by Lori Wilde
“Ahem, David,” she said in a muffled voice. “I can’t breathe.”
Snap out of it, Marshall.
What was happening to him? What kind of erotic spell had this woman woven? He finished tugging the sweater from her head, but it got caught in her hair.
“Ow, easy. You’re pulling my hair.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
He worked to free her hair and several minutes later finally disentangled her from her sweater and dropped the soiled mess to the floor. That’s when he realized his breathing was labored and sweat was pooling under his arms.
Their eyes met and the resulting jolt of electrical response had them both turning away. David reached for the porcelain knobs on the white claw-foot bathtub at the same time Maddie started peeling strips of newspaper off her blue jeans.
He added a squirt of bubble bath to the water, and then backed toward the door. “You should be able to take it from here.”
“Wait.” She pointed a finger at him.
Damn. If he didn’t get out of here soon, something was going to pop up. Briefly, he closed his eyes and willed himself not to get aroused.
It didn’t work.
He wanted her so much and that desire terrified him. No woman, not even Keeley, had ever been able to distract him from his work.
Until now.
Until Maddie.
Startled, David realized he hadn’t thought about Cassie or Shriver or the stolen artwork since Maddie had tumbled off that bridge.
The realization disturbed him.
He was different around her, less competitive, more laid-back. He had changed. She was changing him.
Why and how it was happening, he had no idea, but he didn’t like this feeling. Not at all. It was too close to losing control.
He inhaled sharply.
“David? You okay?”
Maddie’s eyes were wide with concern. Steam from the hot bathwater curled around her face, dampening her hair. She looked like some nurturing yet naughty nymph just waiting for him to come play with her. He kept his eyes trained on her face and purposely avoided looking at her body.
But he knew that amazing figure was there, calling him with a powerful lure. Last night he’d made love to her, but he’d had an excuse for his behavior. He’d been drugged, out of his head, wounded and vulnerable.
Today was different. He was lucid and sober and impervious to his body’s sexual response.
Yeah, right, his penis taunted, poking hard against the zipper of his pants.
He had to get out of here. Now.
“Um,” he said, edging for the door. “Why don’t I just go ahead and give you that privacy? Looks like the only way you’re going to get the rest of that gunk off is to soak.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll just go buy you some new clothes. What size do you wear?”
“A six. And I’ll need new shoes. Those sneakers are beyond salvaging. Size nine. Don’t say it. I know I’ve got big feet.” She grinned.
“Gotcha, size nine clothes, size six shoes.”
“No, no, the other way around. I’d have to chop off my toes to fit into a size six shoe.”
“Right, right.” He stared at the ceiling, at the floor, at anything but her. It was all he could do to keep from tossing her in the bath, jumping in beside her and doing incredibly sexy things to her.
“Are you sure you’re all right? You’re acting weird.”
“Great. Terrific. Be right back.”
And then he ran out the door as fast as his legs would carry him.
Chapter
TWENTY-ONE
DAVID NEVER MADE it into a dress shop for Maddie’s new clothes. He’d no sooner left the hotel than his cell phone rang.
“Marshall here,” he’d barked into the phone but he could barely hear over the noise of the Carnevale merrymakers. He was expecting Henri, but the voice on the other end was female.
“David?”
Jamming his index finger against his other ear, he said, “Hang on. I can’t hear you. Let me get inside somewhere.”
“Hurry, I don’t have long to talk.”
Someone chose that moment to blast a noisemaker behind him. He winced and ducked into a tobacco shop that looked relatively quiet.
“Who is this?” he asked.
“It’s me, Cassie.” She sounded exasperated that he hadn’t recognized her voice.
“Cassie!” The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. “Good God, woman, where are you?”
“I’m in Venice.”
“Me too. At the Hotel International.”
“Wonderful, I was praying you’d tracked me here.”
“You’re in serious trouble, you know that?”
“Tell me about it. This undercover FBI stuff is a lot harder than it looks.”
“Are you with Jocko Blanco?”
“Not anymore. Thank God. Peyton rescued me. And none too soon, let me tell you. I shudder to think what might have happened if . . .”
“Where is Shriver?” he interrupted.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He could come back any minute and he doesn’t completely trust me. Which is good since I’m double-crossing him and to tell you the truth I’m starting to feel kind of bad about it. He’s not really a rotten guy, David. He’s just misguided.”
“Where in Venice are you?”
“We’ll get to that in a jiffy. Just hear me out.”
“I’m listening.” He forced himself not to sound cross.
The man behind the counter was giving him the once-over. “Pipe tobacco?” he asked in English.
David shook his head and turned his back on the guy. “Cassie?”
“You probably should give up smoking.”
“What?”
“If you’re thinking about romancing my sister. Maddie hates smoking.”
“What? I don’t smoke and I’m not romancing your sister!”
“Sure, uh-huh.”
“Could you get to the point?” he snapped.
“Testy. Maddie must be giving you a run for your money. She can get on your nerves with that overly cautious stuff, can’t she?”
“I thought you said you didn’t have much time to talk.”
“You’re right. Here’s the deal. Shriver is about to dispose of the paintings.”
“Why the hell didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“Don’t yell at me.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I won’t yell.” David took a long, slow deep breath so he wouldn’t yell at her again. “Tell me about the paintings.”
“I set it up.”
“Set what up? The fence?”
“No silly, the sting.”
“What sting?” She was nuttier than a macadamia farm. No wonder Maddie watched over Cassie as if it was her life’s mission. The woman needed a keeper.
“I made forgeries of the El Greco and the Cézanne.”
“Why?”
“Here’s the plan I talked Shriver into. We hold an underground auction. He gets Levy, Philpot and all the collectors he can find willing to bid on stolen art together in one room. We have the real paintings authenticated to everyone’s satisfaction and then we do the old switcheroo with the forgeries. After we pull the scam, I told him that we would ransom the paintings back to the museum and double our haul.”
Stunned by the level of her cleverness, David could only mutter a disbelieving “What?”
“Don’t misunderstand,” she said hurriedly. “I wasn’t actually going through with this scheme.”
“But you made forgeries?”
“Just for Shriver’s benefit. But listen, at five o’clock this afternoon he’s holding the auction at the Hotel Vivaldi in room 617. If you want to catch Shriver red-handed, along with the unscrupulous potential buyers, be there.”
“All right.” He nodded to himself. Maybe Cassie wasn’t so crazy after all. “I’ll be there. Is there anything you want me to tell Maddie?”
“I’ve gotta go.
I heard Peyton in the hall.” She rang off.
David snapped his phone shut, adrenaline pumping through his body. He didn’t know what to make of Cassie’s call, but he did know one thing, his lust to bring Shriver to justice had returned with a vengeance. Grinning to himself, he turned to the shopkeeper behind the counter and asked him how to get to the nearest police station.
“Who’s on the phone, luv?” Peyton asked Cassie. He was standing in the doorway, disappointment on his face, resignation in his voice.
“Um . . .” Cassie slipped the receiver into its cradle, her heart pumping fast. “Wrong number.”
“You’re going to have to do better than that.” He stepped into the room, suddenly looking very menacing and kicked the door closed behind him. He pulled the gun she’d taken from Jocko Blanco out of his pocket.
Uh-oh. Trouble.
“What’s with the gun?” she asked, giving him her best wide-eyed innocent expression. “You don’t like guns.”
“I decided I needed to learn to like them.”
“How come?”
“I thought I could use this one for protection.”
“Against what?”
“My enemies.”
“I’m not your enemy, Peyton.”
“You’re certainly not my friend. I’ve been listening at the door for quite some time.”
Gulp. “It’s not what you think.”
His smile was wistful but the look in his eyes was deadly. Cassie took a step back and eyeballed the door. He stood squarely between her and freedom.
“Don’t lie to a liar, luv.”
“Peyton . . . I . . . I . . .” Cassie sputtered, at a loss for words.
“You called David Marshall,” he said flatly.
Come on. Concoct a likely story. You’re good at thinking on your feet.
Cassie wracked her brain but came up with zip in the good excuses department.
“And here I was thinking we might have a real future together.” He clucked his tongue and stepped closer. Cassie drew a deep breath and forced herself not to back up. “Serves me right for getting these romantic ideas.”
“The phone call was not what it seemed.”
“It’s exactly what it seemed. You planned to rat me out to Marshall all along, but only after you convinced me to set up this auction so you could take my connections down with me.”
“Are you terribly mad?” she asked, wrinkling her forehead. “It really wasn’t personal. I just wanted to prove to my irritating twin sister Maddie that I could do something useful.”
“Like catching an art thief?”
“Not just any art thief,” she flattered, “but the world’s best.”
“You’ve put me in a difficult position. I’m going to have to do things I wouldn’t usually do.”
“Hey, your problems are your own fault. If you hadn’t targeted me as your next mark, none of this would have happened.”
“My mistake,” Peyton said. He came closer until they were nose to nose.
Cassie struggled to control her fear, forcing herself to breathe normally, to smile cheerfully. She had no idea what Peyton was capable of. “Do you forgive me?”
“If you forgive me for what I’m about to do to you.”
“What’s that?” Her voice rose an octave.
“Open my suitcase.”
“What?” Was he going to chop her into little pieces and ship her home in his luggage?
Peyton nodded at his suitcase resting on the luggage rack at the end of the bed. “Open it.”
Nervously, she obeyed because he was bigger and stronger and he had a gun and she was still hoping she could flirt her way out of this. She released the snaps and unzipped his suitcase. His clothes were carefully folded. She gave him extra credit for neatness.
She glanced at him. “Now what?”
“Under the clothes.” He motioned with the gun. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use it but you’ve left me no choice.”
“Peyton . . .”
“Shh. Under my shirts.”
She slipped her hand beneath his shirts, her fingers making contact with a coil of rope.
Oh boy.
“Let’s have it.”
Slowly, Cassie pulled out the rope.
“Good girl, now bring it here.”
What was he going to do? Goosebumps lifted the hairs on her arms and her mouth went spitless.
He took the rope from her. “Take off your clothes.”
What! Was he going to rape her? In spite of all her efforts to control her fear, Cassie felt her legs tremble.
“Take off your clothes.”
“I won’t.” She notched her chin upward.
“I guess I’ll have to do it for you.” He reached for the buttons on her blouse.
She slapped his fingers. “Hands off. I can do it.”
He smirked, watching her with half-lowered lids. “Too bad we never had a chance to make love. I can tell I missed something special.”
“Yes you did,” she said tartly, standing before him in her bra and panties.
“Those too.”
“What?”
“Your knickers.”
“Aw, come on.”
He waved the gun, not pointing it at her, but threatening her with it. “Off with the underthings.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
“Peyton . . .”
This time he did point the gun at her. “Please don’t make me hurt you.”
“Okay. Okay. No shooting.” She shimmied out of her panties and then unhooked her bra and let it drop to the floor. How friggin’ humiliating.
“Hands behind your back,” Peyton said.
She complied, waiting with bated breath to see what he would do next.
“Now turn around.”
“Oooh, sounds kinky,” she teased, desperate to lighten things up and get him to change his mind.
“I’m not playing. Turn around.”
Cassie did as he asked; grateful at least that he couldn’t see the expression on her face. She knew her eyes would give away her fear.
“You’re lucky I’m just going to tie you up and leave you here,” he said, wrapping the rope around her wrists.
She didn’t know what he’d done with the gun while he was tying her up but she was too big of a wimp to fight him at that point. He would only win and she would end up getting hurt in the process. She wasn’t strong and physically fit like Maddie.
“That’s so terribly sporting of you, thanks,” she said sarcastically.
“Could be worse. I could give Jocko a call and tell him where to find you.”
“You wouldn’t.” Her heart thumped.
He traced a finger along her jaw. “I would.”
“I thought you two were at war with each other.”
“We negotiated a peace treaty.”
“Hey,” she said, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “How come you packed rope? You intended on ditching me all along, didn’t you?”
“It crossed my mind.”
“Stop acting so betrayed. You’re not any more honest than I am.”
He sighed wistfully. “I had such high hopes that the rope wouldn’t be necessary. But alas, we obviously weren’t meant to be.” He tightened the bindings. “Now, into the bathroom.”
“The bathroom?”
“I’m going to tie you to the toilet.”
“Oh, that’s really rude. Taking my clothes and tying me to the john.”
“Would you rather me lash you to the bed with no access to the water closet?”
She thought about it for a moment. “No.”
He marched her into the bathroom, made her sit down and laced her hands around the back of the toilet bowl.
“By the way,” he said, once he’d finished tying her up. “Just to let you know, I’m taking all your clothes with me. In case you get any crazy ideas about escaping.”
“That’s really low.”
He shrugged. “All’s fair in
love and war.”
“We were never in love.”
“True enough. Oh, and by the way, your phone call to David Marshall isn’t going to ruin the auction.”
“What do you mean?” Cassie frowned, trying her best to look cool, calm and collected without any clothes on.
“I told you the wrong time on purpose. The auction isn’t set for five o’clock.”
“It’s not?”
“No.” Peyton grinned, leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. “It’s in thirty minutes.”
What was taking David so long?
The soap and water had dissolved the honey long ago and bits of newspaper floated around her. And even though she’d twice let out some cold water and refilled it with hot, the bath had gone cold and the bubbles dissipated.
She’d been in here at least an hour, her hands and feet shriveling into pale prunes. Leaning over the edge of the tub, she peered at her clothes plastered on to the bathroom tile. There would be no salvaging those garments without a heavy-duty washing machine and that was still an iffy proposition. Her luggage was lost in the wilds of Europe. Essentially, she was naked in a foreign country, dependent on a man she didn’t even trust all that much.
Come on, Maddie, David is an FBI agent. He’s not going to abandon you. He’s probably just having trouble finding your size.
When the going gets tough, men take off. The old refrain that had formed her belief system about the opposite sex circled in her brain.
That’s utter nonsense. Why would David leave you stranded in a tub?
Same reason he’d given her the slip at the Prado, to find and arrest Cassie on his own. He had a perfect opportunity and he’d seized it.
No he didn’t.
How about the way he ran out of here?
Don’t jump to conclusions. Remain calm.
But even as she was giving herself a pep talk, Maddie was reaching for the towel. That’s it. If he didn’t come back within the next fifteen minutes she was never ever trusting another man again.
Briskly, she toweled herself off and marched into the bedroom. Too bad he didn’t have any luggage either. She would have borrowed his clothes.
Maddie stood in the middle of the room, assessing her options. Hmm, perhaps she could fashion a toga for herself out of a bedsheet, pretend it was a Carnevale costume, slip down to the hotel gift shop and pray that they sold apparel.
Not the best plan in the world, but it was the only one she had.
