"Pooh?" Faith asked. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "Who's Pooh?"
Oh, Christ.
Faith.
Lex crammed his bare feet into his shoes. "Zoe, you have to stay in the house. Do you hear me? Do not, under any circumstances, come outside. This is a lodge problem, not a jewel-thief problem, I swear." His gaze bored into her. "Promise me."
Looking utterly bewildered, completely un-Zoe-like, she nodded. Her hair was mussed, her lips swollen from his kisses. Something light moved into his chest, but he didn't have time to heed or dissect it.
Instead, he quickly kissed her forehead. "I love you," he murmured. "I'll be back soon."
And it wasn't until he reached the back porch that he'd realized what he'd said, or how matter-of-fact and natural uttering those words to her felt.
And with that realization came another more startling revelation—they were true.
He loved her.
Zoe sank against the bed and let that singularly profound thought flutter around her brain like a butterfly looking for a place to alight. A warm, buoyant, tingly feeling mushroomed in her chest, and amazingly, her eyes watered. A feather of memory floated through her subconscious, but irritatingly hovered just out of reach, so she abandoned it for a more pressing thought.
He loved her.
There was something utterly magical about this moment, something that she should comprehend, but for whatever reason didn't. She'd always known that Nash loved her. It had been a given. But had he ever said the words? Had he ever lent voice to that sentiment? Annoyed, she knitted her brow. She should know this, Zoe thought, agitated. A woman didn't forget when a man professed his love. It was one of those unforgettable moments, like your first kiss, your first crush. There were some things one simply didn't forget and this should be one of them.
Furthermore, a woman should remember when a man gave her an orgasm, and though she knew that Nash had treated her to plenty of those over the years, tonight marked the first night she had a point of reference for the bone-melting event. Her body flushed with heat, recalling it. Those big talented hands on her body, his tongue anchored to her breast, then later … to her sex. Her thighs burned and a shiver of remembered heat tingled in her womb.
She'd been utterly desperate for him to fill her, for him to settle himself firmly between her thighs and push that hollow, achy feeling out of her gut. She'd watched him smoothly roll that condom into place and she'd literally licked her lips, she'd been so hungry for him. Her belly had trembled at the sight of him.
Six and a half feet of rock-hard, perfectly sculpted muscle and bone. Her gaze had wandered over the impressive landscape of his chest, down those six-pack abs, and settled on the jaw-dropping staff standing so proudly—so enormously—that it completely obscured his belly button.
Then, just when she was about to get her wish, George had interrupted—again.
Zoe flung herself back onto the bed and moaned miserably. Though she knew it was unreasonable, she'd begun to wonder if the little old man was taking some sort of perverse joy in wrecking her love life. But to give him credit, he'd sounded genuinely worried about … Pooh. Again, that wispy thought swirled around her brain, forcing her to shake her head in frustration when she couldn't coax the memory forward.
Something was wrong with her. Off. Out of sync. She didn't know what, but instinctively knew all wasn't as it should be. Zoe sighed.
Regrettably, she was no closer to discovering the problem than she was to discovering this jewel thief.
Tonight had gone a long way toward eliminating suspects, but unfortunately she wasn't really any closer to being able to point one out as the culprit. She had strong suspicions, grounded in data she could trust, but regardless of that intel, something about it didn't quite jive. She made a mental note to keep a closer eye on the bird watchers—there was more to them than met the eye, she was sure of it. Besides, if innocuous old couples like them were capable of being into S&M, then anyone could be the thief.
Who knew? She'd figure it out. She always did. In Zoe's opinion, there was no such thing as a smart crook. They invariably slipped up and made a mistake. The trick was being clever enough to catch it, then devising a plan that would bring them to justice.
Zoe yawned as fatigue dragged at her lids. She stood, got out of her vamp suit and into a nightie, then slid into bed. After a moment, she scowled sleepily, then sat up and swapped pillows with Nash.
His scent lingered and she found it oddly comforting.
* * *
10
« ^ »
Lex exhaled a weary breath. Faith's party had just finished with dinner and had moved into the great room to resume play. They'd been at it all day, yet the group seemed far from weary of the game. She'd designed the event much as she would a plot, he supposed, with each intermission and mealtime coinciding with some sort of cliff-hanger or dramatic revelation. All the participants had thrown themselves into their roles, dressing as their respective characters, and an excited sort of tension hovered in the air.
To his unease, the Millers had drifted into the room to watch, but rather than politely asking them to leave, Faith/Zoe had made a grand show of inviting them to play. They'd been thrilled, of course, Margie in particular. Her doughy face had creased into a rapturous smile, and Lex could feel her happiness all the way across the room.
Little did they know Faith had an ulterior motive for the invitation. Lex suspected the Millers had the unfortunate distinction of being her prime suspects.
He'd shadowed her all day, had stood watch while she'd searched the remaining players' rooms—a nerve-racking experience to be sure. He'd had to resist the urge to pat her down every time she came out of a room, lest she decide to lift anything else from his unsuspecting guests. Thankfully, it looked as if the condoms were a onetime incident.
A pity they'd had to waste one last night, Lex thought, still locked in the miserable jaws of unrelieved sexual frustration. By the time he'd taken care of Pooh—gotten him out of the garbage and back off into the woods—the first fingers of dawn had been clawing their way over the horizon.
Since George had been up all night, as well, and would have to help oversee breakfast, it hardly seemed fair for Lex to go back to bed. There'd been little point, anyway. He wouldn't have been able to sleep, not with Faith lying there beside him and the image of himself poised between her sweet thighs burning a hole in his retinas. As far as Lex was concerned, walking away from Faith in that moment should qualify him for sainthood.
Nevertheless, that was the best almost-sex he'd ever had in his life, Lex thought with a wry grin. A snake of heat stirred in his belly and his gaze turned inward as a vision of Faith in that sheer black suit, sprawled out on his bed, rose in his mind's eye. Butterscotch curls, heavy-lidded gaze, red lips, rosy nipples…
He pulled in a shallow breath and exhaled slowly. She'd been so responsive, had tasted so good. Every bit of her. He'd been so blinded with lust, he'd basically hit the high spots and had neglected other areas, a tragedy he would rectify at the first opportunity.
Though Lex knew he shouldn't make love to her, though he knew that when her memory returned she'd more than likely hate his guts, he could no longer deny that being with her was inevitable … especially after last night.
It was more than lust, more than desire, more than the primal urge to plant himself between her thighs. He'd fallen in love with her. At some point over the weekend, or possibly from the first moment he'd seen her—hell, who knew?—she'd unwittingly captured his heart.
Which hardly seemed fair, because when her memory returned, Lex knew that she'd break it.
He was not Nash Austin.
He couldn't be Nash Austin.
He would never be Nash Austin.
He was just a regular Joe who loved her and, given her penchant for heroic gestures, he knew that would never be enough.
But it wouldn't keep him from trying. After all, Faith was a once-in-a-lifetime woman, and he wasn't ab
out to give her up to an imaginary lover, badass or no.
Tonight when he made love to her, he'd see to it that that's what she'd remember. A living, breathing, real man.
Her man, for the taking.
"Melanie, I have a bad feeling about this," Zoe said grimly as she watched the last of the suspects leave the room. She helped herself to a cup of coffee from the refreshment table. "Want some?" she asked.
Melanie nodded. "Yeah, I do. It'll probably keep me up all night, but it's the best coffee I've ever had." Zoe handed her the cup and she took a sip, then moaned appreciatively. She stared at the dark brew. "Wonder where George gets it?"
Who knew? Zoe thought, or better yet, who cared? She had a thief to catch and time was swiftly running out. Tomorrow morning they would unmask the fictional thief, and quite possibly during the festivities the real thief would get away. She rubbed her forehead, trying to push back the headache forming there.
Melanie cradled her coffee cup between her palms and curled up on one end of the sofa. "What do you have a bad feeling about?"
Releasing a pent-up sigh, Zoe lowered herself into one of the leather wing chairs next to the fire. "I don't think that the housewife is the thief. Something about it doesn't feel right."
"But she has Colombian contacts," Melanie replied. "Her brother is on mission there."
"Be that as it may, I don't think she's the one. Whoever is behind this has done an excellent job of concealing their identity."
Melanie's brow folded in dismay. "You didn't find anything when you searched the rest of the rooms?"
Zoe shook her head. "Not the first thing, nor in their vehicles, either."
Melanie's eyes twinkled and Zoe could have sworn she saw her lips quiver behind her coffee cup. "You, uh … you searched their cars?" she asked lightly.
"Yes, of course." She huffed an exasperated breath. "I found plenty of French fries, gum wrappers and soda cans, but not the first diamond."
"They're awfully small," Melanie commented sagely. "Easily concealed."
"I know, and I've taken that into account. I did a thorough search, which wasn't easy, by the way," she added with a wry quirk of her lips, "since Nash insisted on 'standing guard' for me and kept hissing at me to hurry up." Damn his gorgeous hide, Zoe thought fondly. Weird that she should find that so adorable, but she did.
If nothing else good came out of this weekend—if by some chance they didn't find the real thief—at least she and Nash had connected on a deeper, more intimate level. Somewhere over the course of their relationship she'd obviously lost sight of just what he meant to her.
In the beginning, she'd fallen hard for Nash, and she'd loved him ever since. It was like breathing—it had come naturally to her.
But there was something fresh and exciting, something sweet and tender as a new bud on an old tree about the way she felt about him now. Their relationship had shifted into sharper focus, and, if possible, she'd fallen in love with him all over again.
She loved that boyish smile of his, the intelligence and wit, the goodness that was inherent in his character. He warmed her heart … and other significant parts of her as well, Zoe thought, as her lips curled into a private smile. Nash was a good man … who knew when to be a bad boy. And the things that he'd done to her last night were positively wicked. Remembered heat swirled below her navel and a tingly shiver contracted her nipples. Seeing his dark head feeding between her thighs had been the most erotic image Zoe had ever seen. Utterly incredible.
And she fully intended to reciprocate that sensual gesture tonight. Zoe belatedly wondered if he'd already gone to their room, but recalled him telling her he'd have to tend to a couple of things first.
He'd certainly taken his role as lodge owner very seriously, she thought, casting a glance around the cozy room. She'd seen him tend to guests with a warmth and sincerity that made her chest tighten, had watched him serve food, cut wood and even play fetch with that big black dog of George's.
And all the while he'd been looking out for her, had been trying to help her bring this criminal to justice. He'd been concerned for her welfare.
Zoe sighed contentedly. "You know what, Melanie? Nash is one helluva man."
Melanie's eyes twinkled and her lips slowly curled into a mysterious smile. "Indeed, he is."
Zoe reluctantly stood. "We should probably go to bed. We have a busy day tomorrow."
With a weary grunt, Melanie hoisted herself from the couch and absently set her empty cup on the coffee table. "You're right, of course. I'll see you in the morning."
Rather than leave the dirty cups in the great room for George or Nash to clean up, Zoe snagged both and decided to drop them off in the kitchen on the way to bed. Less work for someone, anyway.
But her steps slowed as she neared the closed door, because a fragment of conversation had reached her ears that sent her senses into the red zone.
"That's right," George was saying. "Colombia. Right. Well, they're the best, there's no doubt about that." He chuckled.
George? Zoe thought wildly. George was the culprit? Surely not, she scoffed. It had never occurred to her to do background checks or gather intel on the employees at the lodge. She'd been so certain that the thief was a member of the party. And yet, what else could he possibly be referring to, if not the diamonds?
"That's right. Naw, it's not a problem at all. I'm up, Louise. Just come on over and I'll sack 'em up for you. Come around back, though, so as not to wake the guests." There was a pause. "Sure," he laughed then, and for a moment it almost sounded as though he was flirting. "I'll share some with you."
Zoe didn't have any idea who this Louise person was, but she obviously worked for Boyle. Furthermore, George must be real confident in his place in the illegal organization, otherwise he'd never dream of skimming a little off the top. A thrill coursed through her. That meant she had more than a lackey within her sights, she had one of the bigger fishes in Boyle's nefarious pond.
George began whistling and she could hear him happily puttering around the kitchen. Arrogant bastard, Zoe thought, sickened that she'd actually grown fond of the cantankerous old coot.
Though her first inclination was to draw her weapon, burst through the door and nab him herself, she didn't. George appeared completely unconcerned, unhurried—hell, he was whistling, for pity's sake—which meant she had time to gather reinforcements.
Melanie was upstairs—too far away—so it had to be Nash. Zoe eased away from the door and made her way silently down the hall. She found him in their room.
"Nash," she said urgently. "Come on. I've found the thief and I have the son of a bitch cornered in the kitchen with the loot."
He blinked, gave her a blank look. "What?"
She grabbed his hand and yanked him along with her. "Thief, kitchen, loot," she whispered harshly, giving him the abbreviated version. She pulled her gun from her waistband. "Let's go."
He gulped when he saw the weapon, turned to dead weight when she wanted to hurry. "Do you need that, Zoe?"
"Let's hope not," she replied grimly. "That's why I brought you." Nash never carried a gun. His hands were lethal weapons, should have warning signs tattooed on them. Zoe was adept at self-defense, but she merely preferred the reassuring cold steel in her hand.
She dragged him onward and paused when she reached the kitchen, then did a button-your-lips gesture to Nash to make sure he didn't give away their position. She nudged the door open with her gun, peeked into the room. George stood at the counter, his back to her. Dammit, she didn't like that. Still, Louise would be here soon and then the odds of her doing this takedown smoothly greatly lessened.
It was now or never.
Gun drawn, Zoe exploded into the room, sending the door crashing against the wall. "Freeze!" George jumped, screamed like a girl, and the goods flew in every direction, scattering across the floor like marbles … dark marbles.
"George?" Nash said incredulously. "You think it's George?"
"The jig is up, George
," Zoe said calmly, though her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest. She looked at the floor and at once recognized coffee beans, not the stolen jewels as she'd first suspected. "Where are the diamonds?"
George turned around, opened his mouth in outrage—about to deliver a load of brimstone for scaring him half to death, she imagined—then clamped it shut and paled when his gaze landed on the gun.
His watery gaze slid cautiously to Nash. "What do you plan to do about this, Nash?" George asked meaningfully, though the meaning was lost on her.
"Zoe, George is not the thief," Nash told her carefully, as though she were a bomb about to detonate. "I know that he's not the thief. You have to trust me on this. Put the gun away. Please."
Zoe's lips twisted. "I know you've grown rather fond of him, Nash, so his criminal activity is disheartening—I liked him, too. But I just overheard him on the phone. He has the diamonds, and a contact named Louise is presently on her way here to share them with George."
George's eyes widened, then he blushed. "Louise is a woman I … fancy," he said, seemingly embarrassed. "And she isn't coming over here for any blamed diamonds—she's coming over for coffee." He looked pointedly at the beans spilled on the counter and floor, then lifted his chin and stared mutinously at Zoe.
She heard Nash's breath leave in a sigh. "Louise is his girlfriend," he told her, his voice tired and strained. "And everyone on this side of the mountain gets coffee from George. It's a special blend from Colombia that his son sends him from overseas. He's a buyer for one of the larger coffee companies."
That neatly explained everything, but Zoe still wasn't quite convinced. "But how do we know that's all his son buys?"
George glared at her, then Nash. "How much longer are you going to let this fool business keep on?"
"George," Nash said warningly.
"Well, it's ridiculous," he snapped. "She's got a damn gun aimed at me and all I'm tryin' to do is make a little coffee for a friend."
"Zoe, George is not the thief," Nash repeated. A vein throbbed in his forehead. "Put the gun away."
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