by Cat Schield
“He was lying to my mother. I wouldn’t care if he had.” The exploding spring mechanism that Roark had placed beneath his tutor’s coffee cup had dumped the hot contents into the man’s lap. The way he’d gone after Roark had shown his true colors and not the polite face he presented to Roark’s mom.
“You could have found a better way to convince your mother he was abusive.”
“Yes, but none would have been as much fun.”
The women exchanged a look. Their non-verbal communication was Roark’s cue to get Elizabeth out of there. If they stayed much longer, there’d be no mystery left. And he needed to keep her intrigued with him. For a little while longer, anyway.
“I need to grab a couple books from Mom’s library and then I’ll take you home.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth smiled at Mrs. Myott. “Are you sure I can’t help you with the dishes?”
“No need. This darling young man renovated a few years ago and I have top-of-the-line everything. It’ll take me a second or two to clean up.”
While Roark located the books he wanted, Elizabeth strolled up and down the hallway that ran from the gallery to the master bedroom. Seven feet wide and sixty feet long, the walls held some of the incredible artwork his mother had collected over the years.
“I could stare at these all day,” she said when he rejoined her. “It’s like living in a museum.” She shook her head. “And yet, it’s your home.”
“My mother’s home. I live in a loft in Soho, remember?”
“Why don’t you move some of these there? Your walls could use some brightening.”
“I’m not home enough. And your comment about a museum makes me think I should loan some of these out.” Something he’d said had lost her. Roark felt her pull into herself. The camaraderie of these past few hours vanished as if it had never been.
“I imagine quite a few museums would be thrilled to display them.”
Roark caught her arm as she turned to go and set his fingers beneath her chin to tip her face upward. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But she evaded his gaze. “I have an event tonight. I should get home and go over my preparations to make sure everything will run smoothly.”
“Will you come over afterwards?”
She lifted her chin from his grasp. “It’ll be late.”
“I’ll give you a key. You can wake me.”
Her mouth dropped open. “A key to your loft? Why?”
“I should think it was obvious. We’re engaged. You should feel free to come and go.”
“Last night…” She stopped talking and rolled her lips inward. Her fingers knitted together in front of her. “I’m not sure I understand what’s going on.”
“Then let me make it perfectly clear. Last night was amazing. I think you felt it, too. We have incredible chemistry. I want to explore it a whole lot further.”
“I don’t know. When I agreed to help you out, it was supposed to be a simple charade. Uncomplicated by anything physical.”
“There’s nothing complicated about what happened between us last night.”
She gave him a you-have-to-be-kidding look. “Maybe not for you, but I have a bad habit of getting in too deep with men like you.”
“Men like me?” Her generalization ignited his irritation. “What sort of man am I?”
“The sort who likes to take off without warning and views commitment like one step up from death.”
He had no way to refute her claim. “And you want stability.”
“More than that, I need to feel connected. To have someone I can count on. A year ago I lost my sister, her husband and my niece. They were killed in a car accident. She was my best friend. We talked every day. It’s like a piece of my heart was cut out. Being alone is so hard. I’m afraid I’ll start to rely on you and soon you’ll be gone.”
The pain throbbing in her voice lanced through him. He remembered the day his CO had informed him a call had come in while he was on training maneuvers. A thousand miles away his mother had died, alone and miserable because her only son had abandoned her.
“Of course I understand.” How could he not. He had his own issues with letting people get too close.
Which left him with a conundrum. Making love with Elizabeth had been fantastic. He wasn’t ready to give her up just because they wanted different things.
“Of course, now that we’ve slept together,” she continued, “I’m almost guaranteed to start wanting more. It would be less of a problem if I wasn’t so attracted to you or if you’d sucked in bed.”
His mood lightened at her admission. “Then what would you suggest?”
She grimaced. “Just give me a little space to sort everything out. Get my head on straight.”
“How much space?” He wanted her again. Now. He thundered with the craving to snatch her into his arms and plunder her mouth, to strip her bare and sink into her warmth. Hearing her admit that she had little defense against the chemistry between them was a powerful aphrodisiac.
“A few days.”
“We have the Children’s Hospital benefit to attend tomorrow night.”
“Oh, right.” She eyed him solemnly. “Can I count on you to keep your displays of affection strictly PG?”
He grinned. “Only if you promise to do the same.”
Seven
“And this one?” Elizabeth drew the tip of her finger along a three-inch scar that transected Roark’s right rib cage.
“An alley in Cairo.” For the past hour she’d been cataloging all the damage done to his body, most of it in pursuit of antiquities, and Roark had explained every wound in the same matter-of-fact tone. “I’d gone there to get some information from a guy and ran into a competitor of mine instead.”
It was close to midnight. Roark lounged in the middle of her bed, hands behind his head, lips quirked in a wry grin, his naked body laid out for her perusal. At the Children’s Hospital benefit this evening he’d been respectful of her space just as he promised. No breath-stealing kisses. No provocative flirting. Just routine public displays of affection. His hand around her waist. His lips grazing her cheek.
And every second she’d grown more jittery with yearning. She knew he was bad for her, but her body betrayed her with every heartbeat.
“Dangerous business you’re in.” Her voice grated like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal. She couldn’t match his nonchalance. She’d counted fifteen scars, nine from knives, five from bullets and one from a cigarette. “What happens when your luck runs out?”
“Who said anything about luck? I was trained by Master Li in Wing Chun and by the marines. I’m the Jackie Chan of treasure hunters.”
She knew he was trying to lighten her mood, but now that she’d seen just how perilous his business could be, she was gripped by a familiar fear. Let it go. He’s not yours to worry about.
“And if you’re ambushed by ten burly men?”
“I’d run like hell to safety.” Roark sat up and wrapped his arm around her waist. His free hand tangled in her hair, trapping her. His gray-green eyes had gone serious as he stared at her. “I’m smart enough to know when the odds are against me.”
Her heart clenched. She wanted to kiss him hard and long, until the ache in her chest faded, but losing herself in passion would only stave off anxiety. It didn’t solve anything. Hadn’t she learned that?
She tried a laugh, but it sounded hollow. “I believe you think you’re smart enough.” She gasped as Roark’s teeth grazed her neck. “I’m just not sure you know when to give up.”
He tumbled her backward and let his weight push her into the mattress. Her fingers drilled into his hair. The texture was as soft and wonderful as she’d once imagined it would be and addictive as hell. So were his kisses. And the slide of his body into hers.
She moaned.
Her thighs parted, hips lifted and she found him hard and ready to drive her straight to the stars once more. An hour ago they’d come together in a frantic frenzy. Hands
tearing at clothes, mouths fastened to each other as they’d circled and sidestepped the twelve-foot span from her front door to her bed.
It wasn’t until he’d collapsed on her, chest heaving, that she’d thought to wonder if one of them had remembered to shut her front door. The thought of what a passing neighbor might have witnessed roused a giggle.
“Usually when a man is making love to you,” Roark groused, his long fingers enclosing her breast. “It’s polite not to laugh at him.”
She opened her eyes and caught him scowling at her. “I was just…oh.” He’d sucked her nipple into his mouth and the wet suction blazed a trail of sensation straight down. The place between her thighs grew heavy with anticipation. She smiled beneath its weight.
It was easy to surrender to the moment with Roark kissing his way down her body. Later, she could fuss about the consequences of her actions tonight. Repeating that she had no intention of letting the lines blur between their fake public relationship and all too real private one made little sense anymore.
She might just have to accept that she was hopelessly infatuated with Roark and maybe even on the verge of falling in love. If she simply enjoyed their time together without dwelling on the reality that he would soon no longer need her, the next few months would be a lot more fun.
And the heartache that followed?
She’d survive. After all, she had lots of practice.
“You’re still not paying attention to me.” His tongue dipped into her navel and provoked a shiver. “I’ll just have to do better.”
Before she grasped his intent, he’d slipped lower on the mattress, his broad shoulders nudging between her thighs. When his mouth settled on her, Elizabeth cried out. The pleasure was so intense she stopped breathing.
Gathering handfuls of the sheets, she held on for dear life as Roark’s clever tongue propelled her into a sensual storm. Her lungs seized. Her stomach clenched. The pressure built. Roark’s fingers bit hard into her butt, holding her still as her hips began to writhe. And then she was flying, soaring upward like a roman candle. Exploding in the clean, cold air high above. Fragmenting into a million pieces that drifted back to earth on a peaceful, gentle breeze that cradled her.
“What was that?” she croaked, her throat raw from panting and screaming.
“That is what I’m going to do to you every time you aren’t paying attention to me.”
“I’ll make sure I neglect you at least once a day.”
Roark kissed his way back up her body. When he reached her mouth, he settled his lips over hers in a deep, penetrating kiss. As his tongue tangled with hers, he slipped inside her and groaned as his hips collided with hers.
“That feels amazing.” He laced his fingers with hers and held perfectly still for a long moment.
Elizabeth set her feet on the mattress and shifted the angle of her hips to take him deeper. Roark obliged and then began a slow retreat. The friction revived her hunger for him and she began to move in time with his thrusts.
In the hours following the first time they’d made love, she told herself that sex with Roark had been so perfect because she’d been clear-headed when she’d made the decision to make love with him. She hadn’t been seduced into it by smooth talk or her own insecurities.
But now she understood that what happened between them had a magical quality she’d never known before. It was as if they enjoyed perfect synchronicity. One body. One mind. One soul. She knew what he wanted without being told. He anticipated her needs as if he read her thoughts.
It might have terrified her if another orgasm wasn’t approaching at the speed of light. Elizabeth dug her nails into his back and shuddered beneath the force of yet another massive climax.
“You okay?”
That he held off his own finish to worry about her made Elizabeth smile. “Perfect.”
His face contorted with concentration as he pumped furiously and began to shudder with his release. She held tight while he spilled himself inside her, thrilled by the power of his orgasm.
In the aftermath, he snuggled his face into her neck and became a boneless heap. His absolute relaxation was at odds with the energy buzzing through her veins. Normally when she felt like this she cleaned her tiny studio, rearranged her closets or revisited her itinerary for the upcoming week.
Her muscles relaxed as Roark’s arm settled across her midsection.
“Can I spend the night?”
She hadn’t expected his request. Didn’t know how to answer. And every second she hesitated, he shifted a little closer to unconsciousness. His breathing settled into a sleepy rhythm.
Elizabeth’s gaze traced her ceiling. Contentment settled over her body, but her mind was a jumble of fragmented thoughts. Had her heart fallen into a familiar pattern? Was she closing her eyes to why she and Roark didn’t work in order to savor how much she enjoyed being with him?
So what if Roark was wealthy. A scholar. Or that Elizabeth would never need to worry that he’d move in with her and then have sex with another woman while she was at work. That had been Philip. A struggling musician with a band named Puked Rabbits.
Tom was next. He’d caught her in a vulnerable place after she’d broken up with Philip and sweet-talked her right into bed. The day she asked him where their relationship was going was the last time she saw him.
Elizabeth shifted her head on the pillow and stared at Roark. She’d dated enough jerks to know that he didn’t fall into that category. He might profess he didn’t sell his mother’s penthouse because of the memories it held, but she was certain he held on to it because it had been Mrs. Myott’s home for almost thirty years.
Still, there was no question her taste ran to unavailable men. She’d long ago understood she was challenged by the idea of turning them into something better. She liked the idea of taking something anyone else would give up on and making it work. Like the loft venue for the wine auction party where she’d met Roark. Elizabeth had accepted the challenge after three other event planners had turned it down, intimidated by the magnitude of the transformation the loft required. It’s why she’d gotten the job on such short notice. But she’d made it work. And brilliantly.
“You’re going to have a hard time falling asleep if you don’t shut your eyes,” Roark’s low masculine voice murmured close to her ear.
“I thought you were already asleep.”
“I was dozing.” His eyes opened and searched her face. “Your loud thinking woke me up.”
“As if that could happen.” But she couldn’t make her expression match her lighthearted tone.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was thinking about my sister. Wondering what she’d think about what we were doing.”
“You don’t think she’d approve.” Once again, he’d read her like a professional poker player.
“Ever since we were kids she was my moral compass. Of course, back then I called her Little Miss Goody Two-shoes.” Elizabeth swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Everyone loved her. She never did anything wrong. Or at least she never got caught. That’s what I was for. I got blamed for everything that happened.”
“I could have used a little brother for that.”
“Hard to believe she and I would grow up to be best friends.”
“Would she have liked me?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I could put you to sleep counting all the enemies I have in the world.”
She didn’t like the reminder of the numerous healed wounds on his body. “Then, let me rephrase. Don’t all the women you meet like you?”
“Pretty much. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“She would have liked you.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“She would have liked you,” Elizabeth repeated with more conviction. “She just wouldn’t have liked you for me.”
* * *
Roark mulled over his reaction to Elizabeth’s declaration as he let himself into the loft the fo
llowing morning. Despite being fully absorbed in his thoughts, he immediately knew he wasn’t alone in the loft. It was a disturbance in the air, a vibration that had saved his ass any number of times. Moving quietly, he plucked a sharp knife from a drawer in the kitchen and headed in search of his intruder.
His first destination was the study. Given the troubles over the Gold Heart statue, he expected whoever had entered the loft would start here. A regular thief would’ve walked off with the Matisse he’d brought over from the penthouse. It was his favorite of all the artwork and Elizabeth had been right to say the loft needed something on the walls.
The study was undisturbed. Roark frowned. He wasn’t wrong about someone being in the loft, but if neither his research nor his artwork was what the intruder was after, was Roark’s life in danger?
He crossed the hall and regarded his partially closed bedroom door. Did an assassin lurk behind it just out of sight? Heart thumping in anticipation of the fight to come, Roark reached out to nudge the door open and heard a soft sleepy groan coming from the direction of the bed. In his experience, killers rarely fell asleep while waiting for their prey. Roark shoved the door fully open and growled.
Sabeen lay sprawled across his sheets, black hair falling in luxurious waves over her naked back. She’d obviously slipped in during the evening with the idea of surprising him. What would have happened if he hadn’t accompanied Elizabeth home? If he’d been able to convince her to come here for a nightcap? Granted, they weren’t truly engaged, but he had little doubt Elizabeth wouldn’t take kindly to finding a naked woman in his bed.
He wasn’t taking kindly to it, either.
“Sabeen, get up and get dressed.”
The young woman had been in the early stages of waking and Roark’s sharp, loud demand acted like a shrill alarm clock. She sat up and clutched a sheet to her small breasts, but not before giving Roark a good look at what she was offering. He scowled at her. Her sleepy mind took a second to catch up to what she was seeing. A second later, her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open as she stared at the knife in his hand.
