Dark Nights Dangerous Men

by Elisabeth Naughton, Cynthia Eden, Katie Reus, Alexandra Ivy, Laura Wright, Joan Swan

  So pull your head out and focus on the real reason you’re here, man.

  Head clearer, he wove through the crowd away from Lisa and took a closer look at all the players. He mingled, made small talk, and listened in as guests speculated about the unveiling expected later, but didn’t learn anything he didn’t already know.

  When the music changed, Lisa slid into the crowd with her friend. Every now and then Rafe caught a glimpse of her through the masses, talking with other guests, laughing, flirting. And each time he did, his blood pressure shot up.

  He managed a few short conversations and kept an eye out for Landau. When Lisa finally rejoined him almost an hour later, he lifted his glass and sipped, barely sparing her a glance.

  She grasped the glass from his hand when he lowered it and set it on a passing steward’s tray with a sigh. “You don’t blend well, Sullivan. Come on.”

  She took his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor. Scowling, he followed, not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want to cause a scene.

  “Did you find out anything useful?” she asked as they moved to the music.

  He shrugged and looked over her head, careful to keep his hand on her hip and not let it slink around to her bare back, as it wanted to. “Nothing we don’t already know.”

  She nodded. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath. Warmth from her skin made his whole body tingle. Her thigh brushed his, the soft movement sending a jolt through him that only aggravated him more. He focused on a spot on the wall.

  They turned a slow circle, and when he caught her friend grinning at her from across the room, he just couldn’t stop himself. “One question.”

  “Yes?”

  Don’t ask it.

  “Is there a man in the room you haven’t slept with?”

  Surprise registered in her features when she looked up, but she only pursed her lips, emotions hidden. “At least one.”

  “Yeah.” He looked over her head again, irritated he’d even mentioned it. He sounded like a jealous ass. Was one, to boot. “That’s what I thought.”

  Her dry smile said she agreed. “Riley’s just an old friend.”

  “Oh, yeah. I got that much.”

  She studied him. Then wet her bottom lip with that succulent little tongue. “Seems to me you’ve got your panties in a bunch. How’s that thong working out for you, Slick?”

  He pinned her with a look. The woman was like a tick, stuck in good and sucking the blood right out of him. “Why don’t you reach inside my pants and find out for yourself?”

  “Hmm.” Her sultry gaze ran over his face. “That’s tempting. I’ve always been curious about how something like that works on a man. Should I go for it right here?”

  He tried not to smile but couldn’t help it. Any other woman would have found his response crude, but not Lisa. She could take it and dish it right back out. There was no way he was wearing that thong she’d bought, but it didn’t stop him from razzing her about it. And judging from the interest flaring in her eyes, she was curious. Very curious.

  That realization sent sparks through his blood. Even with all her pious words about their being colleagues and nothing more, the woman wanted him with the same crazy need that had been clawing at him since he’d walked into that damn auditorium.

  His irritation trickled away. “You’re full of surprises, Querida.”

  She didn’t push against him when his hands slid around her waist, only let out a long, satisfied sigh that confirmed his speculations. “You have no idea.”

  They swayed to the music, and his muscles relaxed with every step, every brush of her warm body against his. She sank against him, turned pliant in his arms. And this, he knew, he could definitely get used to. Her close, nothing but heat between them.

  “Well, what do you know,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “I think our guest of honor has finally arrived.”

  Arms still locked around her waist, Rafe turned to look toward the stairs. With a wide smile, Alan Landau stepped down and shook hands with a small group congregated at the newel post. His hair was nearly white, and a full beard covered his face. He dripped wealth, from the gold cuff links at his wrist to the Italian leather shoes on his feet.

  “I guess that means its showtime.” Her feet stilled, and she eased back.

  He immediately registered the loss of her softness, of her supple curves from beneath his hands. They’d come here to do a job, were nothing more than business partners per her conditions, but hell if he was going to let her slip out of his arms before he made one thing clear.

  He grasped her hand before she could step away. “Before you go.”

  With a tug, he yanked her close until she collided with his body. She braced her hands against his chest and looked up. Shock flashed in her wide emerald eyes just before his mouth closed over hers.

  And he sank just a little deeper in lust with her.

  Soft and firm all at the same time, and every bit as hot as he remembered. She managed one quick grunt, clenched her hand into a fist against his chest and opened her mouth to protest. And that one minor lapse in judgment was all the invitation he needed.

  He slid his tongue along her lips, dipped into her mouth to take his fill. She was wet and warm and tasted faintly of good French champagne. The rigid line of her shoulders and the tension in her muscles screamed for him to back off, but the soft moan that rumbled from her chest as he deepened the kiss was a clear take-me-now sign only an idiot could miss.

  God, he could lose himself in her right here, take things to a whole other level and never look back. If he let himself, he could easily forget everything going on around them and give her exactly what they both wanted, right now.

  She had a way of doing that, of making him forget all lucid thought. She’d done that in Italy, and she was about to do it again. Knowing it, realizing it was the only thing that made him loosen his grip and finally let her go.

  He braced himself for the slap of her hand. Knew he’d pissed her off. But hell if he cared. It had been worth it. She had been worth it. If they weren’t standing in the middle of the dance floor, he’d do it all over again.

  She ran that delectable tongue along her lips and leveled him with an austere look. “Why don’t you just lift your leg and pee on me?”

  Laughter pushed up his throat. The woman was a grade-A piece of work. “I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have been as much fun.” He shook his head. “You know, one day that mouth of yours is going to get you into some serious trouble.”

  “Hmm.” Her gaze flicked from his eyes to his lips, the suggestive movement sending the blood roaring to his groin. “It already has.”

  She clasped his nape and yanked his mouth back down to hers, tangling her tongue with his in a way that made every one of his senses explode.

  Rafe wrapped his arms around her small waist, pulled her tight against his hips and thanked the Lord above for the skimpy dress that left her skin silky and smooth beneath his palms. He wanted to feel her bare breasts against his chest, have her legs wrap around his waist as he drove into her. Wanted to do the things to her body her tongue was doing to his mouth.

  Lisa broke the kiss long before he was ready and dropped to the soles of her feet. “Don’t do that again.” Without a backward glance, she disappeared into the crowd.

  Mary, mother of God. He ran his hand over his mouth, could still taste her on his tongue, smell her on his skin. There was no way he was waiting. He was gonna have her. Tonight. As soon as this damn party was over. He didn’t care if it was in the cab on the way home or against the side of the building outside. One way or the other, she was his. And this time he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  ***

  Lisa squared her shoulders and shook back her hair. Probably not the wisest thing she’d ever done, but there was no sense dwelling on it now.

  But oh, God, the man could kiss. Her insides were still molten from the heat of his mouth. And what a mouth, too. Strong, wet, demanding a
nd supple. Practically on fire. So much more than she remembered from their brief interlude in Italy. It was a good thing they were surrounded by a roomful of people, because if they hadn’t been, she was pretty sure she would have knocked his legs out from under him, straddled his sexy body and found something else for that smoldering mouth of his to do to her.

  She zeroed in on Landau across the room as she wove through the crowd. She needed to get Sullivan out of her head, out of her system in general, so she could focus, although it was damn hard to do, considering every muscle in her body was quivering from his touch. Wiping a damp hand down her hip, she gave herself a mental shake. And told herself she’d fantasize about stripping him naked later.

  As she got closer, memories flickered through her mind, and her gaze narrowed. She’d met Alan Landau before, she was almost sure of it.

  A party. At Doug’s house. A small holiday gathering with friends and colleagues from the university. Landau had been younger then, with thick, dark hair and a smooth, youthful face, but the eyes were the same—deep chocolate brown with a hint of mystery. And he hadn’t been alone that night. He’d been with…a woman. A dark-haired siren with an accent. European, on some kind of…exchange.

  Lisa’s brow creased as she sorted through her mental files. She’d been invited that night because she’d worked with Doug on several projects, not because she’d been his lover. No one associated with the university had known about their relationship. He’d made perfectly clear it wasn’t to get out. And like the desperate and naïve girl she’d been, she’d gone along with it because she’d been blinded by love. A love he’d never once returned, not even after he’d learned she was pregnant. Not even when he’d reluctantly agreed to marry her.

  Someday. Down the road. After he found his treasure.

  A wave of sickness rolled through her stomach, leaving behind a hollow ache she didn’t expect after all these years. She pressed a hand against her abdomen and felt the loss as strongly as on the day it had happened.

  Tears threatened to fall, tears she hadn’t shed in almost fifteen years. She drew in a sharp breath, blew it out slowly and willed her mind away from the memories.

  She wouldn’t let it wreck her. Never again.

  She waited while Landau chatted with the group around him. Snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, she sipped and pretended to be interested in a nearby conversation, all the while keeping an eye on their host. When his small group broke up and he started toward the rest of the crowd, she stepped forward.

  A smile curled his lips when he caught sight of her, his eyes taking a long sweep of her gown. She bit back the victory smile teasing her mouth. The dress had done its job, on more than one front.

  She held out her free hand. “I was hoping I’d get the chance to say hello. You’re a wanted man.”

  Landau brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. “I’m glad you did, Ms.…”

  “Maxwell. Dr. Maxwell.”

  Recognition flickered in his mocha irises. “Not Dr. Lisa Maxwell, the archaeologist?”

  Bingo.

  She smiled her sweetest grin. “That’s me.”

  His smile widened. “Well, now I’m the one who’s glad he got the chance to say hello. I didn’t realize you’d be here, Dr. Maxwell.”

  “I have a confession to make.” She leaned in close. “I wasn’t exactly invited, but when I heard of the event, I had my assistant contact the gallery and arrange for an invite. I’m something of a Greek-history buff.”

  “Really? I never would have guessed that.” Male admiration flashed in his eyes. “I’m certainly glad you did. I read your recent article in Archaeological Digest about your success in the South Pacific last year. The artifacts you recovered from the wreckage of the Matador were quite amazing.”

  The man was thorough, and well connected. She had a strong hunch he knew of every major find on the planet. “Yes, it was a remarkable dig to be involved with.”

  “Tell me, the part about it raining when you brought up the Mayan replica of Chac, the god of rain—was that true?”

  She nodded. “Very. The day it was lifted the skies opened, and we were caught in a torrential downpour.” She saw the flash of interest in his eyes. “A coincidence, really. Afternoon storms are somewhat common there. But it did make for an interesting story for the article.”

  “I’ll say. I was riveted, reading of your adventures.”

  “I wouldn’t call them adventures. Just part of my job.”

  “Hmm.” He stepped close enough so she could smell his spicy aftershave. His licentious gaze flicked over her face and lingered on her eyes. She didn’t miss the flash of curiosity. “Have we met before? I rarely forget a face.”

  She drew in a short breath as a memory flashed, one of Doug and Landau arguing in his study. The night of the party…just months before Doug had left on his search. And just months before his plane crashed. She knew she couldn’t mention Doug’s name without setting Landau on guard and prompting questions she had no intention of answering. “I’ve been asked that before. I must have one of those faces.”

  A wicked grin curled his lips. “Unforgettable.”

  He stepped closer, wrapped his hand around her upper arm and turned her toward the crowd. “I would very much like you to meet some friends of mine. And later,” he said, his hot breath washing over her nape as he maneuvered her into the noise of the party, “perhaps I could give you a private showing of the collection, since you’ve such an avid interest.”

  In her peripheral vision, she saw Rafe slink behind closed doors. Her heart rate kicked up, and she fought to keep it steady. With a tense smile plastered to her face—one she hoped her host couldn’t read—she turned to look up. “I think I’d like that very much.”

  ***

  He moved like a silent shadow. Quiet. Quick. Invisible.

  Rafe slipped down the dim corridor and turned at the end of the hall. The party drifted to the back of his mind. He tuned out everything but the sound of the building, the whir of the heating vents, the click of the security camera high above. Pausing in a dark corner, he waited while the camera made a wide sweep, then counted to ten and skirted the wall until he was out of range.

  One down. A handful more to go. Landau was more than a little paranoid—the man had cameras everywhere. Luckily, Rafe had a photographic memory and an inside line on where each one was mounted.

  He headed for the back stairs, the ones the servants used, the ones he knew would be dark and empty at this hour. Another security camera at the base of the steps forced him to pause, but within a handful of seconds he had passed it and was onto the second level.

  Common sense told him anything of personal value wouldn’t be in Landau’s office. It would be in his private sanctum. He hesitated at the master suite’s double doors, slipped on thin surgical gloves, retrieved the slim pick he needed and waited until the camera swept away. Fifteen seconds later he was inside.

  He stilled and let his eyes adjust to the dim light from the window across the room. The safe was hidden in the back of the master closet. He pushed clothing aside, knelt and opened the front panel. Removing a palm-sized portable computer from his pocket, he interfaced it with the safe and waited as each number popped up on the readout. When the seventh number clicked, he whispered, “Go time.”

  He grasped the handle, turned and pulled. The safe gave with a pop, and a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Like stealing candy from a baby.”

  He bypassed the stack of cash, a case he knew was most likely full of jewels and went directly for the back of the safe. A thin folder was hidden beneath legal documents and a stack of contracts. He pulled the manila file out and opened it.

  Bingo.

  Pages of notes on the Furies. References to Dr. Douglas Stone. Copies Rafe recognized from the papers he’d seen in Lisa’s parents’ attic. Lisa’s hunch about the man had been right. Had Landau and Stone worked together?

  His mind spun as he
paged through the materials, looking for anything that stood out. No locations, only dates and names of historical figures who may at one time have come in contact with the marble goddesses. Donald Ramsey, a treasure hunter who had gone after the Furies in the early eighties and disappeared. Seymour Tarkin, an explorer from the 1920s who’d spent time in Jamaica searching for a sunken Spanish galleon. Henrietta Sanchez, a merchant who’d made reference to seeing a marble relief sometime in the late nineteenth century.

  All somehow related. He continued to flip pages, taking a quick scan. It all looked unimportant to him, but they’d mean something to Lisa. She was the research guru, not him.

  The second-to-last page made him pause. Handwritten notes were scrawled on half a notebook page.

  Annalise de Los Cruz. 1852–1897.

  His heart skipped a beat. The woman had seen all three pieces intact. A hand-copied paragraph from what must have been a personal letter filled the bottom of the sheet.

  Footsteps in the hall outside dragged at his attention. He’d dawdled too long, knew better than to spend time studying the goods. With nimble fingers he folded the few papers, stuck them in his inside jacket pocket, reset the rest of the items in the safe and closed the door. He put his tools away, made sure he left the closet the way he’d found it and headed for the door.

  He waited until the guards passed, cracked the door and checked to see that the floor was empty. Twenty seconds later he was on the third level, repeating his steps until he was safely in Landau’s private office. He closed the door at his back and took a careful sweep of the room.

  He didn’t expect to find anything else related to the Furies, but if Landau was the one behind the attempts on their lives last night, he wanted to know.

  Shifting papers on the desk, he ran his gloved fingers over the keyboard of Landau’s computer. The man’s security was impressive, but nothing a good tech couldn’t get past. It took roughly three minutes to bypass the passwords and access the system.