His chuckle tickled her ear. Then he pulled far enough away from her so they could regard each other within the circle of each other's arms. "We barely know each other," he pointed out.
"I'm not so sure about that," Harley countered, gazing up into his black eyes. "We may not know ourselves very well, but I think we know each other."
"You are dangerous," Duncan murmured. His thumb began to slowly caress her mouth. "But you've got to remember, Harley, that I'm trouble like you've never seen before."
"I know."
"Forgetting for the moment that the only word to describe every relationship I've ever had is 'casual'—"
"And I'm not forgetting that."
"Okay. Good. You should also remember that I've got the police and the French mob after me."
"Sounds like you need a friend right now."
His eyes darkened, stealing her breath. "What if I want a lover?"
Harley trembled a little in his arms. There were so many different answers she wanted to give. "What if I'm a distraction you can't afford right now?"
His fingers brushed across her cheek and slid through her hair. Oh, she loved the way this man touched her!
"We've already established that I think about you every minute of the day, whether you're with me or not. You are a distraction and my life is pretty much of a mess right now, but Harley, not having you in my days is becoming intolerable."
"Duncan—"
Something resembling a foghorn bellowed from the desk phone. "What the hell was that?" she demanded as Duncan shoved her down into her chair.
"A warning system Emma set up for me," he tersely informed her before sitting himself on the corner of the desk before her. "Dad's coming."
His office door slammed open and Colby Lang stalked into the room. He checked himself when he saw Harley. "Good afternoon, Miss Miller."
"Hello, Mr. Lang. It's good to see you again," Harley calmly replied as if a moment before she hadn't been in his son's arms.
"You've been discussing your case, no doubt."
"Yes. Things are moving very quickly. Duncan is a remarkable investigator. You must be very proud of him."
Duncan turned a bland face to his father and waited expectantly. It took years of training for Harley to hold back her grin.
"I believe my son has some … potential," Colby Lang replied. "Duncan, when you have a moment, I'd like a word with you." He stalked back out of the office, closing the door far more quietly than he had opened it.
Harley looked up at Duncan staring at that closed door. "The diamond case?" she asked.
He turned and gave her a rueful smile. "I'm afraid so. It looks like I'm going to have to take a hand in solving it after all. The police and my family I can handle, but when the French mob wants to wring a million dollars' worth of diamonds out of me that I don't have, and when they start accosting you to get to me, it behooves me to find the real thief, and fast."
Harley nodded. "Time to chart your own destiny."
Black eyes narrowed at her. "I don't do commitment, Harley."
"No, no, of course not," she murmured.
"Look," he said, looking harried and off balance, "I am trying to be noble here. I am trying to tell you that I am dangerous to your holiday and your independence and even possibly your heart if you become so foolish as to actually care for me. You should get out of this, Harley. You should get out now."
Harley knew she was grinning like an idiot, but she couldn't stop. And she knew she shouldn't be this happy. Duncan's history of love 'em and leave 'em gave her nothing to hang her hat on. He was not the father figure Boyd had been. Far from it. He was neither steady nor safe. He was trouble, not because of French henchmen, but because of the new emotions he had stirred within her and the chances he made her want to take. Physical chances. Heart chances. "Life is to be enjoyed, and chances are there to be taken," she quoted softly.
Duncan's eyes widened. He slid off the desk. "Harley?"
"Have dinner with me tonight. Seven o'clock. Your hideout, wherever that is."
Duncan was staring at her. "The penthouse apartment upstairs. I'll get you cleared through my security people… Harley, are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure!" she blithely replied as she stood up and began walking to the door, fighting the desire coiling through her veins every step of the way. "I'm sure you're a great cook, and if you're not, we can always do takeout. Good luck with the diamonds and Boyd and Agent Sullivan."
"Harley," he said, catching her arm.
She glared up at him. "Duncan, if you don't let me go right now, I'm going to demonstrate how dangerous I really am."
Black eyes blinked at her. His hand slowly released her arm. "Seven o'clock is what? Six hours away?"
"A little more than five."
"Okay. I'll try to make it till then."
Somehow she was out of his office, the door closed firmly behind her. She began to breathe again.
"You're hyperventilating," Emma commented.
Harley made herself focus on Duncan's assistant. "Am I?"
"Yep." Emma looked her up and down in open amusement. "Must be that fast track you're on."
Harley regarded her with interest. Emma Teng was a fascinating and perceptive young woman. "Think I should get off?"
"I'll wring your neck if you do."
That was a surprise. "Why?"
"Because I've worked with Duncan for a little more than two years now and this is the first time I've ever seen him happy."
Harley walked over to Emma's desk and held out her hand. "Will you be my best friend?"
Emma grinned and shook her hand. "You're stuck with me for life."
* * *
CHAPTER NINE
« ^ »
It was nearly four o'clock when Duncan looked up from the police report on the Giscard diamond robbery to find Emma standing in his office doorway. "Why are you smiling like that?"
"How am I smiling?" she asked, walking into his office and dropping a folder on his desk.
"It's sort of a seraphic, I-know-something-you-don't-know kind of smile."
"Oh, that. Well, I do. There are my interviews of the people we had guarding the diamonds during transport," she said, tapping the folder.
"I never thought you'd succumb to the stereotypical Asian inscrutability, Em," Duncan complained.
"I'm a firm believer in using whatever works. I've already talked to most of Giscard's people who were involved with bringing the diamonds into the country. Nothing yet."
She walked serenely back out of his office. Disgruntled, Duncan tossed aside the police report he'd already read seven times and picked up the folder of interviews. The middle finger of his right hand rapidly tapped his desk for the next hour, slowing only when Harley entered his mind, which was every other sentence of the transcripts. He swore now and then, but kept pushing on. He would not think about Harley's delectable body lounging in the chair opposite him in a red minidress that did shocking things to his sanity. He would not think about her hot mouth returning his kiss. He would certainly not think about dinner tonight.
Or whether he should serve a Pinot Grigio or an Orvieto with the linguini and clam sauce he had planned to serve. He should probably factor in the Italian salad dressing. And then there was the question of what coffee to make after dinner. He didn't know if Harley liked plain coffee or cappuccino or espresso or…
Duncan caught himself. "Damn!" he said aloud, and then made himself reread from the top Emma's interview with Mike Gonzales, the driver of the diamond limousine. But the moment he had read the last line on the last page, his mind claimed Harley for its own, marveling again that she could want him enough to take him on with no guarantees. It was oddly disconcerting. He had been noble, he had warned her off, and she had chosen to pursue whatever this was between them anyway. All sense of responsibility should be ended. He should be thinking only of pleasure. Instead, he thought of the risk she was taking, and he wondered if he had the right to pursue this. S
he was probably a virgin, which meant this would be her first affair, and he was not the kind of man a beginner should tackle. But then, she was not the kind of woman he should even be considering tackling, because she was dangerous. She stirred depths of desire he'd never felt before. She touched his heart in ways he'd never thought possible.
He frowned as he added the Gonzales interview to the growing stack of papers on his right. Emma poked her head into his office. "Five-thirty, boss. I'm heading out. You need anything?"
Five-thirty! Ninety minutes away from seeing Harley, touching Harley, hearing her voice… "A straitjacket would be helpful," he muttered.
"What?"
"Go home to your daily dose of CNN. I'll see you in the morning."
"You're in bad shape, boss," Emma said with a grin.
Duncan groaned. "I know it. Get out of here before I ask you to go buy me some illegal pharmacological help."
"I'm gone," Emma retorted, and she was.
With a sigh, Duncan stood up, stretched, and did his level best to walk at a steady, normal pace to the secured penthouse elevator off of his father's office. He didn't have to worry about running into Colby again. Fortunately, his father prided himself on leaving the office punctually at five o'clock every day he was in it.
He started to pass by his brother's office when Brandon called him in. Reluctantly, he turned into the blue office. He and his brother had said very little to each other since the robbery. He had writhed under the knowledge that his perfect brother—the man he had resented and worshiped his entire life—believed he was guilty. Brandon sat at his desk looking like the Town and Country poster boy in his immaculate Brioni suit, not a blond hair out of place, his manicured nails gleaming against his pen as he stopped in the middle of signing some contracts.
"I hear you're looking into the Giscard case," he said, setting the pen down and leaning back in his chair.
"I'm the only one who seems interested in proving my innocence, so it made sense for me to take a hand."
"It's my case, Brother, and I resent your interference."
Duncan's black brows arched up. "Afraid I'll steal some of your thunder by finding the real thief?"
"No," Brandon snapped. "I'm afraid you'll infuriate Dad and bring even more suspicion down around your neck."
"Your concern is duly noted, Brother."
"Dammit, Duncan, this isn't a game! You're in a lot of trouble. Why do you insist on making it worse?"
"I just figured that if we come at the case from different angles, we'll catch the real thief between us."
Brandon sadly regarded him. "Can't you even be honest with me?"
Duncan stiffened. "You know, it amazes me that someone I've only known four days believes I'm innocent, while my entire family is ready to serve as judge, jury, and executioner."
"If you just had some kind of proof you could offer—"
"My word is not enough?" Duncan coldly demanded as he died inside.
"Duncan, you've got to understand that with your past, even a brother needs a little something more to go on."
"And an alibi substantiated by the police isn't enough?"
"You could have had someone working with you."
"Ah yes, the accomplice angle the police harassed me with for over two hours this morning. Well, great minds clearly think alike. Good night, Brother."
"At least get that Miller woman out of your hair. She's a distraction you don't need right now. Send her back to Boyd Monroe where she belongs."
"No."
"Dammit, Duncan, you need to be concentrating on your problems, not hers! She's trouble."
Duncan's smile was mirthless. "I know."
"Then get rid of her."
"Not … yet."
"Duncan—"
"Brandon, I am going to the penthouse. I've got a date and a lot to do to get ready."
"A date?" Brandon sputtered. "When your entire future is in question?"
"I know my future. Nothing questionable about it. I told you, I've got a date tonight. See you, Brandon. And try to cheer up. If I am arrested and convicted of the robbery, at least peace will finally return to the office when I'm gone."
He walked away from his brother feeling battered and bruised and wondering once again what it was Harley saw in him that his family did not that made her repeatedly take him at his word, even when the evidence—like his past—was against him.
Emma believed him too. He would have said it was a woman thing, except his mother had recently passed on the ardent hope that he would turn himself in to the police before the company and their family suffered any more harm.
He continued puzzling over it, trying to ignore the ache in his heart, and stopped himself just in the nick of time from barreling into the uniformed guard standing duty by the penthouse elevator.
"Hi, Pete," Duncan said, distractedly punching in the security code on the elevator call pad. "Anything happening?"
"It's been pretty quiet," the former Army sergeant replied. "Gwen spotted those two French guys down in the garage this afternoon, but they cleared out without causing any trouble. No one has seen them since."
"Great," Duncan said as the elevator doors slid open. "They may be hovering around Miss Miller when she arrives later tonight. Tell everyone to keep their eyes open."
"You got it."
The doors slid closed. The elevator swooped up one floor to the penthouse and opened on another security guard.
"Evening, Mr. Lang," said the at-attention recruit from the police academy.
"You have got to learn to call me Duncan, Tom, or I'm going to get a complex."
The twenty-three-year-old flushed. "Sorry … Duncan. Training's hard to break."
"No problem," Duncan said, inserting his security card into the lock pad at the penthouse door. "See you later, Tom."
Once the door was securely closed, locked, and alarmed behind him, Duncan gave up all pretense of being cool, calm, and collected. He legged it for his shower, stripping off clothes as he ran.
Twenty minutes later, he was clean, dry, and agonizing over what to wear … which made him laugh at himself. He was far gone. Then he heard the front door buzzer.
He glanced at the small bathroom clock. It was only six. Damn! It could be his father come to harass him some more, or Tom reporting some trouble. And he only had an hour left to dress and make dinner.
Sighing, Duncan haphazardly pulled on the pair of jeans he'd been considering and strode barefoot to the front door. He turned on the security monitor and found himself staring at Harley Miller, looking tense. He jerked open the door.
"Harley! What is it? What's wrong?"
She was wearing That Red Dress. Her eyes widened as she stared at him standing half naked before her. "I'm sorry," she said, walking stiffly past him into the apartment. "I know I'm an hour early. I tried. I really did. But I just couldn't wait any longer."
She pushed the door closed. Then she knocked the air out of him by shoving him hard up against a wall, her hands grasping his head, her body pressing him flat into the wall as her mouth claimed his with a desperation that was just this side of violence.
Joy such as he had never known surged through his veins, knocking out all the pain and grief and worry. With a hoarse cry, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against every square inch of his body he could manage, and then his hands were all over her. He cupped her taut buttocks and hauled her hard against his own desperate hunger. Her soft cry melded with his groan as her mouth found his ear. His arms tightened around her. She was teething his earlobe, sending excruciating sparks up and down his body. Then her wet tongue began tracing his ear, stirring frenzy within him.
He ripped down the zipper at the back of her dress and let his hands spread across warm, silky flesh.
She gasped into his ear as he gasped. She wasn't wearing a bra. His hands could slide unimpeded from the nape of her neck all the way down to a brief pair of panties that were no impediment at all. His fingers slid eagerly
inside silk to mold her flesh as she whispered his name over and over again, her voice urgent and strained, inflaming him. That he could do this to her… That his hands could stir such delicious agitation… She pulled his mouth back to hers, her tongue sinking into him, ravishing him.
She shocked him again when he felt her hands at the front of his jeans, opening them, shoving them down over his hips. Then they were stroking and kneading his buttocks before sliding hungrily up across his back and then down again.
Harley's hands—her beautiful hands—were caressing him, tantalizing him, galvanizing him.
He reached down and began to pull the red dress up her body as she bit and sucked at his arched throat.
"Oh yes!" she breathed when her naked breasts first met his naked, heaving chest. "God, Duncan, where the hell is your bedroom?"
That made him laugh as he pulled her dress and her pendant up and over her head and tossed them to the floor. His tongue laved one painfully erect nipple. He continued down over ribs and soft belly, loving her moan. It was almost more than he could bear, this combination of piquant femininity and scorching flesh. He felt like a virgin all over again. He suckled at the concave flesh of her hip, her body jerking with surprise and pleasure as his fingers slowly tugged the scrap of red silk panties down.
"Much better," he murmured against strawberry blond curls, bewitched and unsure because he'd never felt like this before. He slid his body slowly back up hers. "Oh sweet Jesus," he moaned. Nothing in his life had prepared him for how good Harley felt. Or for the blaze in her turquoise blue eyes.
"I hope you have lots of condoms in this place," she said in a husky voice that nearly undid him.
He sought relief by sinking his mouth against the side of her now-arched throat. He began to suckle. "The one valuable thing the Boy Scouts passed on to me," he murmured against her hot skin, wanting to drink in her creamy flesh and absorb it into his own, "was to be prepared."
"I am. I swear. Oh God, Duncan!" she cried out as his self-control went up in flames and his fingers sank into hot, wet—incredibly wet—flesh.
STOLEN MOMENTS Page 17
