Simon Says...

by Donna Kauffman

  “And so you found them and, what, stole them from the poor family who’d had them for decades? I mean, they bought them fair and square, right? So—”

  He gave her a quelling look. “Of course I didn’t steal them. I arranged for the two parties to meet and they came to an equitable solution. More often than not, people are willing to do right by someone else when they know the whole story. Finding things is usually the hardest part.”

  “See, there you go being all rosily optimistic again.”

  “Yes, but for every ends-well scenario, you have why the item in question needed to be retrieved in the first place. If Thomas’s grandmother hadn’t been so punitive in the first place, they’d have passed to him as they should have.”

  “And you’d be out of a job.”

  “Exactly. Which is why I said I’m not always the most optimistic person. People can be extraordinarily generous, but they can also be extraordinarily cruel. In my line of work, one is almost always offset by the other.”

  “At least you give credit where credit is due. And pardon me for assuming you might have ‘retrieved’ those marbles some other way. Given that I’m presently tied to a chair, I have no idea how I came to that conclusion.”

  “This…case is different from what I usually do.”

  “And why are you bending the rules this time?”

  “Because there would be no equitable solution between the two parties. Their respective families have been at war with each other for several centuries, with the cruelty far outweighing the kindness. I believed what I’d been told about the rightful ownership of this particular piece of the family’s heritage. Instead of going with my gut, I went with what appeared to be the only solid evidence there was regarding its proper placement.”

  “And you should have trusted your gut.”

  He nodded.

  She was silent for a few moments, then she asked, “What does your gut say about trusting me?”

  “I don’t know that I have the luxury of relying on instinct in this case.”

  She leaned back and studied him again, for an even longer moment this time. “You trust me.” She smiled. “You can go with your gut on that.”

  “Sophie—”

  She broke in, using possibly the worst New York accent he’d ever heard. “So…when do I make with the break-in, Mugsy?”

  Simon slowly dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. “Why is it that doing the right thing is suddenly feeling all kinds of wrong?”

  7

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M doing this.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  Sophie wriggled around on the other side of Simon’s closed bathroom door, squirming into the maid uniform he’d brought back, which she purposely hadn’t asked how he’d procured. “If I get the velvet box,” she said, her voice muffled by the not-stretchy-enough black fabric, “then does that mean I can report to work as usual tonight?”

  “It might be best if you lie low until tomorrow. That would give you time to talk to your friend, find out what happened.”

  She stopped midwriggle. “You want me to talk to Delia?”

  “Assuming you’re not planning on never speaking to her again, that’s going to happen at some point.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “She’s the first one, the main one, who will be suspicious if she doesn’t hear from you.”

  “I’m sure we’re already well past that stage.”

  “Exactly. So you’ll have to contact her, reassure her, follow up.”

  “What am I supposed to tell her happened to me?”

  “Food poisoning from bad bar food? I don’t know.”

  “There was no food, only alcohol.” She struggled to pull the fabric over her hips. “Which is what got me in this situation in the first place,” she muttered under her breath. The Wingate family prided themselves on the Old World glamour of their hotels, which precluded their maids from wearing shapeless, one-size-fits-many smocks. They had designed specially made, traditional European-style black maid’s outfits, complete with white apron. Their only concession to the comfort of their employees was to allow soft-soled shoes, rather than heels. Sophie had considered it a major coup when the higher-ranking management staff at several of their hotels had pressured the family to include a trouser alternate to the previously mandatory skirt/tailored blazer ensemble for the female management-level employees.

  “I’m sure you can come up with something.”

  “I’m not sure I’m leaving this bathroom, so it might be moot.”

  “Cold feet?”

  “Not cold feet, no. I’m waiting to see if I’ll lose a few pounds while arguing with you so that I can get this damn dress down over my butt.”

  “I thought they were stretchy. They felt stretchy.”

  She mouthed his words back at him through the closed door, then clamped her teeth down as she gave the fabric a final tug. “They are,” she all but growled, which turned into a groan of discomfort as the skirt edged its way past the widest part of her backside, where it finally, mercifully, hung just long enough to brush the back of her thighs.

  “Do you need help?”

  She refused to look in the mirror. Instead she just opened the door. “Lycra black polyester, two sizes too small. It’s what all the fashionable jewel thieves are wearing these days.”

  She hadn’t known what to expect, but the way his gaze immediately raked over her, leaving her feeling almost physically frisked, wasn’t it.

  “What?” she said, not sure how to take his reaction. His eyes were dark, hot even, and pinned only on her…but he was scowling.

  “You’re not wearing that.”

  “I’m pretty sure it will have to be surgically removed, but I’m willing to go under the knife if it means I can breathe again soon.” She looked down at herself and grimaced at the way the seams were stretched so far they looked ready to burst. She probably looked like sausage stuffed into casing a link size too small. “If you could get the zipper in the back, I could probably get it from there.” A total lie, but maybe he’d leave to find a larger size as she contorted herself into bodily positions no woman should ever be witnessed doing while trying to get the damn thing off. “Zipper?”

  She turned around and shifted her hair to one side.

  She thought she heard some kind of strangled noise coming from his throat and tried not to feel insulted. Or hurt. “I pulled the zipper up before tugging the skirt the rest of the way down and I’m fairly certain my arms won’t bend that way now without something tearing, popping or becoming dislocated. And I’m not talking about the uniform.”

  She braced herself for his touch on the back of her neck, but moments passed, and nothing. When he didn’t say anything, either, she finally looked over her shoulder at him, which made her gasp slightly as the waist cinched in even further, then gasp again when she spied the expression on his face. “You picked it out, not me,” she managed, then turned her back to him again before she turned blue from lack of oxygen. “Zipper. Help. Please.”

  A moment later his fingertips brushed the sensitive spot on her nape, and she felt like she was being branded. “I think I’m going to lose the use of a lung if you don’t get that thing pulled down.” In truth, she was more worried about the other reactions her body was having to his touch, and silently willed him to get on with it already.

  “I thought uniforms were supposed to be less size specific and more…uniform. I just grabbed one.” He held the top of the zipper and carefully began tugging the tag down with his other hand. “Why didn’t you just tell me it was too small?”

  She didn’t say anything. She was too busy holding her breath, and it had nothing to do with the compression on her lungs. He was too close, and his breath was just the right amount of warm on her neck. It made a girl think about things she shouldn’t be thinking about just prior to committing her first crime. Okay, okay, technically her second crime, but she honestly didn’t feel like a criminal. Until no
w. They were standing way too close, and plots were being hatched, her heart was pounding, and nefarious deeds were imminent. Wasn’t it perfectly normal, then, under that kind of stress, to be thinking about what would happen if he didn’t stop with her zipper?

  If maybe he leaned in a little closer and pressed those lips to the base of her neck? She gave an involuntary little shiver, and he immediately stopped his seductively slow movement. Yes, it was possible—probable even—that he was just being cautious because of the snug fit, but that didn’t fit as well with the scenario playing out in vivid Technicolor in her mind.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she managed in a choked whisper.

  “Is it really that tight?”

  She might have whimpered a bit at that, her thoughts not remotely on the fit of the uniform. “Just—pull it the rest of way. Please.” She felt the zipper ease down, but her breath didn’t return as swiftly. Weren’t his fingers lingering a bit too long? Was she imagining that he was still standing too close?

  Then his touch was gone. And she sighed a little that the moment was over. Then his hands came to rest on her waist, his palms spanning it in a way that made her feel petite. “Sophie.”

  Just that one word, said in that halting, deeper-than-usual tone, was enough to send a full-body shudder of pure pleasure through her. She pressed her thighs together against the sudden ache there and couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it. She could, however, have stepped away. But she didn’t.

  “I know I shouldn’t be involving you,” he said, at length. “Even in a desperate situation, I wouldn’t normally compromise—”

  “Is it?” she asked, her voice barely more than a hushed whisper. His hands were on her, so it was a miracle she’d found any voice at all. “Desperate, I mean?”

  “I’d have found a way to accomplish my goal. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  “But…?”

  There was a pause, then she felt rather than heard his intake of breath, as his hands tightened briefly on her waist. “But, nothing. Nothing really excuses putting you in this situation. I’m…” He paused again, then she felt him press his forehead against her hair. She wanted to melt back against him. Nothing in the world would have felt more natural in that moment. “I’m going to let you go,” he said.

  It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear, which was when she knew just how much trouble she was really in.

  “I’ll only ask that you don’t tell anyone we met. Fair trade for the early morning intrusion?”

  “Simon—”

  “I’m here trying to right a wrong. I can’t do that by committing another wrong. I should have never let it go this far. You were right, it’s not fair. And nothing is so important that I should jeopardize anyone but myself. My timetable for this is quite short, and I—I got carried away, with wanting to fix this before I lose my only shot at it.”

  She turned then, and his hands stayed on her waist, which meant she was all but in his arms. When she looked up into his eyes, it brought her mouth dangerously close to his. “What if I want to help?”

  His eyes searched hers. “You have a smart mouth, Sophie Maplethorpe, but you also have a soft heart. I admire and respect both. But I won’t exploit them further.”

  She was trembling, but not in fear of what she was about to offer. “This morning I was trying to erase a wrong, or, at the very least hide one. I certainly wasn’t righting one. But the urgency to fix things—it made me make decisions I otherwise wouldn’t have. So I understand more than you know. Earlier, I just wanted to get out of here, with as little fallout as possible. But now—”

  “Now nothing has changed.”

  “Except it has. I know more. About you, about why you’re here. I don’t know what the whole story is between these two families, but—”

  “You don’t need to know. That would only put you in more potential danger than you’re already in—”

  “Potential,” she said, and he narrowed his eyes in exasperation, which perversely made her smile. “That means it’s not a certainty. What is this person likely to do once you retrieve this velvet box? Will he come after it? After you?”

  “Possibly.”

  “What if he doesn’t know it was you?”

  “It could only be me. I’m the only one who knows of its real significance, outside of the person I took it from originally.”

  “Wouldn’t he think that person might be after it, then?”

  “The original owner is eighty-three and not in the best of health. I doubt it. He knows I know now that I was duped in this. If it disappears, he’ll know it’s me.”

  “So, does that mean you look over your shoulder forever?”

  “It means I have to get it back to London, to where it belongs. He won’t be able to reach it then. Ever. As for reaching me, he might still think to come after me, to make a point, but he’ll know it’s a fruitless pursuit otherwise. Once it’s done, it’s done. Another generation will have to fight over it once they’re gone.”

  “Why is he here with it?”

  “To make a vulgar, very well-publicized point of ownership.”

  “Why not in Britain?”

  “He had to know I’d figure things out, so his gloating window is narrow. He won’t risk it being seen in public again. But he had to rub Guinn’s nose in it, and as he was already planning to attend the international event here, he chose this as his showcase. He even loaned the museum highly-sought after pieces from his rather extensive personal art collection to ensure his high profile while he’s here.”

  She sighed then, trying to think, to sort through things, which was almost impossible given where she was standing at the moment. Then he had to go and scramble what little rational thought she still had left by tipping up her chin with his hand, which he left cupping her face.

  “Sophie, stop.”

  She looked into his eyes. So dark, so serious. “Contrary to what little you know of me, I’m rarely impulsive. I’m not as soft as you think. I do care about my friends. I do care about righting wrongs.”

  “This isn’t your wrong to right.”

  “Simon—”

  He shifted his thumb across her lips, effectively silencing anything else she might have said. “I shouldn’t have gotten you involved.” He brushed his thumb across her lips.

  “Why the sudden shift? You’ve got me wanting to be on your side now.”

  “Seeing you in that uniform.”

  She frowned. “What? Why?”

  “Imagining Tolliver seeing you in that uniform.” He shook his head. “I’m not putting you anywhere near him.”

  “In a maid’s uniform? No one looks at the maids, trust me.”

  “A man would have to be dead not to notice you. And that uniform, your curves, the way—” He broke off and shook his head again. “Not happening.”

  For once, Sophie was speechless. She thought back to the ravenous way he’d raked his gaze over her when she’d come out of the bathroom. And that delicious shiver stole over her once again. He was offering her an out, a chance to walk away. But she was looking at him and he was looking at her, touching her, invading far more than her personal space, and she simply wasn’t ready to walk away. Not yet. And in that instant, how Delia could risk everything for a brief thrill came into complete and utter clarity. Heaven help her. “Who is Tolliver?”

  His eyes widened for a moment in surprise, then squeezed shut. “See? This is why I work alone. You’re a distraction, Sophie, and right now I can’t handle a distraction.”

  “Oh, I’d say we’re both already distracted, so we might as well figure out how to make it work for us.”

  His eyes shot open and she swore she felt the intensity of his gaze all the way down to her toes. “Dangerous talk.”

  She smiled then. “Danger is my middle name,” she said, adopting his accent.

  He rolled his eyes, then let out a short, exasperated breath as he shook his head slowly, several ti
mes…but he didn’t let her go.

  “I’m already involved, Simon. I know things. Too many things.”

  He lifted his head, his expression wary now, and none too happy. “Meaning?”

  She lifted one shoulder and aimed for a casual insouciance she was far from feeling. “Just that, you know, we both still do have something on each other and—”

  “I’m not going to jeopardize your job. That’s off the table.”

  “How do I know that?”

  He cocked his head. “Are you being serious?”

  She really didn’t think he’d let her go just to rat her out, she was just trying to find a way to keep him from shoving her out the door. “I’m just saying that we are already in this together, and this is just wasting time. We made a deal, I’m willing to keep my end of the bargain. Your reasons are yours, mine are mine.”

  “Sophie—”

  “Simon,” she mimicked. She was fully aware that she was more than a little spellbound by him, fully cognizant that the smart thing to do was to walk out the door and never look back, knew that even if she stayed, it wasn’t like he was going to stick around in any capacity. Talk about low percentage outcomes. All risk, no payoff. And there wasn’t even any tequila body shots involved to take the brunt of the blame for her continued stupidity.

  “Well, then,” he said, sighing once again, “I suppose there is only one thing to do.”

  She sighed as well, partly in relief, and partly to calm her suddenly racing pulse. She was excited. She was terrified. She wasn’t leaving. “Which is?”

  “Tie you up and keep you here until I see this thing through.”

  Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. “What?”

  “You heard me. You’re too big a risk for me, and I’m not endangering you, either. I’ll save you from that fate, even if you won’t save yourself.”

  “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

  He just cocked his head and gave her a quelling look.

  “A bit of pot and kettle, don’t you think?” she said, scrambling to figure out what to do next.

  “You can call it whatever you want. I momentarily lost my head, but I caught myself in time. I don’t know what your reasoning is, but I know I won’t use you—”