doesn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t have an answer for that. Yet.”
She laughed. “Oh, great. I’m supposed to sign on to help you recover a priceless artifact, in the hopes that when we retrieve it, you’ll just let me have it out of the kindness of your heart? Why would I sign on for that deal?”
He turned more fully and stepped into her personal space. She should have backed up. She should have made it clear he wouldn’t be taking any liberties with her, regardless of Prague. Or Bogota. Or what they’d just done on her bed. Hell, she should have never involved herself with him in the first place. But it was far too late for that regret now.
“Because I found you tied to your own hotel room bed and I let you go. Because you need me.” He toyed with the end of a tendril of her hair. “Just as much, I’m afraid, as I need you.”
“What are you afraid of?” she asked, hating the breathy catch in her voice, but incapable of stifling it.
“Oh, any number of things. More bad clams, for one.”
“Touché,” she said, refusing to apologize again. “So why are you willing to risk that? Or any number of other exit strategies I might come up with this time around? You’re quite good at your job, however you choose to label it these days. Why is it you really want my help? And don’t tell me it’s because you need me to get close to our quarry. You could just as easily pay someone to do that. Someone who he isn’t already on the alert about and whose charms he’s not immune to.”
“Maybe I want to keep my enemies close. At least those that I can.”
“Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere. You think that by working together, you can reduce the chance that I’ll come out with the win this time. I can’t believe you just handed that over to me and still expect me to agree to this arrangement.”
“I said maybe. I also said there were myriad reasons why I think this is the best plan of action. For both of us. I never said it was great, or foolproof. Just the best option we happen to have at this time.”
“Why should I trust you? Why should I trust that you’ll keep to this no-secret-maneuvers, no-hidden-agenda deal? More to the point, why would you think I would? No matter what I stand here and promise you?”
“Have you ever lied to me?”
She started to laugh, incredulous, given their history, then stopped, paused, and thought about the question. She looked at him, almost as surprised by the actual answer as she’d been by the question itself. “No. No, I don’t suppose, when it comes down to it, that I have.” Not outright, anyway. But then, they’d been careful not to pose too many questions of each other, either.
“Exactly.”
“But—”
“Yes, I know we’ve played to win, and we’ve done whatever was necessary to come out on top. No pun intended,” he added, the flash of humor crinkling the corners of his eyes despite the dead seriousness of his tone. “But we’ve never pretended otherwise. And we’ve never pretended to be anything other than what we are.”
“Honor among thieves, you mean.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“I still don’t think this is wise. Our agendas—and we have them, no matter that you’d like to spin that differently—are at cross purposes.”
“We’ll sort out who gets what after we succeed in—”
“Who gets what?” she broke in. “There is only one thing we both want.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Wrong, how? Are you saying there are two priceless artifacts in the offing here? Or that you can somehow divide the one without destroying its value?”
He moved closer still, and her breath caught in her throat. He traced his fingertips down the side of her cheek, then cupped her face with both hands, tilting her head back as he kept his gaze directly on hers. “I’m saying there are other things I want. Things that have nothing to do with gemstones, rare or otherwise.”
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t so much as swallow. She definitely couldn’t look away. He was mesmerizing at all times, but none more so than right that very second. She wanted to ask him what he meant, and blamed her sudden lack of oxygen for her inability to do so. When, in fact, it was absolute cowardice that prevented her from speaking. She didn’t want him to put into words what he desired.
Because then she might be forced to reconcile herself to the fact that she could want other things, too.
“Do we have a deal?” he asked, his gaze dropping briefly to her mouth as he tipped her face closer to his.
Every shred of common sense, every flicker of rational thought she possessed screamed at her to turn him down flat. To walk away, run if necessary, and never look back. But she did neither of those things and was already damning herself even as she nodded. Barely more than a dip of her chin. But that was all it took. Her deal with the devil had been made.
“Good. Then let’s seal it, shall we?”
She didn’t have to respond this time. His mouth was already on hers.
Chapter 3
So much for playing it safe.
She tasted better than he’d remembered. And he’d remembered her tasting pretty damn sweet. “You know,” he said, moving his lips to the corner of her mouth, “for someone with a tart tongue—”
The rest of his sentiment was lost as she turned ever-so-slightly and slid that tart tongue of hers along his own, making him groan as he accepted her deep into his mouth. God, what in the hell had he gotten himself into here?
She lifted her head first. “Deal sealed, I’d say.”
His response was more along the lines of a hoarse grunt, which was all he could manage. That made her smile.
Serious trouble, that’s what.
“So,” he began, paused to clear his throat, then said, “let’s order up an early dinner and discuss our strategy.”
She walked across the room, paused in front of the mirror to apply fresh lipstick, then continued to the door leading to the penthouse suite’s private elevator. “Why don’t we go to Antoine’s, have his chef prepare us something perfect, perhaps add a bottle from his wine cellar as an accompaniment, and let the rest take care of itself?”
She didn’t wait for his response. She merely pressed the button to summon the elevator.
Finn didn’t bother with a debate on the pros and cons of their being seen together in a high profile spot like Antoine’s, which was the latest on the list of Manhattan’s hot spots. Instead, he crossed the room, paused in front of the same mirror, decided there was no hope for his now crumpled linen shirt and somewhat wrinkled trousers, raked his fingers through his thick blond mess instead, then gave up altogether and followed
