She stroked.
He caressed.
She bit.
He teased with his teeth.
She scratched.
He smoothed a callused palm over sensitive flesh.
She licked.
He sucked.
She moaned.
He made a guttural sound of satisfaction.
Joe waited until he felt Lydia’s writhing body had reached the limits of her control. Then he shoved her over the edge and leaped off the cliff after her, catching her on the way down.
His lungs were heaving, his pulse pounding as he eased his weight off of her and spooned her against his belly. He slid an arm around her and pressed his nose against her fragrant hair.
He was almost asleep when Lydia spoke.
“What are we going to do?”
“About what?” he mumbled against her shoulder.
“About us.”
It was plain that she wasn’t going to let him sleep. Joe rolled over onto his back and laid an arm across his eyes. He forced himself to remember the pleasure he’d just enjoyed with her and refrained from pointing out that when a man was sated and sleepy was not the best time to engage him in conversation.
He glanced over and saw that she had also turned over onto her back and was staring up at the ceiling. He pushed himself up and rested his head on his hand so he could look down into her face, the sheer beauty of which reminded him that he was way out of his league.
“I didn’t realize there was an us,” he said.
She rolled onto her side to face him, her head on the pillow, her hands balled into fists that she tucked under her chin. She took a deep breath and said, “I don’t want you to leave.”
Joe wasn’t entirely surprised. They’d had a good time together hunting down the Ghost. The sex was amazing. And there was just enough friction between them—due to the enormous difference in their backgrounds—to keep things interesting. She’d just rejected her would-be fiancé, so she was free to play at romance with another man. With him.
Joe didn’t have to remember very hard to recall the pain of being dumped by his fiancée. It had laid him low for a long time. His sister had warned him against getting involved with Lydia. He’d ignored her admonition because he hadn’t believed the flirtation between them would turn into anything serious.
Now, here was Lydia, suggesting something a lot more permanent between them, something a lot more likely to end up in heartbreak. Joe wasn’t sure he should take that kind of chance, especially with a woman as spoiled as Lydia Benedict. She didn’t strike him as someone he could count on when times got tough.
On the other hand, there was nowhere he had to be and nothing he needed to do. And if he knew going in that this thing between them was likely to end, he’d be able to guard his heart.
“What is it you suggest I do if I stay?” he asked at last.
Lydia sat up, and he caught his breath at the sight of her pert breasts, with their perfect pink nipples. When she saw the direction of his gaze, she grabbed for the sheet, but he reached out a hand to stop her.
“Don’t. Your breasts are beautiful. I want to look.”
He wanted to do a lot more than that. His body was giving stiff evidence of just what a randy son of a bitch he was.
She took one look at his avid gaze, blushed, and pulled an edge of the sheet up to cover herself. “I want to have a conversation, Joe. An uninterrupted conversation.”
Joe laughed and scooted upright so he was sitting with his back against the headboard, then grabbed a corner of the sheet to cover his erection. “Conversation it is.”
“As for what you could do if you stayed, you could work with me.”
He frowned. “Work for you?”
She shook her head. “No. With me. We could learn to be world-renowned investigators together.”
“If I’d wanted to be a private investigator, I’d have gone into business with my father,” Joe said flatly. A lot of his father’s work had involved the sordid side of life, investigating husbands who’d skipped out on paying child support, locating wives who’d stolen away with children, leaving anguished fathers behind, and catching unfaithful husbands and wives in the act. “I have no desire to hunt down cheating husbands and wives.”
“We wouldn’t be investigating people,” she argued. “We’d be looking for stolen art and artifacts. We’d find whatever is missing and return it to its rightful owner.”
“Could we make a living doing that?” Joe asked skeptically.
Lydia made a face and gathered the sheet more tightly around her. “I haven’t been doing it long enough—or been successful enough—to know the answer to that. But it doesn’t matter,” she continued doggedly. “Money isn’t an issue. I can support both of us very comfortably with the allowance from my trust.”
Joe felt a chill run through him. “That’s not an option.”
He started to rise, in order to dress and get the hell out, but Lydia caught his biceps to hold him in place. He was already imagining her gone from his life, and he didn’t like what he saw, so he allowed her feathery touch to hold him in place.
He heard a great deal of bitterness in her voice when she spoke again.
“It isn’t fair, you know.”
“What isn’t fair?”
She shrugged helplessly. Hopelessly. “I can’t help being rich. I can’t help the fact that, if I live modestly—or even if I don’t—I never need to work a day in my life. Very few of the men I’ve met will ever have resources equal to mine. Even Harold, wealthy as he is, can’t hold a candle to the assets I have in the bank. So no, you and I won’t be on the same footing financially. But I can’t believe you would condemn me to marrying a man like Harold, because you’re too proud to have a rich wife.”
“Whoa, lady! Who the hell said anything about marriage?”
Her jaw jutted. “I just did.”
Joe jerked his forearm free. “Think again.”
“Please, Joe. Don’t leave.”
The sound of her voice was heart wrenching and held him in place.
She swiped a tear from her cheek and said, “Don’t you think we should at least see where this . . . thing . . . between us goes?”
Joe was more than a little tempted. His body had never stopped being aware of her. He was hard and ready, and the last thing he wanted to do was get out of this bed and walk away from her.
“At least stay the night,” she urged. “Give yourself time to consider what I’m suggesting.”
Joe had never been a fool. And he wasn’t going to cut off his nose to spite his face. A beautiful woman had offered to let him spend the night in her bed. Joe gave the response he was certain any red-blooded male would have given.
“I’m all yours, honey. At least until tomorrow morning.”
Chapter Twenty One
Lydia was lying in bed, nestled in Joe’s arms, when she awoke to the sound of someone knocking hard on the door of her hotel suite. “Joe,” she whispered.
He was instantly awake. “Were you expecting someone?” he asked as he turned on a lamp. He slid out of bed and pulled on his trousers without stopping to put on underwear. He zipped the pants but didn’t bother with the button at the top of the fly.
Lydia couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She’d traced every scar on his body, studied the play of muscle and sinew and bone, and her hands still itched to touch.
Shirtless, his tux trousers hanging on his hipbones, Joe headed for the door.
Lydia glanced at the clock beside the bed and saw it was nearly midnight. She couldn’t imagine who could be calling on her—hunting for her?—at this hour.
Unless it was her father.
Lydia scrambled out of bed, snatched the top sheet to cover her nakedness, and called out to Joe, “Don’t open the door!”
Joe paused in mid-stride, turned, and asked, “Why not?”
She stopped in the bedroom doorway and met his gaze with wide, anxious eyes. “It might be my father. In fact
, I can’t think of anyone else it could be.”
Joe raised a brow. “What do you want to do? Whoever it is seems pretty damned determined to see you.”
Lydia’s heart was beating a wild tattoo. She couldn’t bear the thought that her father might think less of her when he discovered Joe in her room. Bull knew that she’d just turned down a wedding proposal from one man, and here she was, already sleeping with another man—one she barely knew.
The knocking continued, more insistently.
“We have to do something, honey, or he’s going to pound the door down,” Joe said.
“Fine!” Lydia replied. She might as well take the bull by the horns. She was a grown woman. She would hold her head high and tell her father that her sex life was none of his business!
She tucked the sheet more tightly around her breasts, then gathered up the tail of cloth dragging behind her and threw it over her arm as though she were wearing a Roman toga. She smiled to herself when she thought how appropriate that comparison was. She crossed to Joe, rose on tiptoe to kiss him—for courage?—then opened the door.
If Joe hadn’t been there to catch her, she would have landed in a heap, she was so shocked at the sight that greeted her.
“Good Lord!” she exclaimed when she saw Oliver standing in the hallway. “What are you doing here?”
She felt Joe’s arm slide possessively around her waist and felt his body tense for battle. The last thing she wanted was for Joe to end up taking a swing at her brother. She put a restraining hand on his arm and said, “Joe, this is my brother Oliver. Oliver, this is Joe Warren, my . . .” She hesitated, unsure what description applied, and ended up simply saying, “This is Joe.”
Oliver stepped inside without being invited to do so, and Lydia let the door slide closed behind him.
A furious blush rose on her cheeks as her brother disdainfully examined first her, and then Joe. The way she and Joe were dressed—or rather, undressed—left nothing to the imagination.
“Is there any way we can speak in private?” Oliver asked, shooting a pointed look at Joe.
“I have a pretty good idea what you’re here to say,” Lydia replied. “Joe knows what I did.”
“He knows that you lied to me? That you betrayed my trust and Mother’s trust and nearly caused a priceless gem—for which Mother has great sentimental feeling—to be lost forever?”
Lydia was horribly aware that Joe, with whom she’d hoped to work professionally, was listening to every word of Oliver’s venomous but well-deserved condemnation. The guilty knot in her throat made it difficult to speak, but she knew she owed her brother an apology. “I’m sorry,” she said in a voice thick with regret.
“Sorry won’t cut it!” Oliver said. “How can I ever believe another word you say to me? How can I ever trust you again?”
Lydia heard the deep disappointment in Oliver’s voice and felt wretched. She was completely surprised when Joe came to her defense.
“Your sister made a mistake,” he said. “Ultimately, there was no harm done. Cut her some slack.”
“You have no place in this discussion,” Oliver retorted.
“I disagree. I’ve spent the past couple of days in Lydia’s company,” Joe replied. “I’ve had a chance to work with her retrieving the Ghost, and I’d say she’s basically an honest and caring person.”
Lydia’s heart swelled with gratitude for Joe’s kind words.
He finished, “I trust her enough that I’m going into business with her.”
“Doing what?” Oliver replied in a menacing voice.
Lydia jumped in to deflect Oliver’s animosity from Joe to the place where it really belonged: on her. She lifted her chin and said, “Our plans aren’t any of your business. Suffice it to say, we’re forming a partnership.”
Her brother shot her a cynical look. “Is that what they’re calling sexual liaisons these days?”
She heard Joe make a growling sound in his throat.
“Who I sleep with is none of your business, either,” Lydia snapped.
“I thought you were engaged to Harry Delaford,” Oliver said.
“Then you were mistaken. Harry asked, but I turned him down.”
Oliver focused his gaze on Joe, arched an aristocratic brow, and asked, “Just who are you?”
“Nobody that would matter to you,” Joe replied.
“Joe was a soldier,” Lydia said, when Joe refused to explain himself. “He left the army because of an injury to his leg.”
“Humor me,” Oliver said to Lydia. “What kind of business could the two of you possibly run together? Based on Joe’s accent, I’m presuming he’s an American. Are you planning to move to the States?”
“No,” Lydia replied.
“Is Joe planning to move to London?” Oliver asked.
“No,” Joe replied, even though the question wasn’t directed to him.
Oliver pursed his lips. “Then how—and where—are the two of you going to engage in this business, whatever it is?”
It was a good question. Lydia had wondered herself how she and Joe were going to meld their lives when they lived on different continents. Where would they live when they weren’t traveling for work? Where would they settle down and raise their children?
The truth was none of that really mattered right now. She and Joe were at the very beginning of their relationship. They had all the time in the world to figure those things out. She knew all she needed to know: there was something very, very special about Joe Warren. For the first time in her life, Lydia thought that she just might get that fairy tale ending. She just might end up living happily ever after.
Lydia realized she was chewing on a fingernail and yanked her finger from her mouth. “I appreciate your concern, Oliver. Really, I do. But I don’t need your help.”
“I’m worried that you haven’t thought this through.” Oliver reached out to lay a big-brotherly hand on Lydia’s shoulder, but Joe pivoted with her so that Oliver’s hand fell on thin air. Oliver scowled at Joe.
Joe made a dangerous sound in his throat, then said, “Your sister has made her wishes plain. She doesn’t want or need your help. You should leave.”
For a moment, Oliver looked like he intended to argue the point. Then he focused his gaze on Lydia and said, “I’m always available if you need me.”
Oliver was reaching for the door when Lydia cried, “Oliver!”
As he turned back, she pulled herself from Joe’s grasp and flung herself into her brother’s arms, which opened to receive her. She pressed her cheek against his chest and said, “I truly am sorry, Oliver. I know I’ve shattered your trust, but I promise you, I will do everything in my power to earn it back.”
She pulled her brother’s head down, at the same time going up on tiptoe so she could whisper in his ear, “I’ve found someone I believe I can love. Someone I believe could care for me. Be happy for me.”
When she lowered herself again, the crease of worry was still there between his eyes. Lydia felt a pang of disappointment at Oliver’s skepticism, his unwillingness to believe that she could have found true love so suddenly, and in such a strange way.
Then he did something completely unexpected. He turned his piercing gaze on Joe and said, “Since you work for Warren and Warren Investigations, I presume this business you and my sister intend to engage in involves investigating?” He’d made it a question, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “Especially since I’ve been aware for some time of Lydia’s inclination to follow in my footsteps and search out missing art and artifacts in order to return the items to their rightful owners.”
Lydia’s brows rose toward her hairline in astonishment. “How did you find out?”
Oliver ignored her, keeping his focus on Joe’s ice-blue eyes. “If I’m right, then I have a job for the two of you. I would do it myself, but I’m otherwise engaged at the moment.”
Lydia noticed that Oliver didn’t explain the project. He waited for Joe to ask what it was. It was a clever way
for her brother to get Joe to admit that the work they planned to do was exactly what he suspected.
When Lydia turned to find out Joe’s response, she was dumbfounded to find him leaning on the oak cane she’d bought for him. It had been lying in the open box on the coffee table all this time. With no wall to lean on, and apparently unwilling to sit when her brother was standing, Joe must have picked up the cane to support his wounded leg, so he could stay on his feet and remain in the fray.
“I’m listening,” Joe said to Oliver.
Lydia crossed to Joe and threaded her arm through his, so they provided a united front to her brother, and said, “We’re both listening.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Joe couldn’t believe how much easier—and less painful—it was to stand with the aid of the oak cane Lydia had bought for him. He’d snatched it out of the box, because it was either prop himself up with something or fall flat on his face. Somehow, with Lydia by his side, using the cane didn’t feel so much like he was giving up or giving in. It was more like he was moving on.
“So what’s this job you can’t do yourself?” he asked Oliver.
“It isn’t that I can’t. It’s just that I’m not interested.”
“Why not?
“It isn’t art or an artifact that’s missing. It’s a shipment of gold bullion. The bank is offering a ten percent recovery fee.”
“Exactly how much gold is missing?” Joe asked.
“Sixty million.”
Joe did the math and whistled. “That’s quite a payday.” If he and Lydia could find and return the gold, they’d earn six million dollars. His half of that would easily allow him to support himself—and a wife—and contribute significantly more to the veterans’ organizations he already supported.
Lydia hadn’t said anything, and Joe met her gaze, wondering what she was thinking. “I know it isn’t exactly what you had in mind,” he began.
Lydia turned to her brother and said, “We want the job.”
Joe realized he was grinning.
“I’ll have my assistant send you the details,” Oliver said. He reached out to shake Joe’s hand. “Take good care of my sister.”
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