Jinxed!

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  The next thing Chloe knew, she was standing there, surrounded by the moving crowd and yet somehow utterly alone as the first drop of cool rain hit her heated face.

  Ian was gone.

  And she couldn’t help but wonder…if true love had just walked into her life, then the second part of her fortune couldn’t be far behind. Which meant her karma was about to go south for the winter.

  3

  CHLOE MOVED OFF THE dance floor, through the grass to the concrete pathway just as the sky let loose. Although let loose in Los Angeles meant that the ground was dotted with big, fat drops so few and far between that they didn’t even run together or dispel any of the dust.

  In fact, the drops felt good, so good she made sure not to stand beneath the protection of the awnings as she searched the crowd.

  It was a well-dressed group as always, but then again, this was Baxter Hills, a wealthy suburb of Los Angeles, and the Fairfax complex had status. People always dressed well here, and behaved themselves, to boot.

  Nowhere did she see those buttery soft jeans and polo shirt…

  But she knew one thing-she had not dreamed him up.

  No. She simply knew herself better than that. She wasn’t prone to fantasies or daydreams. He was out there, somewhere. She’d had her hands on him, she’d felt the warmth of him, the flesh and hard sinew, the beat of his heart. She’d looked directly into his eyes and, no matter what he’d said, her body had recognized his.

  And his had recognized hers as well.

  As to why he refused to admit to being Ian, she had no idea. She hated that, and wouldn’t, couldn’t, accept it. It had been him, all six feet of him, just as she remembered.

  She remembered everything. The fact that he could lose his wallet while it was still in his hand, or that he could make a backward, left-handed layup while looking sexy as hell, a feat she’d always rewarded with a kiss.

  Did he remember any of those things? Going on tiptoes, she scanned the throng of people. He couldn’t have vanished into thin air.

  And yet he had.

  The rain continued to cool her skin, which would have felt great if she’d been able to relax and enjoy it. She loved a good storm, loved the smell of the rain on the grass and flowers, loved the way everything looked when the clouds eventually moved on, leaving beads of water covering the landscape.

  But tonight she couldn’t concentrate on any of that. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but finding Ian.

  Finally, she gave up walking in circles and told herself it was over. He was gone. She could go home, or she could go upstairs and work some more, losing herself in the numbers. After all, numbers never let her down. Numbers never disappointed her, or hurt her.

  Or vanished into thin air.

  And even better, at the end of the day, numbers always fell into place. No strings, no worries for another day.

  Couldn’t ask for more in life than that. Or so she told herself. And if a little niggling doubt crept into her thoughts, a little voice that said maybe there was more to life than that-far more, and if she’d open up her mind and heart to it, she’d find out for herself-she filed it away into the same distant spot where she’d tucked away Madame Karma’s doom and gloom.

  She didn’t have time for fantasies.

  The Fairfax building was shaped like a big U, and her office was on the fourth floor at the bottom left corner of that U. Normally she took the stairs, considering it her daily exercise, thereby giving her an excuse at lunch to indulge her love affair with junk food. But since she’d already walked up and down those four flights today, she gave herself a break and took the elevator.

  On her floor, she got off, passed the potted plants lining the hallway outside the chiropractor’s suite, and then the cute little African statues outside the antiquities importer and auction house, and then finally, arrived at her own business at the end of the hallway.

  She unlocked her office door and flipped on the lights. She had enough time to take in her reception area, her large, organized desk with the computer and adding machine on it, just before the lights surged, then went out.

  With a frown, she backed to the wall again and reached for the switch, hitting it off and then on.

  Nothing.

  She’d lost power.

  Karma going south for the winter…

  From the large window to the right of her desk came a flashing strobe of lightning, followed almost immediately by a cracking boom of thunder that made her jump again. “Relax,” she told herself, the voice of reason. “The power’s out because of the storm. That’s all.”

  She waited a moment, thinking the lights would come right back on, because this was L.A. People didn’t lose power in L.A.

  But the electricity remained off. No comforting hum from her computer, just an eerie, strained silence in which all she could hear was her own breathing.

  Well, damn. What was a workaholic to do when stressed if she couldn’t work?

  Not to be thwarted, she made her way to her desk, which she could have found blindfolded. After digging into the top drawer, she pulled out her handy-dandy hit-an-intruder-over-the-head-with-it flashlight, which she used to guide her as she lit several candles around the perimeter of her desk.

  By candlelight, she opened her laptop and blessed the fact that she was anal enough to have the battery fully charged. Telling herself to forget the events of the evening-including both Madame Karma and the phantom Ian McCall-she got to work.

  After a little while she realized she was way too warm, courtesy of no air conditioning. She slipped out of her light sweater, leaving her in just a skirt and a flimsy tank top. Then she twisted her ponytail on top of her head and secured it there with two pencils from her drawer.

  She was nothing if not resourceful.

  And then she bent back over her keyboard. But only a moment later, her head came up again.

  Had she heard something?

  Head cocked, she stared into the darkness and waited…then laughed at herself and went back to her numbers.

  Thud.

  Okay, that was something. She stood up and pushed her chair back. The noise hadn’t come from her office, but one of the others on this floor. She moved to her door and pulled it open, then peered into the utterly black hallway.

  Thud.

  It didn’t come from the chiropractor’s office, but the antiquities and auction office. Odd because that office was closed. Steve and Al Adams, the two brothers who ran it, were overseas this week, which she knew because they were clients of hers.

  And yet she’d heard what she’d heard. Contrary to the oddities of the night, she was not going crazy. Needing to prove it, she went back for her flashlight, then let herself out into the main hall. She knocked on her neighbor’s door, knowing she wouldn’t get an answer. “Hello? Steve? Al? Anyone?”

  Nothing but another unmistakable thud.

  Oh, boy. Just last month Steve had somehow left a window open in there. They’d ended up with a sparrow flying around the ceiling tiles until Al had managed to chase it out with a broom.

  Thinking of all the damage a wild bird could do before the guys got back on Monday, Chloe once again trudged back to her office, this time for the spare key the brothers had left her. She quickly retraced her steps and opened up the auction house and swallowed into the utter blackness. “Here, birdy, birdy,” she said, and waved her flashlight around. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  This office was much larger than hers, and contained a huge front room, designed to display various valuable and exotic antiques from around the world, which were sold at private and invitation-only auctions.

  She didn’t know the Adams’s well. Steve and Al were both private, quiet guys who kept to themselves. They paid her on time and that’s pretty much all that mattered.

  They’d just had a large auction before they left so the place was empty. Anything they hadn’t sold was locked safely away in storage somewhere.

  Beyond the reception are
a was a conference room, where the auctions were held, and then two private offices, and also a large storage/cleaning/research room.

  Chloe stood in that inky blackness, which was relieved only by her own small beam of light. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, and now, thankfully, she didn’t hear a thing-

  Thud.

  Damn. She considered pretending she hadn’t heard it. The sound had come from the offices in the back, and with a sigh, she headed in that direction. “Dear batteries, please don’t die…”

  Holding her breath, she turned to the first door, the auction room. It was empty, and very, very silent. So was Steve’s office. But Al’s…locked.

  She looked down at the key in her hand, shrugged, and tried it. It worked, and she slowly turned the handle, the hair on the back of her neck rising when she heard a soft scuttle and then nothing.

  Silence.

  “Okay, bird,” she said out loud to make herself feel better. “Or squirrel.”

  Nothing except that disconcerting sweat-inducing silence. Because she was suddenly claustrophobic, she moved around the desk to the window and looked out. She could see down to the courtyard and realized the other two wings of the building had not lost power. “Nice move, karma.” With a sigh, she faced the dark room. “Hey, you know what, birdy? You just go ahead and stay. I’m fine with that.”

  And now she was talking to herself. Perfect. She headed to the door, then nearly killed herself when she fell over two ajar drawers. From her new position on the floor, she kicked the first one closed, but the second was jammed so she stood up and then pushed it.

  Nothing.

  Fine. She pulled it open to fix it. It was caught on files, filled with…bank statements?

  Odd. She did the Adams’s banking, and this couldn’t be right. She hadn’t seen these statements. Pulling out a file, she flicked her light over it, and her stomach began to sink as she realized these were recordings for banking accounts she knew nothing about, all fat with money.

  “Damn,” she said to the still unseen bird. “I hate it when they turn out to be crooked-” She broke off at a sound. And not just any sound, but a footstep.

  A heavy footstep.

  Nothing, nothing at all, like a bird or squirrel.

  Oh, boy. Yeah, definitely she’d overstayed her welcome, but before she could hightail it to the door, she was yanked back against a strong, hard chest.

  A squeak escaped her. That was all she got out as a big, warm hand came down over mouth and a muscled arm encircled her belly, rendering her immobile.

  Her flashlight hit the floor, and she was hauled up against a large man. Panic gripped her. With his hand over her mouth, she was unable to move, unable to scream, and she could only think of one thing. Madame Karma really had cursed her.

  She wouldn’t take this with just a whimper. No way. She’d read Self-Defense For Dummies-she knew what to do. One kick to the nads and this sucker would drop like a stone.

  Please drop like a stone.

  She twisted to the side and thrust up her knee as hard as she could. An oomph escaped him, and then a concise, single-worded oath that singed her hair back and struck terror to her heart.

  Because she’d missed and caught him in the thigh. Not enough to incapacitate him or loosen his hold on her. But when he sagged back against the desk, she used their momentum to shove hard. They both crashed to the floor. Gasping for breath, she scrambled to crawl away, thinking door.

  Get.

  To.

  The.

  Door-

  He grabbed her ankle and tugged hard, and she flew back against him.

  “Hold still,” he grated out.

  Hell if she would do that, and she kicked him as hard as she could.

  “Ow, goddammit!”

  The next thing she felt was the slap of cold metal on her wrist, and the sound of something clicking into place. She tugged her hand but she couldn’t move it.

  Oh, God, he’d handcuffed her to him!

  Then she was hauled to her feet, whipped around and pressed to a wall, held there by that hard body.

  Then there was a narrow beam of light in her face.

  “You,” said that voice, the voice that was unbearably familiar because it belonged to the man who claimed not to be her first lover, the guy who’d vanished on her tonight after a near miss with an erotic slow dance…the tough, sexy, edgy Ian McCall.

  And either he was extremely happy to see her, or he had a gun in his pants.

  4

  IAN MCCALL HELD Chloe Cooper against that wall and sighed to himself in the dark office. Hell. How had he managed to get himself in this predicament?

  Simple. He’d gotten sloppy.

  Well, not sloppy, never sloppy. Overcome. As in overcome with memories, thanks to the blast from the past that felt like a one-two punch to the solar plexus.

  He’d let Chloe Cooper get into his head.

  And against his body.

  He’d been shocked to see her tonight outside in that courtyard, looking sweet and sexy and like hopes and dreams revisited. But if he’d been shocked to see one of his greatest memories, he’d been even more shocked to find her snooping inside the auction house he’d been casing.

  “Ian.” She was fighting him, fighting the handcuffs. “What’s going on?”

  He’d like to know the answer to that question himself. With all his heart he’d like to know. Not wanting to give himself away, he said nothing, but she was struggling. Unfortunately for him, the way he had her pressed between the plaster and his body, the only thing she was really doing was making his eyes cross with lust.

  And it wasn’t just his eyes. It actually wasn’t his eyes at all, since he couldn’t see a damn thing and had lost his penlight in the scuffle.

  But he didn’t need to see. Not with her ass pressed into his crotch, and the arm he’d wrapped around her now trapped between her breasts and the wall. He could feel her nipples pressing into his forearm, two hardened peaks that were making him sweat.

  And she was still wriggling. Wriggling and squirming, rocking and rolling all those glorious curves against him. He tried not to notice, he really did, but he’d have to be dead not to be affected.

  Then there were the memories assaulting him, pummeling him, reminding him how much she’d once meant to him, which was to say everything. Once upon a time, in her arms, he’d felt as if he could do anything. He’d been stupid enough to leave her behind when he’d gone off to find himself, but he’d never been too stupid to know what a great thing he’d lost.

  It was driving him crazy now.

  She was driving him crazy, and if she didn’t stop wriggling-“Hold still,” he ground out.

  Of course she didn’t, she continued to fight him with everything she had, and then some.

  “I know it’s you!” she cried. “Why are we handcuffed?”

  Another most excellent question, which begged yet another, which was…just who didn’t he trust, her…or him?

  “Just tell me why you won’t admit it’s you!”

  Yes. Why didn’t he just admit it was him? Simple. Acknowledging their connection would jeopardize his case, not to mention his equilibrium.

  Chloe. After all these years. Soft, beautiful, giving, passionate, wonderful Chloe. His first lover, keeper of his heart and, truthfully…

  His biggest mistake.

  God, he’d been so lost at eighteen, so sure he’d needed to leave town to make something of himself. And not just leave town, but go all the way across the country.

  That’s what came of growing up in an unhappy household.

  But he’d learned a lot since then-such as, happiness came from within, not from a job or a location.

  He’d been happy enough in New York, and after college had been recruited by the FBI as a stolen-antiquity specialist. But he’d been happier when he’d come back to Los Angeles.

  He could smell her, some intoxicating scent, and he wanted to bury his face in her hair like a homecoming, because Go
d, this was Chloe. He’d been with women since her, and he’d even had a connection with some of those women, but nothing like he’d had with her.

  Hell, even tonight, when he’d seen her across the grass and courtyard, he’d felt the pull of her, had been helpless against it. Now, here, being this close felt more essential than breathing.

  And that was a problem, a big one.

  “Say something!” she demanded, still wriggling like crazy. “Goddamnit, say something, anything!”

  He’d been trying to restrain her before she made him a eunuch but something in her voice stopped him cold. He was scaring her. Torn between losing his cover and the need to make sure he didn’t give her a heart attack, he leaned over her and pressed his forehead to the wall, squeezing his eyes shut, his mind whirling. “I’ll tell you what’s going on, but you have to be still and quiet. Okay?”

  She was breathing like a misused race horse, her soft warm exhales brushing his jaw.

  “Okay?” he repeated, his hands gentle on her.

  Still panting, he felt her nod. A strand of her hair caught on the day-old growth on his jaw and stubbornly clung. Another stray piece of silk stabbed him in the eyes.

  Torture.

  He waited a moment to make sure she was really going to behave because she’d nearly kicked his balls into next week, and, as he was particularly fond of all his parts, he didn’t want a repeat.

  She didn’t move.

  He’d thought that’s what he wanted but it turned out, no. Because now everything that had been moving before was still, giving him a much better grip on her.

  And with the grip he had, combined with the blackness all around them, every little thing was magnified.

  Intensified.

  She was everything he remembered, everything that got into his dreams sometimes late at night: smart, gorgeous and tenacious as hell. God, he’d be so happy to see her, his first lover, the girl who’d once completely stolen his heart. Happy, except for two reasons.

  One, he was deep into this stolen antiquities case. And two, as the accountant for his suspect, Chloe had some serious explaining to do. “I’m going to try to find my flashlight,” he said.