Ironic that his intuition told him her intuition should be taken seriously. But then a whole lot about this situation was pretty damned ironic.
Like allowing himself to be spied on when he was supposed to be the one doing the spying.
Like crawling into bed with a woman he’d love to make love to, and instead letting her fall asleep snuggled up next to his side while he endured the mother of all hard-ons in pained silence.
He eventually managed to sleep. But how long he’d been out before a cry jerked him abruptly to consciousness, he had no idea. Lissa was thrashing next to him, clearly in the throes of a nightmare.
“Oh, no,” she moaned. “I see them.”
Aw, hell. Was she having some sort of vision? He dared not let her spout out some prediction in her sleep for the cameras to record. If Peter and his bosses were on the other end of the surveillance, at all costs she must not reveal a psychic prediction.
“Lissa, baby. Wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”
She thrashed against him again. “They’re coming. We’re all going to die.”
Crap. She wasn’t waking up. Quickly, he rolled half on top of her, gently pinning her in place.
“I see it all. The trees and the water. An ambush—”
Desperate to silence her before she incriminated herself, he plastered his mouth against hers. She jolted against him and then subsided all of a sudden. Cautiously, he lifted his lips from hers. “Are you with me?” he breathed.
“I’m here,” she whispered back. “Oh, it’s awful and it’s com—”
He kissed her again quickly. And this time he didn’t stop. He deepened the contact of their mouths, demanding her attention, calling forth the passion he knew rested close below the surface with her. In her half-awake state, it came easily, and she kissed him back, molding herself to him as her arms snaked around his neck.
Another moan slipped from her throat, this time having nothing to do with nightmares and visions. Better. But then it registered belatedly that her flimsy nightgown was bunched up around her thighs and that her sleek legs were suggestively entwined with his. Her lips were unbelievably soft and tasted like mint toothpaste and Lissa. And her entire body undulated gently against his. She felt like a mermaid in his arms, elusively sexy and apt to slip right through his arms at any second.
She muttered against his mouth, “I have to tell you about my dream.”
“Later,” he breathed back. Louder he said, “Sweetheart, it makes perfect sense that you had a bad dream after the past week you’ve had. But I’m here now. I’m not going to let anyone else mess with you. No more muggings—no more break-ins. It stops now.”
That last sentence was for the benefit of the bastards on the back end of the cameras as much as her. Although hopefully, they couldn’t see much in the darkness and only had audio to go on right now. Ideally, the cameras didn’t have some kind of infrared or low-light technology in them.
“I’m not going to be able to sleep again.” She pouted against his mouth.
He laughed a little in response. “I think we might be able to do something about that.”
“Mmm. I was hoping you’d say that.”
She kissed him with enough enthusiasm that he suspected she’d temporarily forgotten about the cameras. Which was excellent. Her life might very well depend on convincing their watchers that she was just a normal woman running a shop she’d inherited. Nothing more.
Except, good grief, she was so much more. Her hands slipped between them, gripping his male flesh in her warm, sweet fists, and then cameras mostly retreated from his awareness, too, replaced by the taste and feel and passion of the woman in his arms.
It was so damned nice, once in his life, to let another person inside the walls of his world. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let down his guard like this and allowed himself to enjoy another human being’s company. Not to mention how long it had been since he’d authentically been himself with anyone. It had been so long, in fact, that he wasn’t entirely sure how to be himself anymore.
But it was as if Lissa sensed his uncertainty and coaxed him out of overthinking the whole thing with her sweet mouth and quick, curious hands. And those little noises she made in the back of her throat—they drove him out of his mind completely.
Soon the night was filled with warm skin and kisses and laughter and sweaty passion that drove him beyond caring about anything except this moment. This woman. Secrets be damned. If laying himself bare meant his life could be filled with Lissa and all of this, he would happily run naked down the street shouting his secrets to the world.
As if she felt his capitulation, Lissa’s arms tightened around him. Her movements became more urgent against him, her sexy little pants faster. Responding to her siren’s call, he sank into her completely, and all thought became impossible then. She was dark oblivion, and he joyfully let her claim him body, mind and soul.
* * *
Lissa woke slowly in the morning, something warm against her back and something heavy across her waist. An arm. Max’s arm. Memories of the passion they’d shared last night flooded her about one millisecond before she remembered they’d been on camera the whole time, too. A hot blush suffused her cheeks. She was just grateful that Max was still asleep and not awake to witness her embarrassment.
Except then his hand crept up to cup her breast lightly, and his lips moved against the back of her head. “G’mornin’, sunshine,” he murmured.
“It is a good morning, isn’t it?”
“Mmm-hmm. What’s on your agenda today, Lissa?”
“I have to do some shopping for new stock for the shop. I lost so much inventory last week that there’s actual empty shelf space I need to fill.”
“That’s hard to imagine,” he replied drily. “Actually, I know a few places you might want to check out.”
She snuggled back against his hard body contentedly.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,” Max announced. “Can I interest you in a quick shower, breakfast and then a shopping expedition?”
“I do believe you could. Last one in the shower’s a rotten egg!”
She leaped out of bed, taking the bedsheet with her. Max squawked, laughing, and followed her into the bathroom more slowly. He might not care if the cameras caught him naked, but she did.
She turned on the hot water full blast, and under its din muttered to him, “Are there cameras in here?”
“Not that I’ve found,” he mouthed back. “But to be safe, assume there is one.”
She shuddered, suddenly feeling horribly exposed. She yanked the shower curtains around the big claw-foot tub and stepped quickly into the protection of the shower. Max joined her and then effectively distracted her by soaping her body down in leisurely and entirely sensual fashion. The quick shower turned into a hot-water-heater-emptying marathon, but she didn’t mind. She was practically purring like Mr. Jackson before they finally emerged, fingers wrinkled and breathless, wrapped in fluffy white towels.
Lissa scrambled eggs for them in a pan on the hot plate while Max insisted on squeezing fresh orange juice by hand. She did have to admit the tangy sweetness of fresh juice was worth the effort.
“First order of business after we get your shelves restocked downstairs is to get you a working kitchen,” he announced.
“I couldn’t agree more,” she declared fervently. She was eager to get out from under the constant pressure of knowing the cameras were staring at her, and she ate and cleaned up after the meal quickly.
She opted to drive his truck back to his place while Max followed in Lola. They parked the sports car in his garage and she slid over in the truck while he slipped into the driver’s seat of the heavy-duty vehicle.
“Can we talk now?” she asked as he backed the truck out of the garage.
He started down the street and checked his rearview mirror carefully. “Yes. We can talk.”
Thank goodness. She blurted, “I have to tell you about my dream last night. You were in it. Along with some men and women I’ve never seen before.”
He glanced over at her. “What were we all doing?”
“Hiding in tall grass. Carrying guns. Getting ready to be attacked.”
“By whom?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea. But everyone was tense. Not scared exactly, but expecting something bad to arrive soon.”
“What sort of something?” he asked.
“I couldn’t see it, but I get the impression it was people coming. Dangerous ones.”
“That would explain the tension and hiding.” He grinned at her.
He didn’t sound as if he was taking her the least bit seriously. “Look. I’m not making this up,” she declared. “I routinely dream about things before they happen, and this was one of those dreams. You and I are going to be in a bad situation sometime soon. We’ll be with friends, and we’ll all be in grave danger. You have to believe me.”
He glanced over at her again, the smile fading quickly from his face. “I hear you, and I do believe you. But you have to understand that I have no intention of borrowing trouble before it arrives. At the moment, I’ve got an SUV trailing me, and if I’m not mistaken, the driver is the same one from the white van yesterday. I’m much more interested in dealing with that problem right now. I’ll worry about your ambush later.”
She started to turn in her seat, but he barked at her, “Don’t turn around!”
She faced forward, a little offended.
“We can’t tip them off that we know they’re back there,” he explained apologetically.
“Okay, I’m over the whole surveillance thing being an adventure. I want it to stop,” she announced.
“If only. Welcome to my life,” he grumbled under his breath. “You can at least speak freely in here. It’s damned hard to bug a moving vehicle successfully.”
“Who are these people?”
“What say we draw them out into the open and have a look at them?” he suggested.
That sounded dangerous. “How?”
He grinned over at her. “No sweat. We’ll go somewhere where they’ll stick out like sore thumbs. And I know just the spot.”
He parked a little while later in front of what looked like a huge, ramshackle barn on the verge of falling over in the next strong wind. He came around to open her door for her, and as she slid out of the seat, she asked, “What is this place?”
“Best auction house this side of the Mississippi River. You’re gonna love it. Just be careful you don’t get carried away. It’s easy to spend a fortune in here.”
Max led her inside the massive structure, and she gasped with delight as she spied a treasure trove of art, antiques, collectibles and eclectic junk. She temporarily forgot about bad guys following them as they wandered the long tables of items to be auctioned off. She marked at least a dozen lots of quirky knickknacks in her auction catalog that would be perfect inventory for the shop.
Max led her to a collection of bleachers clustered around a small raised stage, and they climbed up high into the seats off to one side of the bidding area. She all but bounced on the bench beside him as the auction got going.
“Never been to one of these before, I gather?” he asked, humor lacing his voice.
“Never. Oh, this is so fun!”
He grinned broadly at her. “You focus on the auction while I watch the crowd.”
Oh. Right. Their tails. She glanced around at the clientele, who mostly fell into two distinct camps: well-dressed collectors with money to burn, or the Southern version of beatniks.
She spotted a middle-aged man in jeans and a black leather jacket. The guy seemed intensely uncomfortable. “There’s one of our tails, I bet,” she murmured.
“Good eye. See if you can find at least one more like him. These guys are too professional to work alone.” Max commenced fiddling with his cell phone and then announced, “There. Got a good picture of the first guy and just sent it to Jennie to identify.”
“Jennie?” Her attention snapped to Max.
One corner of his mouth turned up. “Computer researcher I’ve worked with before. Nice lady. Not my type.”
“You have a type?”
“Turns out I do,” he replied, his gaze scanning the crowd that was gathering quickly in the bleachers. “And there’s number two,” he announced. His cell phone pointed in a new direction for several seconds.
“I think I see another guy lurking over by that exit behind the stage,” she murmured without moving her lips.
“Yup. Guarding the back door to make sure we don’t sneak out and give them the slip.”
“So, what’s your type?” she asked.
“Petite redheads with quirky ideas about the occult.”
“They’re not quirky—” she started before she caught him grinning at her. She subsided and merely stuck her tongue out at him instead.
The auctioneer stepped up to a podium and commenced selling items in a rapid-fire staccato that was contagiously exciting. She saw what Max meant by warning her not to get carried away. The first lot she wanted to bid on came up for sale, and she gripped the paddle in her lap tightly. But the opening bid was higher than the maximum price she’d set for herself on the lot and she slumped, disappointed.
A few more lots went by out of her price range, and then the one she really wanted came up on the podium. It was a collection of sundries from the estate of a local man who had passed away recently. The bidding started low and progressed anemically.
“I’m bidding,” she whispered to Max.
“Wait,” he muttered back. “Let the two serious bidders wear each other down before you jump in.”
“But I don’t want the price to get too high for me.”
He shook his head. “Trust me. I do this for a living. Let them start questioning their commitment to the buy before you enter the fray.”
She waited impatiently while two bidders dickered back and forth for several minutes. The auctioneer had to cajole each bid out of the buyers now, and the price was inching up by tiny margins.
“Now,” Max murmured. “Barely outbid them.”
She raised her paddle hesitantly. All eyes in the place swiveled to take in this new entrant to the bidding. Max reached out casually to put an arm around her shoulder, and an audible sigh of disappointment rose from the crowd.
The auctioneer asked the two other bidders if they wished to continue and both shook their heads, looking disgusted.
“Sold. To the lady on the right.”
The gavel dropped, and she let out a low squeal of delight under her breath. “Why did everyone sigh like that when I bid?” she asked Max.
“They all spotted me.”
She turned to face him. “And?”
He shrugged. “I’m known to come in here with deep pockets. If I want a piece for a client, no one’s beating me out for it. They give up on items pretty quickly when I indicate that I want something.”
“Wouldn’t they try to bid up the price to get the most money out of you?”
“There’s a certain honor among dealers. Artificially inflating the prices of art and antiques benefits none of us in the long run. We all know the fair market value of items. I’m usually willing to pay just a little bit more over that price than the rest of them.”
“Well, I don’t care if I overpaid. I wanted that chest full of tarot cards, and I doubt I overpaid for it in the least.”
“Let’s go collect your booty and see what you got.”
An employee set the carved wooden box about the size of a bread box on a table and surprised her by saying, “Hey, Max. Have
n’t seen you around here in a while. Want this charged to your account?”
“Sure. Good to see you, Louis. Anything special sitting in the back room?”
Lissa looked back and forth between the two men, listening to the easy banter between them. Apparently, this man gave Max the occasional heads-up when out-of-the-ordinary pieces came into the auction house for sale.
Max signed a line on a clipboard, and then turned to her. “So. Open up your treasure chest. Let’s see what we’ve got in this box of yours.”
“Did you just pay for this?” she demanded truculently.
“I have a credit account here. It’s easiest just to throw the charge for this onto it.”
“I’ll reimburse you—”
“Believe me. This little thing is a drop in the bucket compared to what I usually spend around here. Don’t worry about it.”
She frowned, prepared to argue the principle of the thing, but she was distracted when Max turned the antique key in the box’s lock and lifted the lid. The description in the auction booklet had said the box contained a tarot card collection. But she gasped when she saw the decks of cards neatly stacked to the top of the box.
“There must be a hundred decks in here!” she exclaimed. She lifted out deck after deck, recognizing many of them as rare and vintage decks, some more than a hundred years old. The deeper she dug in the chest, the older and rarer the decks became.
“Oh, my gosh,” she breathed as she spied a deck near the bottom. “I do believe this is an original Etteilla deck from France.”
Max replied, “I have to plead ignorance of old tarot decks. Is an Etteilla deck a big deal?”
“They were the first mass-produced tarot decks for divination in France. They date to the late eighteenth century.”
And then she spied another deck, tucked way in the back corner of the chest. It was old and dirty, and it didn’t have a storage box or bag. A simple piece of twine held the cards together. But the power pouring off the deck lit up the chest’s interior like a beacon.
“What’s that?” Max asked with definite interest.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2016 Box Set Page 58
