by Lila Monroe
“Right,” Hallie says. “Just throw me into the line of fire ahead of you.”
“I really hope no one’s going to be firing on us in there,” I say with a grin. “But if you want to try and boost me first . . .”
“Good point.”
I offer her my cupped hands. She steps up and I heave her toward the window.
Hallie scrambles through the opening headfirst—giving me an excellent view of her shapely rear in those jeans.
“You better not be staring at my ass right now.”
Can this woman read my mind?
“No comment,” I reply, grinning.
“Hurumpg.” She makes a noise, before hauling herself all the way through. There’s the sound of a clatter, and then a thud.
“You OK?”
“Yup!” her reply comes. “But this miniature model of a farm . . . not so much.”
I wince. “I’ll leave a donation.”
I grab the ledge and pull myself up after her, glad at least that all those pull-ups with my sadistic trainer were good for something. It’s a tight squeeze through the narrow window, but I manage to wriggle through.
“Look out!”
Hallie’s warning comes a moment too late. I drop heavily to the ground inside—and send us both tumbling to the floor.
“OOF.”
We roll, until she’s laying beneath me. Eyes bright, laughing smile, looking like temptation there in the darkness.
Fuck, this girl is beautiful.
I kiss her, hard, and Hallie responds immediately with a little noise that gets me hard in an instant. Her arms wrap around me, her fingers tracing over the back of my neck. A surge of lust bolts through me, and damn if I don’t want to strip her naked and take her right here until she’s screaming my name—
In the middle of the county museum. Where we just broke in.
OK, maybe not.
I pull back with a reluctant groan. Hallie sits up, her cheeks deliciously flushed. “I . . . guess we should find that clue?”
“And fast. Before I ravish you against this”—I check the label—“nineteenth century agriculture exhibit. Those folks knew how to throw down.”
She laughs, and it’s such a joyful sound, I can’t even focus on anything else. How am I supposed to care about Gramps’s ridiculous treasure hunt when I’ve got a woman who looks like that looking at me like that? But somehow when I offer my hand to help her off the floor, I don’t immediately drag her back into my arms.
“Come on.” Hallie looks around. “We need to be quick, before anyone comes.”
“I disagree on principle,” I joke, sliding my hand over her ass. “But OK.”
She bats my hand away, giggling, and we start to search the museum. We find plenty of dioramas and antique coins, but no printing press. “No sign here,” I say, disappointed. Then I hear it. The sound of footsteps, approaching from down the hall.
“Crapwaffle!” Hallie whisper-exclaims. “Who is that?”
I tug her through the nearest doorway and around one of the display cases showing off a great selection of what appear to be . . . doorknobs? Sure.
We squeeze into the space behind the case. Her breath spills hot against my neck, and I try to focus.
Possible arrest vs. taking her right here.
Fuck, I’m getting hard again.
The footsteps tap closer. A flashlight beam flicks through the room we’re in. I peer around the case and make out the shape of a security guard, just some kid in an oversize uniform, with his headphones on.
As his footsteps fade away, I exhale in relief. Hallie sighs too, her chest rising and falling against mine, too luscious to resist.
I bend down and capture her mouth. Her lips part under mine, her tongue teasing mine in a sensual dance. I rock against her. She lets out a little moan, and then clamps her mouth shut, her eyes widening.
Right. Security guards and driving Hallie out of her mind with pleasure aren’t going to be a good mix. Damn it.
“Come on,” I whisper, checking that the coast is clear. “It’s got to be down here, we’ve checked everywhere else.”
When we get to the next doorway, Hallie clutches my hand tightly. She points. An old printing press is sitting against the far wall. And sticking out from one corner, I spot a linen envelope.
Victory!
Muffled voices reach my ears at the same moment. Shit, have my cousins picked up the trail? I grab the envelope, pull out the paper inside, and snap a picture of the clue with my phone in the light from the window. There’s no time to read it right now.
Hallie slinks back to the doorway as I return the envelope to its hiding place—maybe tucking it a little farther in than it was when we got here. I don’t have to be a perfect sportsman, right? There should be some advantage to getting here first. Then I join her by the hall.
Artie’s voice is ringing out louder now. “We demand entry. An important piece of our family’s property is located in this museum. It’s imperative that we examine it right away.”
Whoever he’s yelling at says something in response that I can’t make out.
“Now, look here,” Artie starts up again.
Hallie whispers. “Well, I guess we’re not going out the front door.”
“Back the way we came?”
She nods, and we skulk back through to the room we came in through. This time, Hallie doesn’t hesitate before taking my boost and climbing up to the window. She pokes her head outside. “The coast is clear. Here I go.”
She’s more confident the second time, just seems to slither right out with a quick gasp when she hits the ground. I pull myself up after her and—
Huh.
I push myself through to the waist, but I can’t seem to maneuver myself the rest of the way through. I grit my teeth, squirming. Hallie’s eyebrows leap up. “Are you trapped in there?” she says, sounding like she’s holding back another giggle.
I glower at her. “Just give me a second.”
Hallie’s eyes suddenly widen. “Try harder! Someone’s coming!”
I can hear footsteps approaching—outside, this time. Just down the alley . . .
Shit.
I shove at the ledge, trying to level myself through, but it’s too tight.
Hallie pales. “They’re getting closer!”
I can only imagine what will happen if someone finds us like this. “Sorry, officer, just some light criminal trespass, no hard feelings.” And if the press get wind of it, and Franklin’s madcap treasure hunt . . .
Let’s just say my low profile won’t last long.
Dammit!
Hallie reaches up and tries to yank me through. “You had to have extra fries,” she hisses.
“Hey!” I protest. “There’s not a spare ounce of fat on me.”
“Tell that to the window.”
She lets go, and looks wildly around. “Wait here,” she orders me, then disappears around the side of the building.
As if I’m going anywhere in a hurry.
For a moment, I think she’s gone and abandoned me to face the cruel arm of the law on my own. Then her voice carries back to me, sweet as sugar.
“Hi!” she exclaims loudly. “Do you work here at the museum?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Perfect. I have some questions, and you look like a man who has all the answers.”
She’s stalling. Yes! I should have known she’d have my back. Somehow, Hallie has been supporting me since the moment this weird adventure began. From scornful relatives, to small-town security. How did I manage without her?
I wriggle faster as the guy chuckles. “What do you want to know?”
“Let me show you. There was something I saw . . . I know the museum isn’t open, but I’m just dying to find out more. I’m a local history buff, and I heard you have an amazing collection of reproduction farm equipment!”
Their voices fade as she leads him away—in the other direction.
Is there nothing this woman can’t do?
I heave and yank and finally manage to haul myself free. This time there’s no Hallie to break my fall. I hit the ground and stagger to my feet.
I guess you really can get too many muscles.
I’m brushing myself down when Hallie reappears. “Come on! He’s gone to get me some pamphlets. Let’s get out of here!”
We duck around the building before doubling back to the sidewalk. Parked out front are a couple of black sedans that stick out like sore thumbs.
“Your cousins’ rides, I’m guessing.” Hallie eyes them as I call up the taxi service. Her lips curl into another smile.
“You know,” she says, “we could slow them down even more . . .”
“Uh oh. I’m getting to know that look,” I tease. “It’s your devious master plan kind of look.”
Hallie glances around, but the street is empty. Just then, Artie’s voice comes filtering out of the building.
“What do you mean, ‘no’? I’ll have your fucking job for this!”
“And there goes the last of my conscience,” Hallie says. She leans over and unscrews one of the tire caps. Air starts hissing out.
I follow her lead. In a minute, all the tires are deflating.
“Hey!”
An angry cry sounds behind us. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Just in time, our cab pulls up. “Come on!” I grab Hallie, and pile her in the back. “Go! GO!” I yell to the driver, who’s clearly been playing way too much GTA because he screeches away in a cloud of burning rubber.
“Come back!” Brad yells behind us, but they’re too late.
We’re already gone.
17
Hallie
“A window to the world. A window to the world. A window to the world.”
I yawn. I don’t really want to move any other part of my body. It’s hard to want to do much of anything when I’m sprawled on the cushy king-sized bed in a fancy hotel room.
“You’ve been reading that clue for hours,” I say. “It’s not going to change this time.”
Come to bed, I add silently. Ravish me all over again.
“From inside and above,” Max reads, “it’s a window to the world. Arrive to see it first, and you’ll find your prize unfurled.”
“Just when I thought your grandfather couldn’t get any vaguer.” I smile. “There’s only about five hundred windows on this hotel building alone. Take the entire country into account, and, well . . . Plus, who says he’s limiting this search to the country?”
If we start allowing for metaphorical windows, the whole thing gets even more impossible.
“I’ve still got nothing.” Max sighs.
“But if we’ve got nothing, I can’t see how Artie or Parker could have figured it out. Maybe you just need to sleep on it,” I point out. “And this is clearly the place to do it.” I stretch out on the duvet, which is so soft it should be illegal. The suite is bigger than my apartment and ten times fancier. Marble sink and heated tiles in the bathroom, velvet furniture all through the main room—Olivia would love it here. I think that might even be actual gold in the wallpaper pattern. Because why not?
Max turns toward me, and if the heat in his expression is anything to go by, it’s not sleeping he’s thinking about right now. Before I can stoke those flames, his cellphone sounds. He glances at his phone and winces.
“It’s my lawyers. I’d better see what they want.”
Max heads into the living room—because yes, this is a whole fucking suite—and I snuggle deeper into the down pillows. This is the life. Gorgeous hotel room, check. Even more gorgeous man, double check.
Gorgeous diamond ring on my finger . . .
I gulp. Oh yeah, that whole “fake fiancée/contracted relationship” part of things. It had kind of slipped my mind, what with the crimes and misdemeanors—and wild, hot sex.
This definitely wasn’t in the employee handbook.
I check my messages and see a couple of missed calls from Olivia. Whom I’ve been ignoring for days. Sure, I’ve been just a little busy on this treasure hunt, but also, my guilty conscience is waking from it’s post-coital slumber. Sure, there wasn’t anything in the contract forbidding consensual sex, but she spent so long stressing how professional her operation was, I’m guessing she wouldn’t look too kindly on me blurring the lines like this.
I brace myself, and call.
Olivia answers on the second ring, her voice as smooth and warm as always. “Hallie! How have you been doing? I hope the radio silence means everything’s going smoothly.”
“Yes,” I lie. “Just fine. Max’s grandfather sprung a surprise on us, so we’ve been kind of busy.”
I quickly fill her in on the scavenger hunt, and she laughs. “Wow. Well, I do tell my clients to expect the unexpected.”
Like wild, hot sex in a gross hotel room. And barely escaping a minor felony with our limbs intact.
“Yup, it’s been a ride!” I answer brightly. “Actually, I’m having fun. And Max . . . well, he’s not what I expected.”
Something must come across in my tone, because Olivia clears her throat. “Good, just as long as you remember this arrangement is temporary. I know it’s your first time working like this, but it’s easy to forget. Lines can get blurred, being in such close proximity . . .”
Is that her way of asking if we’re banging like bunny rabbits?
I cough. “I remember. Lines, firmly in place.”
“Good. I know it’s easy to get swept up in the moment. After all, you’re pretending to be in love. But at the end of the day, that’s all it is. Pretend.”
My face flushes. Thank God she can’t see me. “Of course not. I know that.”
“Great. Then I’ll leave you to it. We can chat more when you’re back in town. It’s just another . . . three days.”
“Right. Sure. See you then.”
I hang up and flop back on the bed. Three more days? I can’t believe it’s flown by so fast. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough time, not to get to know Max, and enjoy every last kiss . . .
Dammit.
I sit up, my stomach in knots. Olivia’s right. I have let myself get swept away. Sure, I don’t really believe Max and I are getting married. But I guess I was starting to think there might be something between us. A connection—besides the white-hot sexual chemistry, at least.
My heart sinks, and I try to look on the bright side. Maybe it’s for the best that this thing has an expiration date. After all, I swore off playboys, and Max is about as playful as they come. I wanted a real relationship, didn’t I? Sensible. Normal. Reliable.
After spending the past few days in a whirl of madcap desire, it sounds like I’m shopping for a vacuum cleaner.
Max emerges from the living room. “All set,” he says with obvious relief. “Enough business for today. I’m ready to get on with the pleasure part of the evening. Room service?”
Spending the night here with Max—and food—sounds tempting.
Too tempting.
“How about we go out?” I suggest instead. “We’ve been racing around so fast, I’ve forgotten where we are. And what day it is.”
“Your wish is my command.”
Being Max, of course he already has the best restaurant in the city on speed dial, with the ability to finagle a last-minute reservation. And of course we end up at the best table in the place, by a big window that overlooks a scenic river. The lights sparkle off the rippling water and classical music drifts through the dining room. The tablecloths are so white I’m not sure it’s safe to look straight at them, and the menu is just as lavish.
“What do you think, pookie bear?” I tease. “Foie gras before or after the truffles?”
Max laughs. “After, naturally. With caviar on the side.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Does anyone actually like caviar, or is it just one of those things rich people eat to show off how cultured they are?”
“To tell the truth, I never could stomach the stuff,” Max replies. “Give me a good
old-fashioned steak any day.”
“Sounds good to me!”
For the first few minutes after the food arrives, we’re busy just filling our stomachs. Then Max leans back in his chair and pauses for breath.
“So, according to my lawyers, my cousins are all pitching a fit over this treasure hunt,” he says, looking rueful. “Well, everyone except Flora. Apparently, they’re still chasing their tails in Harperville. With eight flat tires.”
I laugh. “I don’t remember Franklin setting down any rules about fair play.”
“If he had, they’d have broken them a dozen times over already.” Max grins. “I have to admit, it’s been pretty satisfying seeing them flailing around, always one step behind us. It’s about time they realized they can’t discount me just because I’m not around sucking up to the investors 24/7.”
“Do you have any idea what your grandfather was thinking? I mean, I get that he’s gone a bit, erm, batty, but this seems like a really crazy way to choose an heir.”
Max shakes his head. “Honestly, I have no idea. I guess it’s what he said about feeling like none of us is putting in the work . . . But this isn’t exactly the kind of work it takes to run a corporate empire. Solving clues doesn’t help all the hundreds of people the company employs.”
“What would you do, anyway, if you win?” I ask. “I mean, not to jinx anything. But if the company is yours . . .”
“I don’t know.” Max pauses, his expression turning more thoughtful. “I don’t want to give up traveling, but at the same time . . . Well, there could be some benefits to staying in one place. Putting down roots.”
He meets my eyes, and my heart catches. Is he talking about us?
“I think you could do some pretty amazing things at the helm,” I say shyly. “If you let them sell it off, who knows what will happen to the company—and all the employees?”
“Yeah.” Max looks conflicted. “I guess I never thought about it like that. I figured the company would just keep on keeping on . . . But if they’re serious about selling to the highest bidder . . . I wouldn’t want to see the legacy we’ve built crumble, just like that.”
I reach across and squeeze his hand. “Maybe it doesn’t have to. I mean, how many more clues can there be? This time tomorrow, we could be at the finish line. And you could be the one deciding what happens to the company. You’d be a great CEO,” I add loyally, and it’s not just because I have a fantasy involving me, Max, and an executive desk.
