style="font-size:15px;"> So much for that attempt. Moonlight poured through the wall of windows and slashed across his hard features like a silvery warning light. What should have been soft and romantic instead looked somehow ominous, throwing his eyes and the grim slash of his mouth into shadow.
Marie took a breath—shallow though it was—and braced herself for the confrontation she’d been working toward for months. All of her careful plans had crumbled underneath her simply because he’d come home early for probably the first time in his entire life. If you thought about it, this was really all his fault.
Her attitude slapped back into place at that thought and she shifted beneath him, shooting him an angry glare. “It’s hard to breathe with you sitting on me.”
He didn’t budge. “Then you should speak quickly. What evidence do you have against my father?”
Clearly, she’d lost this round.
“A photo.”
He snorted. “A photograph? Please, Ms. Whoever-you-are. You’ll have to do better than that. Everyone knows photos are too easily digitally retouched these days to mean anything.”
“This one hasn’t been,” she assured him. She hadn’t had to retouch anything. “It’s a little dark maybe, but you can see your father clearly enough.”
She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his features went even colder and more remote than they had been. And if possible, he became even more good-looking. “I’m supposed to take your word for this? I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Marie. Marie O’Hara.”
He eased up on her diaphragm just enough to allow her a deep breath and Marie appreciated it.
“That’s a start,” he said tightly. “Keep talking. How do you know me? My family?”
“You’re not serious, right?” she asked, stunned that he could even ask that question.
The Coretti family had been the focus of speculation for decades. Catching one of them in the act of relieving someone of their jewels was a recurring dream of police officers around the globe. That he could even ask that question was ridiculous.
“You’re the Corettis. The most infamous family of jewel thieves in the world.”
His jaw flexed as though he were grinding his teeth. Good thing? Bad? Didn’t matter.
“Alleged jewel thieves,” he corrected, gaze fixed with hers. “We’ve never been charged with a crime.”
“Because there was never any evidence,” she said. “Until now.”
That muscle in his jaw ticked continuously now. “You’re bluffing.”
She met his gaze. “I don’t bluff.”
He studied her for so long, Marie was sure he could have given a pore-by-pore description of her. But finally, he shook his head and asked, “Why should I believe anything a woman I caught breaking and entering has to say?”
“I didn’t break,” she reminded him. “I just entered.”
Fascinating really, to watch his eyes narrow until they were slits even as the muscle in his jaw twitched furiously.
His next question addressed the anger obviously churning inside him. “What do you mean you just entered? How did you get in here?”
She snorted at the seriousness of his expression. “Seriously? All it took was a short skirt and very high heels and your doorman practically bowed me into the elevator.” Marie remembered the lascivious glint in the man’s eyes and she knew that she wasn’t the first of Gianni Coretti’s women to be given that special treatment. “He didn’t even ask for ID. He assured me no key was required to let myself in since he keyed me in to the one elevator that goes only to your penthouse apartment. He wasn’t even surprised to find I was there when you weren’t home. Apparently there’s a constant stream of women running in and out of this apartment.”
He frowned a little at that and she had the satisfaction of knowing that she’d scored a point—however small—against him. She needed that. For what she had to do, it was necessary to have Gianni Coretti on board. Marie hated knowing that she required a thief’s assistance, but without him, she would never be able to do what she’d come to Europe to do.
“Clearly,” he said, “I’m going to have to speak to the doorman.”
Seeing the irritation on his face, she smiled. “Oh, I don’t know. Seemed to me like you already have him very well trained—escorting your ‘companions’ to the elevator and allowing them into your apartment—whether you’re home or not.”
His mouth worked as if he were chewing on words that tasted too bitter to swallow. “Fine. You’ve made your point. Now explain why you’re here. I rarely find a guest in my home searching under my bed. So what is it you were looking for?”
“More evidence.”
A short, sharp laugh shot from his throat. “More evidence?”
She scowled at him. “I have one picture. I wanted more.”
His frown deepened. “Why?”
“I need your help.”
He laughed.
Still sitting astride her, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. Marie was so stunned, she could only stare up at him and think wildly, he’s even more gorgeous with that wide smile on his face. She wasn’t here to notice the man’s obvious attractions, though, so she tried not to notice that his eyes were the rich brown of melted dark chocolate. Or that his mouth was enticing, his jaw was square and freshly shaven. She did not want to touch his thick black hair, which was just long enough to curl seductively over his shirt collar.
The heat from his body was sliding down into hers and as he laughed, her body shook in time with his. Her brain fuzzed out a little, but she fought for clarity. No doubt any woman would have felt a little...unsteady with Gianni Coretti planted firmly on top of her.
Finally the rolling thunder of his laughter died away and, still shaking his head, he looked down at her. “You need my help. That’s brilliant. You invade my home, threaten my family and expect me to help you?”
“If you think I’m happy about this, you’re wrong,” she assured him. Marie hated needing him. But, she told herself, to catch a thief, it was going to take a thief.
“And to ensure that I grant you this favor—you, what? Plan a bit of blackmail?”
“You wouldn’t have invited me in if I’d simply come to speak to you.”
“I don’t know,” he mused, gaze moving over her face and down to where the tiny buttons on her silk blouse strained against the fabric. “I might have.”
She flushed with both irritation and insult. “Despite the way I’m dressed at the moment, I am not one of your bimbos.”
One dark eyebrow winged up. “Bimbos?”
“Why
