Before he could turn around again, Samantha grabbed his shirt. “Not so fast, Brit,” she muttered, and plastered her mouth against his. Whatever it was about this guy, and however bad she probably was for him and his massive business empire, she was supremely glad that he’d asked her to marry him. Because she didn’t think she’d ever be able to shake him out of her system. He kissed her back, pressing her up against the kitchen counter in that possessive way of his that made her all shivery inside.
Just when she was ready to start ripping the buttons off his very expensive blue dress shirt, he stepped backward. “Seven o’clock,” he said, his voice a little rough, and with a cocky grin he left the kitchen.
Dammit, he did that on purpose. The damned Brit totally got off on her not getting off, or he wouldn’t wind her up and walk away like that. Cursing under her breath, Samantha made her way upstairs to call Walter “Stoney” Barstone and tell him to hold down the Jellicoe Security fort because she was going on vacation.
“Good,” Stoney said when he picked up his phone and she told him about England. “I can’t even watch the local news anymore without needing a valium. You’re way too in the spotlight, honey.”
“It’s not my fault,” she returned, scowling at the vase of orchids resting on the end table. “Castillo blabbed after Rick blabbed. You’d think cops and billionaires would be more discreet.”
“No, it is your fault, because you’re hanging out with cops and billionaires.”
She sighed. “Just be glad I’m not engaged to the cop.”
“Christ, Sam, I think I just had a seizure. Go to England. Have a vacation. If this is the life you think you want, you’d better get a good taste of it before it’s too late to change your mind.”
“I’m not changing my mind, Stoney. Besides, wasn’t it you who told me I’d live longer if I hung up my cat burglar suit?”
“That was before half the reporters in Florida started hanging out twenty feet from where you sleep. Go. I’ll keep Aubrey in line.”
More likely it would be the other way around. “Thanks. I’ll call you.”
“Be safe or be smart, honey.”
Samantha smiled at the phone. Some things never changed. “Will do.”
She updated Aubrey next, and at least he didn’t snipe at her for falling in love with Rick. She hadn’t actually ever hired Aubrey to be the Jellicoe Security office manager, but since he’d shown up six months ago and kept all her crap way more organized than she had any interest in doing, and because he seemed to have some idea about what her past was like and had never called her on it, she had no objection to him sticking around.
Once her two bases were covered, she trotted down the hallway to the humongous bedroom she shared with Rick and went to find a suitcase to pack for a trip to England. In the past she would have pulled out her emergency backpack filled with all the essentials a girl needed if she had to leave somewhere in a hurry, added a couple of shirts and pairs of pants, and been good to go. But Rick had shredded her pack and tossed it into the pool, so she had to start from scratch. With one of his monogrammed suitcases. That only seemed fair.
“Parking garage or out front?” Ben asked from behind the wheel.
“Out front,” Richard returned, eyeing his phone and its streaming live coverage of his Mercedes heading into Palm Beach proper. Bloody drones. “More direct flight line. I’ll be about an hour. Be close by; when I leave, it’s going to be fast.”
“No problem, boss.”
At that, Rick stifled a grin. Previous to Sam coming to live at Solano Dorado his personal employees had been more...formal. God, his life had upended over the past year. While he hadn’t loved every bit of it, neither would he have changed any of it. “And don’t bother to get out, since that’ll just give the press more time to catch up.”
Samantha would have suggested they just slow down and have him jump out the window so that Ben could lead the press cars on a merry chase, but he settled for a quick exit and a determined walk up from the curb. Refusing to hurry his steps as doom raced up behind him, he walked to the rotating doors of the building which housed the Donner, Christensen and Rhodes law firm and entered the glass-enclosed lobby. Doom was very loud and had a great many questions about who Samantha would be wearing at their wedding. All he cared about was that on their wedding night she would be wearing him, but he wasn’t about to say that aloud.
“Mr. Addison,” the security guard said with a nod, and pushed a button to unlock the nearest of the elevators.
“I believe I’m being followed, Joe.”
“Not for long, Mr. Addison.”
Rick stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the top floor. “You’re a good man, Joe.”
Tom Donner, for once in a suit and tie, was waiting by the elevator when the doors opened again. “Why is it that the private guy with the publicity-shy girlfriend always has a parade following him now?” he drawled, offering his hand.
“Because they want a story I won’t give them.”
“Well, at least I know when you’re coming by, these days. I just keep a computer streaming the local news.”
“If you’re finished pointing out the obvious, I could use a bloody beer,” Rick commented, returning the handshake and then leading the way into the well-appointed offices. While the other partners had a select few clients, he was the one who funded the tasteful paneling and the posh address. In fact, he was Tom Donner’s only client. That was the way they both liked it.
“Did Jellicoe chase you off Solano Dorado?” Tom pursued, closing them inside his office and pulling a pair of beers from the refrigerator set beneath a credenza. “She’s been calling Katie, you know. Nearly every morning. They’re like little hens, except one’s a scary, fanged, cat burglar hen.”
“Ex-cat burglar hen,” Rick amended. “I’m glad she likes Katie. Your wife’s a good influence on her.”
“Too bad I can’t say the same thing about Jellicoe.”
With a short frown Rick dropped into one of the two chairs facing Tom’s big steel desk. “That’s not what I hear. Wasn’t there something about a little surveillance the two of them did a few weeks ago, and the resulting—”
“No, you do not get to talk about that. Dammit.” The big former Texan flushed a bright red as he stalked to the window and back. Finally, his empty fist balled, he sat behind his desk. “She didn’t really tell you about that, did she?”
“She only mentioned that she’d taken Katie somewhere with her and that your significant other had seemed...excited afterward. And frankly, Tom, I know the benefits of having an adrenaline junkie about after they’ve had a rush.”
Over the past two weeks he’d also been learning what it was like to have a caged cat burglar about. It was not a happy experience. As agile-minded as she was, with nothing to occupy her but thoughts of ways she could escape the house without being seen, he was at least as ready for a holiday as she was.
“Suddenly some things make sense,” Tom muttered, taking a long swig of beer. “No wonder you want to marry her.”
“No wonder I’m going to marry her. Speaking of which, I had to agree to take her to England this evening.”
“I thought you weren’t going till late next week. Is everything ready?”
“No, not quite. I’ll need to make a few calls while I’m here.” He sat forward. “And as far as she knows, we’re going to Rawley Park to look at some art and work on the museum.”
Finally, Tom grinned. “Man, I wish I could be there when she realizes you’re going to the middle-of-nowhere Scotland.”
“You have no idea how difficult it is to keep secrets from her. But she’ll enjoy Castle Canniebrae, I’m certain.”
“Sure. A big, old, moldy castle ten miles away from anything resembling a city? Nowhere to burgle, no one to grift, none of her cronies around, and your relatives to meet? She’ll love it.” Tom snorted. “The two of you’ll be back here in under a week. Probably separately.”
It was a distinct possibility that Sam would detest that life, and the idea that he’d sprung his aunt and uncle and cousin on her without warning would piss her off so much that she would leave without him. But she enjoyed history, and Canniebrae had that in spades. Aside from that, he hadn’t seen the old castle since he’d been fifteen, and back then it had held a certain kind of...magic for him. A magic he wanted to share with her. But warning her in advance that he meant to spring his relatives on her would ensure that she would, as she put it, freak out. “She doesn’t grift,” he said aloud. “Don’t be lumping more sins on her head. Besides, if she’s listening this’ll come back to bite you.”
“‘Listening’? What, you think she bugged my office?” Tom started to laugh, then choked into silence. “Christ. I’m never going to sleep again, you know.”
“Serves you right for calling her a grifter. Anyway, let’s get to it, shall we? Pull up my calendar so we can take this in order.”
Over the next hour they rescheduled appointments and paper signings, arranged for Tom to be his signing proxy for the new Tokyo deal they’d polished off yesterday, and had two contracts forwarded from London so he could make some revisions on the flight over and email them back. Depending on how long they stayed in Scotland he would have to fly down to London once or twice, but since he’d been working on this surprise for the past two weeks, much of the rest of it was already taken care of.
Finally, Tom sat back. Swirling the remains of his beer lazily in the bottle, he eyed Rick. “So, what are you going to do if she doesn’t like the quiet country life or the relatives? Or if, God forbid, the relatives don’t like her? Sam Jellicoe ain’t precisely old English aristocracy.”
“I’ve done for the past year without their paths crossing, so I imagine I can do it indefinitely if need be.” As for the quiet life, he did like the down time on occasion, but he could live without it. The caged version of Sam hopefully differed from the idle-ish version, but he honestly didn’t know that for certain. She did tend to create her own excitement – for the both of them. “You don’t like her, and I’ve still managed to keep both of you around.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not that I don’t... I mean, she’s good in a pinch, but she seems to get you into trouble at least as often as she gets you out of it. Unpredictability and arrest warrants don’t mix well with power and wealth.”
“Says you. There aren’t any arrest warrants. None with her name written on them, anyway.” No, they were all blank and waiting for someone, somewhere to find that one piece of evidence linking her to some of the most daring and lucrative burglaries in the world. That could not be allowed to happen. Luckily those few law enforcement officials who suspected who she was – Frank Castillo here in Palm Beach and Sam Gorstein in New York – had already been both thoroughly charmed by her and put somewhat in her debt. Still, he didn’t think he would rest easy for another six years, at which time the last of the statutes of limitation would expire. As long as she didn’t pull off any new jobs, that was.
“Okay. I know I’m not going to win this fight.”
“No, you’re not.” Richard finished off his beer and pulled out his iPhone to dial Ben. “I’m heading downstairs,” he told his driver.
“I’ll be waiting for you, boss. Do you want me to hold the door?”
“No, I’ll be diving in.”
As both men stood, Tom shook his head. “Until this past year I never doubted your sanity, Rick. Have a good trip. I hope it goes as well as you hope it will.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
2
Wednesday, 8:15 a.m.
Samantha sent a sideways glance at Rick. He sat in one of the comfy leather chairs by a window, the slide half closed to keep the glare of the sun off the paper he was marking up. Another contract, from the look of it. Probably that timber reclamation thing she’d been bugging him about, though he wouldn’t admit that he’d taken up the cause. Evidently, he found it amusing that she cared about the environment – as if a cat burglar couldn’t watch Blue Planet or Cosmos or something.
When he didn’t do more than flip to the next page and continue jotting notes, she slid her phone out of her pocket and checked her GPS. It kept fritzing out, but it at least confirmed what she’d been suspicious about for the past ninety minutes or so: They weren’t on their way to Devonshire. Or to London. They were too far north for that.
“GPS doesn’t work in the air,” he muttered in his heart-thudding British accent, though he didn’t lift his head or pause in his writing.
“Why are we going to Scotland?” Counter attacking seemed a better tactic than admitting that she’d been checking up on him. Not that she had a reason to do so, except it seemed like they’d been flying for an hour or two too long.
“Fuel,” he answered, and turned another page.
“Liar.”
At that, he looked up at her. Caribbean blue, she always thought, gazing at those pretty eyes of his. Hot, sweaty, awesome sex and cool boat drinks. That was Rick Addison. Or the part she had hold of, anyway. There was also the son-of-a-bitch business shark that had made his family’s millions into billions, and she liked that aspect of him, too. She could understand the idea of doing whatever it took to attain a goal or a prize, whether it was a company or a Matisse painting.
“What makes you so certain I’m lying?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“Because we could have been in London already, and we’re still flying. And because we’ve never stopped in Scotland for fuel before. And because you answered right away, like you had the answer ready for me.”
“I’m always ready for you,” he murmured, a half-smile touching his lean face. He slanted an annoyed glance toward the flight attendant currently brewing him another pot of tea at the front of the cabin. “But you’re correct.”
“I know I’m correct. But why are we going to Scotland? And why didn’t you mention that to me when you said we were, hmm, what was it, oh yeah – ‘going to Devonshire’?” She took up his Oxford-educated accent for that last part, mimicking him.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Don’t think for a second that I won’t jump out of this plane, Brit. I know where the parachutes are.”
Sighing, he stacked the papers in front of him and set them and his pen aside. “Very well. We’re going to a place along the River Dee, about midway between Inver and Keiloch. It’s a place that’s been in my family for a time.”
Samantha did some swift calculations. Aside from the fact that for English aristocrats the idea of “a time” could be anywhere between a hundred and a thousand years, she’d heard the River Dee mentioned before. Not by him, but on the news. “Isn’t that where Balmoral Castle is? You know, the Queen of England’s place?”
“Yes, I know what Balmoral is. Canniebrae is approximately four miles southwest of it.”
“Ah.” She folded her arms, trying to decide if she was annoyed or grudgingly interested. “And why are we going to an estate in the Scottish Highlands?”
“Because I haven’t been there in eighteen years, which makes me think the press won’t expect to find us there.”
She continued to eye him, looking for any of his rare tells. "Okay, that makes sense,” she said grudgingly. “Which makes me ask why you bothered to keep it a secret, Brit."
Rick stood up. "Amber, that will be all," he said, not bothering to look at the flight attendant. Which was good, because Amber -- or whatever her name really was – had rolled up the waist of her skirt until her ass showed every time she bent over. It was amazing how many vital snacks seemed to have been stored in bottom drawers for this flight.
"Of course, Mr. Addison." With a quick flutter of her eyelashes she went into the forward cabin and closed the door behind her.
"Who hired her?" Samantha asked, as Rick walked up to hold either arm of her chair and lean over her.
"What?"
"The girl with the balloons stuffed down the front of her blouse." When he continued to
frown at her, she gave up and grinned. "Okay. Point taken. You only have eyes for me."
Rick smiled back at her, which had the effect of making her insides feel all mushy. "Precisely. Aside from that, anyone who shows her arse that readily must not have much else to offer."
Of course he'd noticed; the flight attendant’s ass had been pretty hard to miss. But being gorgeous, rich, and divorced he'd no doubt had more than his share of asses and boobs flashed at him. "Back to Scotland, then," she said aloud. "What's the secret? Or rather, why the secret?"
He leaned closer, touching his mouth to hers. Goose bumps lifted on her arms. They'd joined the mile-high club a year ago, but hell, if he wanted to re-up their membership, she wasn't about to complain. Unless he was just trying to keep her from asking questions. That wasn't allowed.
When he pulled the pony tail holder from her hair and drew his fingers through her shoulder-length mess, she took a deep breath and then shoved at him. "Not so fast, Prince Charming. What's going on?"
"I’ll tell you once we land. I'd rather be doing something else right now."
Samantha stood, having to maneuver around his tall, rock-solid form to do so, and headed for the rear of the plane. "I'm getting a parachute."
Rick made a motion like he wanted to grab her arm, but she had to give him props when he settled for making a fist instead. "We both know you're not going to jump, so sit down and I'll attempt to explain how difficult it is to surprise you with anything, and why I wanted to do so this time."
He didn't look happy, but neither would she if some big secret she'd tried to keep had thrown up all over her. As she gazed at him, though, part of her wanted to give in, have some awesome airborne sex, and let him play out his secret surprise however he wanted to. Most people liked to be surprised, after all. Most people appreciated when their significant other went to lots of trouble to arrange something special. But she wasn't most people.
Barefoot in the Dark Page 2
