by Nora Roberts
“Now you want to discuss my family. Fine. He’s doing very well. So are Elizabeth and Charles.” It was how she thought of them now. “They’re back to their separate lives, and though Elizabeth mourns the loss of The Dark Lady, she’s well enough. Elise hurt her more. The breach of trust and affection.” She turned away. “I know how she feels. I know exactly what it is to be used and discarded like that.”
He started to step forward, then changed his mind and leaned back against the wall. Seductions, apologies, cooing words weren’t the way with Miranda in her current mood.
“We used each other,” he corrected. “And did a damn good job of it.”
“And now we’re done,” she said flatly. “What do you want here?”
“I came to offer you a deal.”
“Did you really? Why would I deal with you?”
“Several reasons come to mind. Tell me this first. Why haven’t you given me up to the police?”
“Because I keep my word.”
“Is that it?” When she didn’t answer he shrugged, but it bothered him. “Okay then, on to business. I have something you’d like to see.”
After tossing the cigar high over the rail, he turned back into the bedroom. He brought out his bag, took out the carefully wrapped contents. Even before he uncovered it, she knew, and was too stunned to speak.
“Gorgeous, isn’t she?” He held the figure as a man holds a lover, with great care and possessiveness. “It was love at first sight for me. She’s a woman who brings men to their knees, and knows it. She isn’t always kind, but she fascinates. It’s no wonder murder was done for her.”
He looked over at Miranda, studied the way she looked with the moonlight sprinkling over her hair and shoulders. “Do you know, when I found her, stored in a metal box, locked into a chest in that dusty garage—where Elise’s car was hidden, by the way—when I took her out and held her like this for the first time, I would have sworn I heard harpsong. Do you believe in such things, Dr. Jones?”
She could almost hear it herself, as she had in her dreams. “Why did you bring her here?”
“I imagined you’d want to see her again. You’d want to be sure I had her.”
“I knew you had her.” She couldn’t help herself. Moving closer, she ran a fingertip over the smiling face. “I’ve known for two weeks. As soon as I realized you’d gone, I knew.” She lifted her gaze from the bronze to his face. His beautiful, treacherous face. “I didn’t expect you to come back.”
“Actually, to be honest, neither did I.” He set the bronze on the stone table. “We’d both gotten what we’d wanted. You’ve got your reputation. You’re quite a celebrity these days. You’ve been vindicated. More than vindicated, you’ve been lauded. I imagine you’ve had offers from book publishers and Hollywood to sell your story.”
She had, and it continued to embarrass her. “You haven’t answered the question.”
“I’m getting to it,” he muttered. “I kept the deal. I never agreed to give the David back, and as to her—I never agreed to anything but to find her. I found her, and now she’s mine, so there’s a new deal on the table. How bad do you want her?”
It took all her willpower not to gape. “You mean to sell her to me? You want me to buy stolen property?”
“Actually, I was thinking of a trade.”
“A trade?” She thought of the Cellini he coveted. And the Donatello. Her palms began to itch. “What do you want for her?”
“You.”
Her rapid thoughts screeched to a halt. “Excuse me?”
“A lady for a lady. It seems fair.”
She paced to the end of the terrace, back again. Oh, he was worse than a worm, she decided. “You expect me to have sex with you in exchange for a Michelangelo.”
“Don’t be stupid. You’re good, but nobody’s that good. I want the whole package. She’s mine, Miranda. I might even be able to claim finder’s privilege, though it’s dicey. But I have her, and you don’t. In the past few days it occurred to me, much to my discomfort, that I want you more than I want her.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Yes, you are. You’re too bright not to. You can have her. You can put her on the mantel or give her back to Florence. You can use her for a doorstop, I won’t give a damn. But you’ll have to give me what I want for her. I’ve got a yen to live in this house.”
There was such a terrible pressure in her chest. “You want to live here?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You know, Dr. Jones, I don’t think you’re pretending to be thick. You just don’t get it. Yes, I want to live in this house. It’s a good spot to raise children. Look at that, you went white as a ghost. God, that’s one of the things I love about you. You’re always so shocked when someone interrupts the logic. And I love you, Miranda, beyond sense.”
She made some sound, it couldn’t be construed as words, as her heart staggered in her chest. Stumbled. Fell.
He crossed to her, amused now rather than panicked. She hadn’t moved a muscle. “I really have to insist on children, Miranda. I’m Irish and Italian. What else would you expect?”
“You’re asking me to marry you?”
“I’m working my way up to it. It might surprise you that it’s not any easier for me than it is for you. I said I love you.”
“I heard you.”
“Damn, stubborn—” He cut himself off, inhaled sharply. “You want the bronze, don’t you?” Before she could answer he caught her chin in his hand. “You’re in love with me.” When her brows came together, he grinned. “Don’t bother to deny it. If you weren’t you’d have turned me over in a heartbeat when you realized I’d gone after her for myself.”
“I’ve gotten over it.”
“Liar.” He lowered his mouth, just to nibble at hers. “Take the deal, Miranda. You won’t regret it.”
“You’re a thief.”
“Retired.” He molded her hip with one hand, reached into his pocket with the other. “Here, let’s make it official.”
She struggled out of the kiss and jerked her hand free when he started to slip the ring onto it. The ring, she noted with surprise and delight, he’d given her once before.
“Don’t be so pigheaded.” He took her hand, uncurled her fingers and pushed the ring into place. “Take the deal.”
Now she recognized the pressure in her chest. It was her heart beating again. “Did you pay for the ring?”
“Jesus. Yes, I paid for the ring.”
She let herself consider it, watched it wink and sparkle. And let him sweat, she thought. She hoped. “I’ll give her back to Italy. Explanations of how I came by her might be awkward.”
“We’ll think of something. Take the deal, damn it.”
“How many children?”
His smile spread slowly. “Five.”
She snorted out a laugh. “Please. Two.”
“Three, with an option.”
“Three, final.”
“Done.” He started to lower his head, but she slapped a hand on his chest. “I’m not finished.”
“You would be, honey, if I kissed you,” he said, with just enough arrogance to make her fight back a grin.
“No side work,” she said primly. “Whatsoever, for any reason.”
He winced. “For any reason? There might be a good one.”
“For any reason.”
“I’m retired,” he muttered, but had to rub the ache in his chest. “No side work.”
“You hand over to me any and all fake identification you’ve accumulated over your checkered career.”
“All? But—” He caught himself. “Fine.” He could always get more, should circumstances call for it. “Next?”
“That should do it.” She touched his cheek, then framed his face. “I love you beyond sense,” she murmured, cherishing his words enough to give them back to him. “I’ll take the deal. I’ll take you, but that means you’re taking me. The Jones curse. I’m bad luck.”
“Dr. Jones.�
�� He turned his lips into her palm. “Your luck’s about to change. Trust me.”