by Addison Fox
“We don’t know him to trust him. But I do know I don’t trust the situation.”
“I hardly think I’m in much danger attending a party at the Savoy.”
“Just stay sharp.”
The urge to tease her sister or tell her to quit the melodramatic directives was high, but something held Rowan back. Whether it was a sixth sense or something else, she didn’t know, but the light brush of nerves along her spine had agreement rising up in her tone. “I will.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too, Ken-zoo.” The tease was nearly as old as she was, a funny back-and-forth she had had with her sister since they were small. Another wave of nerves layered over the first as they disconnected the call, and Rowan fought to shake it off.
There was nothing to be worried about. Nothing at all.
* * *
Rowan was still trying to convince herself of that an hour later as she wended her way through the lobby of the Savoy toward a small gathering room chosen for the party. While Kensington had the sisterly ability to mix smug satisfaction with older-sibling order giving, Rowan had to admit the snug black cocktail dress she now wore in place of her plum suit was an inspired last-minute packing choice.
A packing choice she’d have overlooked had it not been for her sister, she admitted to herself as she came to a stop inside the entryway.
The same lush accommodations she’d experienced upstairs were even more impressive here. Various servers circulated through the room, their trays full of champagne or canapés. The crowd stood in elegant conversation circles, evidenced by the muted hum of voices that rose up around her as she moved farther into the room.
“Ms. Steele,” a low voice whispered in her ear, a split second after she’d felt the sheer heft of his body sidle up against hers. “You look beautiful this evening.”
“Thank you.” The words nearly stuck in her throat as she caught full sight of Finn Gallagher in a crisp black suit. Broad shoulders filled up her gaze as she turned to face him and once again she was struck by the incredible vision he made.
He had nearly flawless features; the only criticism she could even muster up was that they were almost too sharp—too harsh—to be handsome. Yet even as she thought it, her conscience fought her, reminding her it was that very trait that screamed masculine perfection.
She could picture him in the jungle just as easily as she saw him in the designer suit that covered his impressive form. Regardless of the situation—rugged or refined—both telegraphed the exact same thing. Finn Gallagher would be a formidable opponent.
A man who inevitably got what he came for.
And why did the suddenly delicious thought flutter through her mind that she would love to be the object of that intense focus?
She’d been raised around strong men. Both her father and her grandfather were formidable in their own right, and her brothers, Liam and Campbell, had followed family tradition. While each of her brothers had their own individual style, both epitomized the strong, self-assured male.
Having been brought up that way, she respected men who knew how to go after what they wanted. She respected them even more if they admired that trait in her.
One look into Finn Gallagher’s deep hazel eyes and she saw flashes of that respect layered under the distinct notes of male appreciation and attraction, and it drew her in.
“I know he’s not your favorite person, but Baxter did order the best champagne.” Finn held a full flute of the pale liquid toward her. “It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”
“True.” She accepted the glass, bemused when Finn lifted his flute in toast. “Now you’re going to force me to celebrate Monroe’s generosity, too?”
“I’d prefer to think of this as a toast to our partnership.”
Rowan lifted her glass. “May it bear the most ancient of fruits.”
She didn’t miss the subtle lift of his eyebrows over the rim of his glass, but other than that, Finn didn’t cop to any other response. She took a sip of her champagne, the bubbles light and crisp on her tongue. “Damn, but he did choose the good stuff.”
“How else do you suppose he’s going to impress a room full of his top patrons?”
“Is that how you got in on the dig?”
“I don’t need to wine and dine slimy toadies like Baxter Monroe to sell my services.” He hesitated for a moment before flashing a quick, wolfish grin. “I do, however, spend considerable time wooing his bosses.”
“No one argues with the moneyman.” Rowan thought about her afternoon visit to Gallagher International. “Or the man with the fancy research lab.”
“Spot-on you are.”
“I think I’m beginning to get a picture.” Rowan took another sip of her champagne as she glanced around the room. “You ensure the top museum brass have an unlimited supply of what they need, namely money and access to research services, and in exchange, it allows you to keep tabs on Monroe and his activities.”
“Spot-on again.”
“And keeping tabs also ensures you have a place on the digs, whether Monroe wants you there or not.”
“Now you’re just showing off.” The cocky grin was back, along with that distinct layer of respect in his gaze. “Well, then. Are you ready to go have some fun?”
“At this event?”
“Of course.”
She paused a moment, pleased when Finn’s gaze darkened with that tantalizing attraction that hummed subtly between them. “There’s a phrase in America. It’s called poking the bear in his den.”
“You’re suggesting Monroe’s the bear in this delightful Mark Twain-esque colloquialism?”
“Yep.”
Finn extended his arm and Rowan took it, his hard strength more than evident through the sleeve of his suit jacket. She fought the urge to cling to those delectable muscles, instead nodding in the direction of Baxter Monroe. “Allow me to lead the way.”
* * *
Finn gave himself the momentary gift of simply drinking her in, before he moved them deftly through the ballroom. The woman cut an incredible figure, the black dress clinging to each and every curve she possessed. If her plum suit from earlier had twisted him in knots, the black cocktail dress had him engulfed in flames.
She was stunning. Her pert features—already maximized by the short cap of hair that covered her head—stood out without the need for much fuss. Her makeup was minimal, the natural flush of her cheeks a sign of her vitality. The gamine cut of her hair had a secondary benefit—her neck and shoulders were fully exposed. The slender curve of her neck drew his gaze and he imagined pressing a line of kisses there, flicking his tongue lightly against her skin with the sole purpose of making her shiver.
The image gripped him as he placed his near-empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. Finn laid his hand over hers, pleased by the light jolt that rattled through his body at the contact. The shudder of her arm where it threaded through his only reinforced she was as affected as he was.
He took pleasure from the thought, surprised when a quick flash of memory rose up swift and strong. The same woman, clad all in black, pressing her lips to his.
He wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to see if the lush memory he’d kept all these years was nearly as satisfying as he remembered. Wanted to know if there was a way to replicate something that sweet and innocent, yet carnal and almost desperate with need.
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it.” Baxter’s voice broke the moment, and thoughts of kissing Rowan Steele vanished at the very clear evidence they were both “on.” The hand that had reflexively tightened on his arm with attraction tightened once more, this time in a subtle anger that practically vibrated from her.
He disengaged their linked arms, shifting his hand to the small of her back, and pulled her a fraction of an inch closer, whether in pro
tection or possession, Finn didn’t know. “Baxter.”
Monroe turned to face Rowan. “And Miss Steele? I understand you’ll be joining us in the Valley of the Queens. I’m delighted.”
“Likewise.”
“When did you arrive in town?”
The forced conversation spun out and Finn was amused to watch how elegantly Rowan played her mark. She kept up the polite facade, never breaking eye contact or the subtle hints of flirtation until she went in for the kill. “I understand the site’s discovery was something of a surprise.”
Baxter’s laugh did nothing to hide the stiff lines of his face. “Hardly. What would give you that idea?”
“Just some things I’ve heard.”
“That’s hard to imagine. The museum was doing routine restoration in Nefertari’s burial chamber. We’ve always had reason to believe there was something else there and the time was ripe to explore. It’s as simple as that.”
“Fascinating.” Rowan shook her head, her voice still layered in polite platitudes. If Finn didn’t see her vivid blue, predatory gaze with his own eyes, he’d likely not have believed the small, genteel woman was capable of what came next.
“Yes, it is.”
“And here I thought this incredible discovery was all because you got your panties in a twist and tossed a small, pointed archaeology trowel across a priceless burial chamber.”
“Of all...” the man sputtered, the pale skin of his neck growing red.
“You then forced one of your lackeys to go pick it up before anyone could possibly snap a photo of the tossed object. Isn’t that right, Baxter?”
“Gossip and innuendo.”
“Yes, well, in my experience, nearly all gossip and innuendo has a grain or two of truth in it.”
The red flooding Baxter’s face shifted as his rolling gaze locked on to Rowan’s. “If that’s true, then surely you’re well aware of the rumors that follow you, Miss Steele.”
Finn fought the immediate and urgent need to get in between the two of them as Rowan leaned into Baxter’s personal space. “Then you are familiar with my reputation. I’m delighted to hear it. I expect you’ll be on your best behavior when we go to Egypt, then.”
“I’m interested in preserving the site and whatever we recover from the chamber.”
“As am I.”
“Then we’re obviously on the same page.”
“See that we stay there.”
Baxter avoided any pretense of a polite departure as he turned on his heel and crossed the room toward the bar. From the widening eyes of the bartender, Finn could only assume the drink request was given in a harsh bark.
With a sly smile he couldn’t have held back if he tried, Finn turned his gaze toward Rowan. “I can’t say I understand your motives but I do like your style.”
“I told you I didn’t like him.”
“There’s subtle disdain and then there’s barely veiled hatred.”
“I prefer to think of it as a preemptive strike.” Rowan’s smile was broad as she gestured toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
Finn was rarely taken off guard, so the obvious invitation in her words caught him up short. “Where do you want go?”
“Have you ever been to the British Museum after hours?”
He had, in fact, been there on more than one occasion, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Now, what would a nice girl like you be wanting in a place like that?”
“I can think of a few things.”
He could think of several himself, but again, Finn thought it wise to avoid that topic. “The museum opens tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m. sharp. I can have a car arranged to pick you up, deliver you and wait for you as long as you’d like.”
“What happened to that adventurous spirit, Finn?” Rowan moved in, the light scent of her wrapping around his senses as the heat of her body assailed him through his suit. “You know, the one that had you making those idiotic jumps off your office building?”
“There were far fewer cameras recording that idiocy.”
“We can get around those.”
“And the guards with guns?”
She waved a hand. “Easy.”
“What are we waiting for, then?” Finn held out a hand, barely suppressing the urge to wrap her in his arms. “Lead the way.”
Chapter 5
The party played out just as Jared Wright had expected it would. Several hundred stuffy intellectuals standing around eating canapés, talking about the world and doing very little living in it. He stood at the fringes and couldn’t fully hold back the sneer at how they all sipped their wine and put on pompous airs, their conversations swirling as if the fate of the world hung on their overeducated heads.
If they only knew.
His gaze shifted to Baxter Monroe. The man had one job to do, and from the miserable look on his face after he stalked away from Finn Gallagher and Rowan Steele, he had slacked off on the job. Damn it.
He’d spent years getting Monroe right where he wanted him, along with several top brass at the museum. Jared knew his deep pockets were a perfect match for certain...appetites, and he’d invested wisely. But none of it did him any damn good if his point man fouled up the job in Egypt.
Shifting his gaze from Baxter Monroe, he watched the couple slip from the small ballroom. It was curious to see them back together after all this time. Did it mean anything?
His contacts had indicated the two were working together, but their body language suggested something more intimate. Suggested they were a pair.
Although he’d disregarded the notion years before that they had worked the Warringtons’ as a pair—and all intel gathered after the debacle with the Victoria bracelet suggested they hadn’t—he couldn’t deny something seemed to simmer between the couple.
Interesting.
He slipped his phone from his pocket and issued instructions to one of his men waiting, even now, in his car.
Guests departing now. FOLLOW THEM.
“Wright.”
John Bauer’s bright and clueless smile greeted Jared as he looked up from his phone. “Good to see you, John.”
“Didn’t expect to see you here. I called your office earlier this week. Thought you were out of the country.”
“My meetings wrapped early and I jumped at the chance to spend a few days at home.”
John’s gaze drifted around the room as he snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. As soon as the man was out of earshot, John moved a fraction closer. “I dropped the suggestions to Gallagher like you asked me to.”
“Did you, now? How were they received?”
“With laughter, just as you thought. Seems as if your friend would prefer his extracurricular activities didn’t receive any notice. Brushed off the Indiana Jones reference with a sly smile and a glib line.”
Jared took a sip of his own champagne. “Understandable.”
“My firm is looking forward to the upcoming sale of whatever is recovered from the Valley of the Queens. Auctions full of Egyptian artifacts draw special attention.”
Jared nodded, the not-so-subtle reference to the man’s upcoming take in exchange for his assistance more than clear. “I can trust you to handle the next phase of things here in London?”
“Of course.”
“I look forward to the auction. I’m sure it will be the highlight of your schedule next summer.”
* * *
Rowan watched Finn from the corner of her eye and wondered at his reticence to accompany her on their late-night adventure. Despite the stupidity of suggesting they break into the British Museum, the taunt had seemed like a strong tactic to suss him out.
For reasons she couldn’t fully define, something about the man seemed familiar.
&nb
sp; Too familiar.
Which was only further proof her lingering fascination with the young boy who’d fallen during the Warrington job had taken on near-mythic importance in her mind.
Rowan did her level best to brush off the strange thoughts, unwilling to dwell too closely on indiscretions best left in the past and instead pulled a small laminated card from her purse.
“Good evening, Miss Steele.” The guard who stood at the museum’s entrance nodded his head, waving them both through. “Mr. Gallagher.”
“So this is what you meant?” Finn waved his own card, identical to hers, before he shoved his back into his wallet.
“You’ve got one, too.”
“Of course.”
“They don’t give these out to just anybody.”
“Well, then.” Finn leaned in and squeezed her shoulders, the sensation shooting a small line of sparks down her spine. “It’s a good thing we’re not anybody.”
Rowan shook her head but couldn’t hold back the smile. “And here I thought you were up for a small game of breaking and entering.”
“But it’s so much easier to simply have special access.”
Rowan knew he was right, but couldn’t stop the kernel of disappointment that her ploy to figure out if he was the young man from her past had backfired. No matter how many ways she tried to look at it, she couldn’t shake the fact that Finn Gallagher pushed her buttons and made her remember things best forgotten.
Because try as she might to ignore it, something about him made her think he might be the boy she’d left at the bottom of the Warringtons’ back patio all those years ago.
Of course, it wasn’t exactly something you asked a person. Oh ho, there. So I was wondering if you ever tried to rob a Knightsbridge townhome.
To borrow a phrase her grandfather was rather fond of, not bloody likely.
“What was so urgent we needed to come here tonight?”
Rowan moved at a steady clip through the Great Court, her heels tapping lightly on the marble floor. Darkness flooded the sky above them, visible through the glass panels in the roof. “Room 4 is one of the most popular areas of the museum.”
