When they’d decided to call it a night, Marcus had made a quick call to Ann, who’d suggested that he attempt to speak directly with Prince Raif, the Rayas prince who’d accused her of dealing in stolen antiquities. If anyone might possibly have the answers it should be the prince, although Marcus doubted that his reception would be warm, if the guy even agreed to speak with him.
He’d booked a call to His Royal Highness, Prince Raif of Rayas, for this morning, after a quick check online had confirmed Rayas was only three hours ahead of London, which meant it was nearing 9:00 a.m. there now. He had time for a quick shower and then he would make the call.
A few minutes later he was back in the study and dialing the number Ann had given him last night. It took a while, and being passed through various escalating levels of staff, but eventually the clear clipped tones of Prince Raif greeted him.
“Good morning, Your Highness. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
“No thank you is necessary, Mr. Price. Though I’m sure you can appreciate, Waverly’s is not my favorite topic of conversation these days.”
The man’s crisp enunciation spoke of his higher education having been conducted abroad, possibly even here in the United Kingdom. Even so, his voice still carried the slight lilt specific to his country.
“I can understand that, however I believe your accusations are unfounded. I’m conducting research into them now and—”
“Unfounded? I think not. My family’s Gold Heart statue was stolen. Several months later, your firm miraculously secures a Gold Heart and is preparing to hawk it for sale. That certainly stretches the credibility of coincidence, wouldn’t you agree? Let me make one thing perfectly clear, I am not impressed with your employer’s ethics.”
As a shutdown, the prince’s response was pretty effective, yet Marcus was not one to be deterred easily.
“It’s not outside of the realm of possibility that the statue catalogued in our inventory could be the one that went missing a century ago, is it?” he insisted.
The prince sighed, the sound weighted with irritation. “Yes, Mr. Price, it is. That statue was irrevocably lost. You should expect to hear from both the FBI and Interpol, who are looking into the matter now. I suggest you encourage your Ms. Richardson to either take the necessary steps to return what rightfully belongs to my family, or to admit the item in her possession is a fake.”
“And if it isn’t a fake?” Marcus asked, wishing like mad that Ann had been able to track Roark Black down and get the information they so sorely needed directly from him. Even if they could just see the statue, it would help. But, ever mindful of security, Black had secured it in his private vault at an undisclosed overseas location before disappearing into the Amazon, leaving only photographs and his own authentication for Ann’s records.
The prince interrupted his thoughts. “If the statue in Waverly’s possession is not a fake, then one way or another you are dealing in stolen property. Specifically my property.”
“What of the legend, Your Highness? Do you believe that for as long as a Gold Heart statue resides in a royal palace in Rayas that the family within it will always be lucky in love?”
He heard Prince Raif’s sharply indrawn breath. When the man spoke it was with a barely leashed temper. “That is my family’s business alone, and has no bearing on the theft.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you, but I would like to understand a little more about the statues and their meaning for your family.”
There was a brief silence at the end of the line before the prince spoke again. This time there was a different note to his voice. “Let me say this, the absence of the statue has caused pain to my family. Do you have any brothers or sisters, Mr. Price?”
“No, I don’t,” Marcus admitted.
The information Avery had uncovered regarding the curse of the Gold Heart statues tickled the back of Marcus’s mind. Had something happened to Prince Raif, or even the younger sister he kept so sheltered from the prying eyes of the public and international media? Was that responsible for the change in his tone? Perhaps his was a personal pain, rather than one borne on behalf of family.
“Then you can’t possibly begin to understand the depths of my concern. Tell your Ms. Richardson that if she wishes to discuss this matter any further I expect her to do so face-to-face, and not to hide behind her staff.”
Before Marcus could respond, the prince had severed their connection. Putting his cell phone on the desk in front of him Marcus accepted he was at a stalemate. He opened his laptop and swiftly composed a message to Ann’s private email, detailing the conversation he’d just had with Prince Raif and putting in writing the sparse information he’d given her by phone the night before. None of it would make her happy.
Once he’d fired the email off he closed the lid on his laptop and leaned back in the leather swivel chair, raising his hands behind his head and expelling a breath in frustration.
“Is everything okay, Marcus?”
Avery stood in the doorway wearing a sleek black one-piece swimsuit beneath an untied robe. Every nerve in his body went on high alert at the sight of her long legs, slender figure and lightly tanned skin. The suit, while respectfully covering a great deal of her, still revealed the shape and fullness of her breasts, the curve of her tiny waist and the slight flare of her hips. All thoughts of statues fled his mind as he was faced with the beauty of the flesh-and-blood woman in the doorway.
“Marcus?” she asked again as he failed to respond. Verbally, at least, he thought with a wry grimace.
“I’m fine. I just got off the phone with Prince Raif of Rayas. We’re no further forward. He firmly believes the Gold Heart statue that Ann has in the auction is his family’s and if it’s not, then it’s a fake. I can’t understand it, Roark Black wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”
“Then maybe it’s the statue that went missing a hundred years ago.”
“I sure hope it is,” Marcus agreed.
“Why don’t you come and have a swim with me, it might help work out some of that frustration you’re carrying. We’ve got a changing room filled with spare swimsuits if you don’t have one upstairs.”
Marcus thought about it for all of a second, although he doubted going for a swim with Avery would release an ounce of the tension that held his body in its grip. “I’d like that.”
He followed her down the stairs and wondered whether the pool would be heated. Well, if it wasn’t, it certainly would be once he hit the water.
“You can change through there,” Avery said, pointing to a niche in the painted block wall.
“Thanks,” he said, making his way quickly into the changing room as she slid her robe from her shoulders and dove neatly into the pool.
He shed his clothes with an indecent amount of haste and dragged on a pair of swimming trunks he’d grabbed from the shelf, grateful to see they were a bit on the full side, which would accommodate the semi-arousal he had been fighting from the second he’d seen her in the doorway.
* * *
Avery was treading water at the deepest end of the pool when Marcus came out of the changing room. Her concentration slipped for a moment, almost making her dunk herself, as she took in the perfect symmetry of his lightly muscled physique. Maybe asking him to swim with her hadn’t been such a great idea after all.
Her breath caught in her throat as he dived deep into the water, swimming below the surface for the full length of the pool before surfacing in front of her.
“You finished already?” he said with that signature smile that never failed to melt her insides.
“No, just waiting for you.”
“You want to race?”
“Sure,” she said, “why not? Ten laps?”
He nodded. “You want me to give you a head start?”
She snorted in derision. “A
head start? What do you take me for?”
“A girl,” he teased. “Besides, to give you fair warning, I was ranked second on my college swim team.”
“Only second,” she answered in kind. “I was first.”
With that she shoved off the end of the pool and began to stroke for the other end. She was ahead at the first three turns, but not by much and she had to reach deep for the energy to maintain her lead after the fifth. But, Marcus, it seemed, had been pacing her, because on the final lap he powered ahead touching the end and then turning to wait for her as she glided to the finish line.
Her lungs were burning and her arms and legs felt like jelly. She was an accomplished swimmer and laps had a boring monotony about them that she usually completed without any issue. But this had been different. She’d pushed herself to go faster than she ever did simply for fitness. And Marcus, damn him, wasn’t even breathing hard.
“That must have been some swim team you were on,” she commented as she got her breath back.
“Unbeaten for five years.”
He reached for her, pulling her against him and treading water for them both. “I think I deserve a prize for winning, don’t you?”
Her body thrilled at his touch, and as their lower bodies brushed against one another she felt the unmistakable heaviness of his erection.
“A p-prize?” she managed, dragging her attention back to his suggestion. “What kind of prize?”
“This,” he said, drawing her a little closer and capturing her lips with his.
Avery’s fingers clutched tight at his shoulders as she held on for dear life. But it wasn’t drowning she was most afraid of—unless you counted drowning in sensation as his lips stroked across hers in a gentle caress, a caress she wanted to deepen and explore more fully. Ever since their good-night kiss last Saturday she’d wanted to repeat the experience. Repeat it, and more. She’d never been that kind of girl, though—the type to take charge, to dominate, to lead. But right now she wanted to tell Marcus, in actions rather than words, that she wanted him. Wanted him in every way a woman could want a man.
Her legs wrapped around his hips, her center pressed against his hardened ridge, her breasts crushed against the expanse of his muscled chest. Ah, yes, now his breathing was more erratic, more labored. She opened her mouth to him, tasting him as his tongue swept inside, relishing the feel of him. Everything inside her turned molten, heated with a fire and need that all too quickly threatened to consume her. And then, almost as quickly as their kiss had begun, his hands dropped to her legs, untangling them from his body, and he withdrew a small distance from her, holding her away from him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her body silently crying out, begging for more even as his rejection of her stung.
“Wrong? Everything about this is wrong, Avery. We’ve only just met. I’m here as your guest, to help you—not to seduce you. I’m sorry, I should never have let that go so far. It was out of line.”
He let her go completely and she gripped the side of the pool with white-knuckled fingers.
But what if I want to be seduced? she asked deep in the recesses of her mind. But even if she’d verbalized the question he wouldn’t have heard her. He’d already begun to swim, with a short choppy freestyle, to the other end of the pool, where he pulled himself from the water. She got a glimpse of his broad naked back tapering to his slim waist, his buttocks shielded by the wet black fabric of his swimming trunks, his legs long and powerful, before he grabbed a towel from the shelves and wrapped it around himself. He didn’t even pause to get showered, instead grabbing his clothes from the changing room and, still wrapped in the towel, heading straight for the stairs.
With a shuddering sigh, Avery let go of the breath she’d been holding. She didn’t know whether to nurse her feelings of rejection that he’d cut things short between them after setting her afire, or to be relieved he was, after all, a gentleman.
By the time she’d followed him out of the pool and showered and dressed upstairs in her room she’d managed to calm her ragged senses into some type of order. It was a matter of having to because she had no time to indulge in mentally replaying what had happened at the pool, even though her body still hummed with frustration.
Today was what she privately called a work day, which meant selecting the finer of her designer-daywear outfits and putting on a public face at a meeting of one the art charities she was involved in. This was the first time since her father’s death that she’d be attending in person and it was important she be there as it was the final meeting before the upcoming weekend’s major annual fund-raiser. The charity was one she was particularly passionate about as it offered children from all walks of life a chance to grow their talents.
She popped her head into the study on her way to the kitchen for cup of coffee before leaving, but Marcus wasn’t there.
“Mrs. Jackson,” she started as she entered the kitchen a few short minutes later, “has Mr. Price had breakfast yet?”
“No, Miss Cullen. He asked me to let you know that he’ll be away from the house all day. He had some business north of London, apparently. He said he may not be back tonight and not to wait up for him.”
Ah, there it was again, that stinging sense of rejection. She tried not to let it hurt, but it did nonetheless.
“I see, well, I’m sure he’s a very busy man.”
Mrs. Jackson gave her a searching look. “He also said to say he’d be working on the matter you asked him to look into upon his return.”
A swell of hope blossomed inside. Maybe his business out of London today wasn’t him running away from her after all.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile on her face that felt as if it went all the way to her foolish heart.
* * *
Marcus cursed himself for every kind of fool for running away from Avery the day before. He was a man of the world. Someone quite capable of dallying with a beautiful woman, especially to get something he wanted. Somewhere along the line though, as he’d held her in his arms in the pool yesterday morning, he’d lost sight of his goals. Again. She had a way of messing with his mind that he couldn’t afford to indulge. The distance created by the trip yesterday had been vitally necessary to remind himself of exactly why he’d come to England in the first place. Lovely Woman had to return to his family.
He’d talked to his grandfather on the phone last night and had stupidly mentioned seeing the painting. The silence that had echoed all the way from Boston had been deafening.
“The Cullens bought it back, then,” his grandfather had said with a note of finality that Marcus had hated with every bone in his body. “They’re not likely to let it go again, are they.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I’m working on it, Grampa.”
It was all he could say and the futility of the statement left him nursing a fury that was only further fed by the memory of Avery Cullen in his arms. Of the slick smooth wetness of her swimsuit beneath his hands, of the sensation of her long lean muscles moving beneath that fabric. Of the feel of her legs as they’d wrapped around his hips and the heated core of her as it settled against the aching erection he’d been forced to sustain for the greater part of the morning.
She got to him on so many levels it wasn’t funny. Him, the original user. The guy who’d used his unmistakable charm to fake his way to pedigree in a way that had never seen a single fellow student question his humble blue-collar Boston background through school and subsequently through college. He was immune to the vulnerable; he’d trained himself to be. Because, to him, Marcus Price was the kind of guy who never took his eye off the prize, and he was always prepared to work hard and use his intelligence to get whatever it was that he wanted.
You want Avery Cullen, a voice snaked through the back of his mind. He acknowledged the words, accepted them, then filed them away. Sure, h
e wanted Avery. What heterosexual man in his right mind wouldn’t want her? She was a goddess to look at, with a body that promised untold sensual delight yet she still maintained an air of sexual naiveté, of untapped raw passion, that was enough to entice even the most jaded of souls. But he wanted Lovely Woman more.
And it was with that avowal in the forefront of his mind that he returned to Avery’s Kensington home.
He expected the atmosphere to be strained when he caught up with Avery over lunch, but she acted warm and friendly. In fact, aside from a light flush on her cheeks when they met again, she acted as if nothing had passed between them and as if his sudden departure yesterday had been nothing but normal. He hated to admit it, but it bugged him that she could be so nonchalant, and when she issued an invitation to him to attend a charity bash with her over the weekend he rapidly accepted. Held in the stately home of one of her family’s old friends, it would give him more avenues to solicit contacts for future business and may well even help him in his quest to track down the angel statue that Avery was so fixated on.
On Friday afternoon, they traveled together to Fernclere Castle. Even among his influential college friends’ families, Marcus had never before seen such an astounding monument to wealth and longevity as he did when they drove down the castle driveway.
“What do you think?” Avery asked, a mischievous look in her eyes.
“I think it says a lot for their business acumen that they’re still private owners.”
She nodded. “Yes, and they’re avid collectors of fine art, too. It’s part of why they agree to host this fund-raiser each year. You’ll enjoy visiting the long gallery.”
Marcus felt his interest lift. Potential clientele aside, there was little he enjoyed more these days than viewing privately owned collections. Inside the castle they were shown to their rooms and invited to meet with the hosts downstairs for cocktails before dinner. Avery had warned him they followed old-fashioned conventions here, dressing for dinner, but he was unprepared for the impact of seeing her when he knocked on the door of the room next to his to escort her back downstairs.
A Silken Seduction Page 6