignored the man holding her hand, focusing on the activity in the ballroom. A small orchestra was performing a romantic tune, and several couples occupied the dance floor. She couldn’t help wondering whether Joe could dance, and whether he would take her in his arms before the night was out.

  Under her breath she said, “Bad idea, Lydia.” She needed to keep as much space between herself and Joe Warren as she could manage until the job was done and he was gone.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.” She turned her head away from Joe, eyeing the silent auction set up on tables along the outside of the room. Round tables for ten with elaborate centerpieces were arranged in the center of the ballroom for the dinner to come. Lydia hadn’t planned to attend this event, so they would likely end up seated with strangers, which was fine, as far as she was concerned. She didn’t want anyone she knew seeing her with Joe. The fewer explanations she had to make, the better.

  “Lydia!”

  Lydia turned toward the shocked voice and was surprised to find her would-be fiancé standing not ten feet away. She tried to free her hand from Joe’s, but his grip tightened. She gave up, smiled brightly at Harold, and said, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Harold stared pointedly at their joined hands. “Obviously. What is it with you and this . . . gentleman?” Harold spat the word as though Joe was anything but.

  “The lady’s made her feelings plain,” Joe said. “She doesn’t want anything to do with you. Beat it.”

  Lydia was shocked at Joe’s abrupt dismissal of Harold, and it was clear from the way Harold’s jaw clamped tight that he was furious at such unaccustomed treatment.

  Harold’s shoulders squared as he demanded, “Who the bloody hell do you think you are?”

  Lydia gasped at the profanity. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d heard Harold swear—and two of those fingers could be attributed directly to Joe Warren.

  “Nobody who would interest you,” Joe replied without rancor. He turned to Lydia and said, “Would you like to dance?”

  Lydia was struggling not to laugh at the look of incredulity on Harold’s face. “Yes, I would.”

  Joe limped off toward the dance floor without a backward glance at Harold, dragging her along behind him. Lydia snuck a look back at Harold, who was glaring daggers at Joe’s back.

  When they reached the dance floor, Joe set a hand at her waist, then took their joined hands and leaned them against his shoulder. They began to move to the evocative song the orchestra was playing. Her head came only to Joe’s chin, and she was very much aware of feeling protected in his embrace. She met his gaze and said, “That was brazen.”

  He arched a questioning brow.

  “Harold is used to men deferring to him, not dismissing him out of hand.”

  “He was out of line,” Joe said. “No means no.”

  Lydia smiled ruefully. “Except where you’re concerned.”

  “I haven’t heard that word come out of your mouth.”

  “I—” Lydia realized she’d never actually told him no. When she could have spoken on Gabe’s balcony, he hadn’t given her the chance, and she’d been too shocked in the shower. But there had been plenty of opportunities later to put him off, and she hadn’t. “You’re nothing like the men I know.”

  “You’re not exactly what I would choose, either.”

  Lydia’s face flushed at the rebuff. She hadn’t meant her statement as a criticism, but his sounded very much like one.

  “Then it’s a good thing you won’t need to spend any more time with me once you find the Ghost.”

  He responded to the anger in her voice by pulling her close, so she could feel his hardened shaft against her belly. He growled in her ear, “That’s what you do to me. Every time I think of you. Every time I look at you. Do you blame me if I don’t like it? I’m not used to wanting a woman like that, and I’ll be damned if I’ll play games with a spoiled brat. I’d be happy to lay you down and put myself inside you again. All you have to do is say the word. But don’t expect me to kowtow to you because you’re a society girl and I’m a simple soldier.” He made an unpleasant sound in his throat and amended, “Was a simple soldier.”

  Lydia felt breathless, and her heart was pounding in her chest. She was frightened by such plain speaking. And aroused by it. “I don’t like the way you make me feel, either,” she shot back.

  He merely raised a brow, waiting for her to continue, waiting for her to admit that she wanted him, too. Lydia had met plenty of arrogant men in her life, but Joe’s self-confidence seemed to come from something other than conceit. He was as far from someone she would have chosen for herself as daylight was from dark. And she was no more willing to kowtow to him than he was to her.

  Maybe you’ve met your match.

  The thought came unwillingly. Lydia shivered at the thought that private investigator Joe Warren should be the man who threatened her carefully guarded heart.

  With her parents as an example, Lydia didn’t believe in a love that lasted forever. Passion was possible and laudable and could exist for brief episodes. But loving a man could only result in eventual heartbreak. Which was why Lydia had made it a point never to get involved emotionally.

  So how had Joe Warren managed so quickly—in a single day—to get under her skin and threaten her heart? The thought of the disaster that lay in wait made her shudder. She needed to find the Ghost and get Joe Warren out of her life.

  Lydia realized her body was still pressed against Joe’s and stiffened in his arms.

  He released her and took a step back. “I take it you’re done dancing.”

  She nodded curtly.

  “Guess we’d better find a place to sit.”

  To Lydia’s dismay, he took her hand in his again, and she couldn’t help enjoying the warmth and the strength of his grasp. She stayed close to Joe, smiling at a couple she recognized without introducing her escort. She didn’t realize where they were headed until they ended up at a table where her aunt Alicia sat next to her cousin Gabe.

  “Lydia! What a nice surprise!” her aunt said. “I hope you can join us.” She gestured to the two empty seats that remained next to her at the table, which was otherwise full.

  “We’d love to,” Lydia said as she glanced at Joe. What on earth was Joe thinking, bringing them to this table? How was she going to introduce him without giving away his purpose for being here? She avoided looking at Gabe as Joe pulled out her chair so she could sit down next to her aunt.

  “Who is this with you?” her aunt asked, right on cue.

  Lydia had opened her mouth to reply when Joe said, “Ly
dia and I are working on a project together.”

  Lydia knew what question was coming next.

  When Gabe asked, “Really? What sort of project?” she lifted a brow and waited to see how Joe, who was seating himself, would answer.

  Joe smiled, revealing very white, very straight teeth, and said, “We’re investigating the theft of a painting from a museum in Paris.” He looked directly at Gabe and added, “Purely for fun, of course.”

  Lydia had registered the audible gasp from Gabe when Joe said “theft” and the quieter exhale that followed when he said “painting.” Gabe’s shoulders tensed when Joe added, “Purely for fun,” as though Joe had actually said, “And we’re coming after you.”

  Lydia realized why Gabe had felt so threatened when she turned to look at Joe. There was nothing relaxed about Joe’s posture. He looked like a lion ready to pounce.

  “How is your mother?” Aunt Alicia asked. “More to the point, where is your mother? I haven’t seen her for ages.”

  Lydia was disconcerted by both questions. She wasn’t sure how to answer the first—and didn’t have a clue about the second. “Mother is fine,” she said. “She’s been traveling quite a bit. She was at the Seasons for Mother’s Day.”

  She knew that much because she’d been invited to join her mother and had found a reason—as had her four brothers, who’d also been invited—not to show up. Lydia had been appalled when she’s realized during the Skyped meeting of the Castle Foundation that every one of them had abandoned the Duchess on Mother’s Day. But the request had come so late, and been made in such an offhand way that, at the time, it hadn’t seemed important to be there. Lydia suddenly wondered if there had been some significance to the invitation.