Simon Says...

by Donna Kauffman

  Then she had another thought. Slippery. He’d been in the shower, so maybe he used body soap. At the very least there’d be shampoo in there. Of course, she had no idea how she was going to retrieve these items while tied to a chair, but she wasn’t going to sit there and do nothing. She’d figure that part out when she got in there.

  Redoubling her efforts, she bobbled and scraped her way almost a whole foot, before the edge of the chair caught at the foot of the bed and went tottering all the way forward on two legs, before she swung the momentum back. The unfortunate result of that maneuver was that the chair overcorrected and tipped over backward, which she had no way of stopping. Thankfully the bed blocked the chair’s descent, so she didn’t whack her head on anything. But now she was tilted back like she was in some kind of recliner, with her feet completely off the floor, leaving her with no leverage at all.

  MacGyver would be so disgusted with her right now. She was disgusted with her right now.

  She carefully tried to shift her weight forward to see if she could tip it forward again, but that only served to make the back two chair legs—the only ones presently touching the floor—start to slip. She froze and tried to figure out what to do next.

  Which was how Silas found her when he came back into the room. And did he honestly expect her to buy that as his name? Although, maybe it was a popular name in New Zealand. She really didn’t know.

  He stood next to her, his head tipped sideways. “How on earth did you manage that position?” Then he smiled. “What are the odds of using that line with a woman in my own hotel room, and we’re both fully clothed?”

  She glared at him as fiercely as she was able. Her jaw was sore from having the stupid belt tucked in it, so she didn’t bother trying to swear at him. She did wiggle a bit, but that proved to be a bad idea. The chair legs went out from under her, and it was only his amazingly swift reflexes that kept her from cracking her head on the floor.

  He cradled the chair and gently tipped her upright. The whole time his body was in very close proximity to hers, which was why she couldn’t help but notice how good he smelled. Not aftershave or cologne, not strong enough for that. Which meant shampoo. Or the body soap she’d been hoping to find earlier, when she’d started her ill-conceived mission. So much for channeling her inner MacGyver. More like her inner Lucy.

  “You’re a tenacious one. A shame we’re on opposing sides.” He moved around behind her. “I’m going to remove this, and while you might be tempted, I’ll ask you not shout out, or right back on it goes.”

  She was so thankful to have the horrid thing off, she didn’t do more than work her jaw once he’d removed the gag. “Thank you,” she said, once he’d stepped around in front of her again and sat on the end of the bed. At least he had the decency to look slightly guilty. Of course, decency in a thief was highly overrated.

  She wiggled her hands. “Can you untie me now?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But there is too much at stake to take any chances with you.”

  “I wasn’t tied up before you left and you managed to survive just fine.”

  He did smile a little at that, but it faded quickly. “We have to have a little talk.”

  She stilled. He looked…regretful. Had he decided she was too much trouble after all? The gun hadn’t made a reappearance, so that was good news. But maybe he’d told someone about her misuse of the master passkey. Was someone on the way up to escort her from the hotel right this very second? “I’m sure we can come to some kind of mutually agreeable solution to this situation. Let’s not do anything hasty.”

  “Oh, I believe I’ve found a solution to my problem. And perhaps, in the slightly longer term, yours as well. It seems I’m going to need a partner to help me complete my assignment here. If all goes well, we’ll both get what we want.”

  4

  SHE DIDN’T LOOK NOTICEABLY upset or even put off by the proposal. Instead she wiggled her fingers. “I could help you break the law much better with my hands free.”

  “We’ll get to that part.” She looked adorably pathetic, but he refused to feel guilty. Sophie had, more or less, brought this on herself. She’d chosen a life of crime. Or at least a very early morning of it. He was merely going to extend her spree a wee bit.

  She seemed to note that he still wasn’t smiling, and sobered a bit herself. “What is it you want me to do? Am I going from trashing my career to risking serious jail time?”

  “You haven’t trashed anything. Yet. Help me get what I want, I return home, you go back to work. You’ll have done a good deed, and for that, no one will ever be the wiser about your early morning breaking and entering.”

  “I entered, I didn’t break. I had a key. And that was also an attempt at doing a good deed, and look where that landed me?” But her attempt at bravado was short-lived, as, a moment later, her expression faltered causing her to look down at her still-tied hands.

  On anyone else, he’d have suspected it to be a calculated ploy of some sort, but he already knew that to be beyond her. “What is it?” he asked. When she didn’t look up, he said, “Sophie?”

  She took another moment, then sighed and looked at him. “I realize this means nothing to you, it’s just, I’m worried. About Delia. That’s my friend, whose phone I was trying to retrieve. There’s a better than average chance that all hell is breaking loose right about now.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She’d been fascinating before, with her so-innocent eyes and nervous babble. But she was truly something when her heart was in play, as it clearly was where her friend was concerned. And, she was right, he didn’t—couldn’t—care about that. The only good that knowledge did him was provide him with possible leverage to get what he wanted. This Delia was a weakness to be exploited. Nothing more.

  Now it was his turn to look away, away from those beseeching eyes of hers. He couldn’t let himself care, he knew that…but that didn’t mean he was particularly fond of himself at that moment. “If your friend is as toxic as you’ve made her seem, perhaps it will be a good thing you’re not to be found then. For both of your sakes.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “Meaning you’ll be mercifully removed from having to do God knows what to rescue your friend, and she’ll be forced to handle her own problems. Might not be a bad thing for her to deal with the consequences of her actions.”

  “Yes, well, given I’m not exactly loving being schooled on that particular lesson myself at the moment, it’d be a bit hypocritical to wish it on my best friend. And I told you, her fiancé is Adam Wingate. The wedding reception will be held here this coming weekend and—”

  “I thought you also said that you weren’t invited.”

  “What I’m saying is that the hotel is going to be crawling with all kinds of extra people and security, planning, setting up and in general getting ready for what will be a major media event, at least here in town.”

  He frowned. Bugger. That could complicate things. “We can work around that. In fact, maybe we can use the general frenzy to our advantage.”

  Now she frowned. “How? You already know I’m a lousy liar, so having me try to pretend that nothing is going on is going to be hard enough, much less pretending around my best friend and my coworkers. And I can’t exactly sneak around in my own hotel and not be noticed.”

  “I don’t need you to be noticed.”

  “You said accomplice.”

  “I said partner. A…covert partnership.”

  “Covert.” She narrowed her eyes. “I know you caught me sneaking in here, but if you think I’m going to sneak into some man’s room and… You know, I thought I made it clear before that I wasn’t—”

  His brows lifted a bit at her meaning. “Trust me, that’s the last thing I’d ask of you.” He frowned when she looked insulted.

  “Is it so impossible to believe that I could seduce someone?”

  What? His attention was all caught up in her eyes. So expressive,
so direct. So at odds with the sweet, innocent face and those oh-so-soft-looking lips. It was their collective impact that had him speaking before he could think better of it. “Oh, I think you have weapons and wiles you’re not even aware of, which makes you particularly dangerous.”

  Her lips parted at that, and he watched her pupils expand. It made parts of him expand a little, too. How was it they went from sparring to…this, he had no idea, but he had to regain control over whatever it was she seemed to so effortlessly do to him, and keep his focus on the prize.

  Which was the Shay emerald…not Sophie Maplethorpe.

  And yet, in her own way, Sophie sparkled far brighter than that priceless heirloom he was trying to re-retrieve. Whether vulnerable or irritated, there was always a spark of vitality in her eyes. It struck him as truly remarkable that she’d come all this way in life, and didn’t seem to have the slightest grasp of where her powers truly lay. But that’s what made her so intoxicating.

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “It was a compliment,” he assured her, trying not to shift to find a more comfortable fit to his trousers. “Though perhaps one better kept to myself.”

  She looked at him then, truly looked at him. As if seeing something in him she hadn’t seen before.

  “What?” he asked, warily knowing he shouldn’t.

  “In my field, it pays to be a good reader of people.”

  “And?”

  She tilted her head just slightly. “While, on the surface, it might be quite plausible that you’re some kind of international criminal, a closer look tells me that you’re no ruthless thief.”

  “I’ve threatened you with a gun, bound and gagged you.”

  “You have kind eyes.”

  He should have laughed at that. Outright. Instead he found himself simply looking at her. Perhaps into her. So innocent, and yet, not really. Not when it came to knowing things that others never took the time to notice. Dangerously innocent, his Sophie Maplethorpe.

  “Ruthless thieves are supposed to have soulless eyes. Yours are warm, and they crinkle at the corners. You smile often.” She smiled a little herself at that. “Ruthless thieves probably don’t.”

  He didn’t know what he’d been expecting her to say, but it wasn’t that, and her simply stated assessment took him somewhat aback. He felt oddly exposed. “I’m sure there are plenty of thieves, ruthless and otherwise, who can fake all kinds of appearances.”

  “You’re probably right. You were quite…efficient with those electrical cords.” She sighed, just a little, but the coinciding tug it elicited inside him had him straightening and striding across the room.

  He needed some space between them. Moreso, he needed to get his equilibrium back, and swiftly. “So—”

  “Still,” she interrupted, “I was thinking that maybe you should just tell me why you’re here. You already know I’m a sucker for a sob story, or I wouldn’t have been in your room in the first place. Maybe I’ll want to help you, blackmail not required.”

  “You think I came here for a kindly reason, then, is that it? A mission to match the eyes, as it were.”

  She lifted her shoulder, then winced when it tugged at the cord on her wrists. So, in addition to becoming a thief, he was officially a cad of the first order. He could honestly say that this was his first time tying up a woman in his hotel room—for any reason—and it wasn’t a proud moment, seeing her there, like that.

  “Have you ever used your gun?”

  “What?” If she’d simply be consistent for more than five minutes, maybe he’d get a handle on this situation, on her, but she was dashedly quixotic. “I believe I did, earlier.”

  “I don’t mean waving it around. Have you ever shot…anything?”

  “I wasn’t waving it about, I was aiming it. At you.”

  She shivered. “Yes, I haven’t forgotten that part. But that’s not what I asked.”

  “If you’re trying to insinuate that because I haven’t shot at anything, that I’m somehow a kinder, gentler thief—”

  “Recovery specialist,” she corrected him, the barest hint of mockery in her voice.

  “The use of a firearm is hardly an accurate measure of the man wielding it. And why in bloody hell are we having this conversation?” He stalked to the other corner of the room, opened the bar fridge, then realized it was far too early in the day for a drink, and slapped it shut again. “We have business to attend. No more tomfoolery.”

  “No, we wouldn’t want any more of that.”

  He raked a hand through his hair, swore under his breath, then walked back to the bed and forced himself to sit calmly on the edge, his knees inches now from hers. How was it she could so frustrate him…and yet all he could think, even now, when he looked at her, was how she’d look bound to the bedposts instead of that chair. Writhing, those too-soft curves of hers, straining against—“We need to discuss the plan,” he said, abruptly.

  “The plan,” she repeated, unfazed by his harsh tone.

  “The…recovery plan.”

  “Ah.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t throw the gun away, you know.”

  “I doubted I’d be that lucky.”

  He wanted nothing more than to kiss that too-knowing look right off her face. Would serve her right, possibly even shock her into some much needed silence. Her feminine wiles seemed to be the only weapon she didn’t realize she had.

  So, why on earth he thought he should be the one to introduce her to them, he had no idea. But now that the seed was planted in his brain…and a few other parts of his anatomy…he couldn’t seem to ignore it. “Your key card,” he all but blurted. Focus, Lassiter. Focus. “What are the boundaries of use? Is there any record of where it’s been used?”

  “Only if the scanner it’s used in is screened. The card itself doesn’t have that feature. Where do you want me to use it?”

  “Not you, me. I need you for other things.”

  There went her pupils again, and dammit if she didn’t take a quick look at the bed.

  “You—” She stopped, cleared her throat. “Such as?”

  “As you said, trotting about might draw undue attention from folks we’d rather not be drawing attention from. What I need from you is information on how the security system works. Then I’ll be borrowing your card for a bit, and—”

  “But, you made it sound, before, like you wanted me to do something other than just give you insider information.”

  Simon briefly closed his eyes. He felt naked with her in a way he never did. With anyone. Maybe he should just get her naked and keep her off balance like she was keeping him. “I had a thought, when I came in earlier, that perhaps things would go more swiftly if you did, indeed, accompany me on a small part of my assignment here, but you’ve since convinced me that would be unwise.”

  “Because I’m frustrating and lousy at lying?”

  “Partly, yes,” he said honestly, and found himself fighting a smile when she scowled, even though they both knew it was true. “And because, as you so helpfully pointed out, you’re too closely connected to a major media event being staged here. I’ve decided not to risk that.”

  “Well, I suppose if you have my key card, you won’t have to risk much of anything, except getting caught.”

  “All the more reason to leave you tied up. If I’m found out and they go hunting, they’ll find you here, an obvious victim of a crime.”

  “Why should I believe for even a second that you’d tell them anything except what would help save your hide?”

  He gave in to the urge then, and smiled. “Kind eyes?”

  A short laugh spluttered out before she could catch it. It was surprisingly rich, what little taste he got of it—he would have expected something lighter, more lilting. But then, Sophie was turning out to be anything but the expected.

  The moment extended…and expanded. Both of them smiling, looking at each other…into each other. He wasn’t sure who leaned closer first. The pull to her was powerf
ully strong, like the positive and negative ends of two magnets, inexorably drawn toward one another by a force seemingly bigger than each alone could ever produce. And he thought, in that moment where everything slowed down, that if he could just get a taste of her, feel her move and breathe, warm and alive beneath his touch, that he’d have a better sense of how to handle her.

  And he knew, even as he thought it, that it was a lie even he couldn’t sell himself. He wanted all of those things, almost more than he wanted his next breath, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with finding leverage or gaining the advantage.

  He’d taken the Shay emerald from Guinn MacRanald and given it to Langston Tolliver, thinking the latter to be the rightful owner, as his extensive documentation would lead any sane man to believe. Only now he knew, as his gut had instructed him all along, that he’d taken the stone from its true owner, robbing Guinn of his rightful heritage and the one thing that symbolized all that the MacRanald ancestry was…a heritage he hadn’t realized that Tolliver would do anything to destroy. He should have done his research, should have at least followed his gut that far…but hadn’t thought it necessary, with the documents before him.

  Only to find those niggling suspicions had been right all along, and he’d been the victim of a very cleverly mounted con.

  He was here to fix that, to right that. Not to get involved with a saucy, innocent, electrifyingly compelling American who would do nothing but lead him down a path of total distraction…and, ultimately, destruction. Tolliver was here in Chicago to boast of his triumphant recovery of the stone to the world at large…and to Guinn in particular. After which, Simon was absolutely certain it would be secreted away, never to be seen in public again…certainly far out of even Simon’s capable reach.

  That was all he should be concerning himself with. Even a quick toss in the sheets had to be off-limits.