Luke decided he would get his computer tech to enhance the photographs of Palermo and Paulus, creating images of them in the manner Neville described. "I'll be in touch," he told the other man. "This is a private investigation. For now I'm the only person you'll be dealing with."
Neville fidgeted with the empty cigarette pack once again. "I'm still worried about my children. And now that I've told you what I know, they might be in more danger. Will you speak to the king about protecting my family?" he asked, his voice edged with what sounded like genuine fear.
"Yes," Luke responded solemnly. He knew Rowan Neville had two rosy-cheeked little girls. "I will."
* * *
Two days later Luke and Maggie shared dinner in Luke's suite, a meal provided by a maid – a woman who had been a loyal Dunemere employee for years. Nonetheless, Luke had investigated the domestic staff, including the maid. She and the others had turned up clean, but Luke continued to sweep their suites for bugs just the same. No one, in his opinion, was above reproach.
Silent, be toyed with his fork. He'd misjudged the man wino had killed his sister, and Gwen had paid for Luke's mistake. He would never take anyone at face value again.
"Don't you like the food?" Maggie asked.
He glanced at his plate. The meal, consisting of maple-glazed salmon, sautéed chanterelles and cream biscuits, was fit for royalty. And that, somehow, reminded him of Gwen and her cardboard castles.
"It's great," he responded.
"How would you know? You've barely tasted anything."
That, he supposed, was true. He'd picked at the spinach and lentil salad, but he'd bypassed the wild-rice griddle cakes relished with golden caviar and sour cream. Forcing himself to focus on his meal, he cut into his salmon. Now wasn't the time to think about his dead sister.
The fish practically melted on his tongue. He moaned, and Maggie smiled.
"It's almost better than sex, isn't it?"
Luke laughed. Trust Maggie to make him feel better. "Almost," he agreed.
"I guess you've never gotten orgasmic over food before," she said, teasing him.
"No. I can't say that I have." He took another bite, and suddenly the mood shifted. What seemed like an innocent meal was now laced with more than the flavor of maple glaze and peppered cream.
A fire blazed in a gilded fireplace, and outside, the wind howled a haunting melody. Luke sensed the ocean was rising, crashing wildly upon the shore.
Over the candlelit table Maggie met his gaze. Her eyes shimmered like jewels. Muse magic, he thought. The lull of enchantment.
Unable to stop himself, Luke glanced at the bed, knowing Maggie would lie with him if he asked her to.
Heat shot through his veins, as blinding as the fire. He grabbed his water and did his damnedest to douse the flames. If he took Maggie to bed, the addiction would set in, and he would never want to let go.
And that, he thought, as the iced liquid slid down his throat, scared the hell out of him.
"I need to brief you on what's happening with the case," he said.
"Oh, of course." She blinked, as though waking from a fog. "That's why we agreed to dine in your suite."
He nodded. They needed to speak privately, to make certain they weren't overheard. "Rowan Neville identified Rocky in the altered photograph, but he wasn't able to identify Paulus." Luke sat back in his chair. "Let me rephrase that. Neville thought the altered picture of Paulus looked 'a lot' like the man who was with Rocky at the pier. But he wasn't a hundred percent sure."
"It's the only lead we have, Luke. None of your other suspects could be confused with Paulus. You know it was him."
"Most likely, yeah."
"Most likely?" she challenged. "Did you talk to my brother about this?"
"You mean the king? Yes, I did. And he agreed that we should keep a close eye on Paulus." Luke held up a finger to stop Maggie's protest. "We don't have a positive ID on him. Neville can't testify that he saw Gregor Paulus with Rocky Palermo. Hell, his identification of Rocky isn't even airtight. The hit man was in disguise."
"So we're just going to sit around and wait?"
"Not exactly." Luke scooped a forkful of the chanterelles into his mouth. He wasn't a mushroom connoisseur, but they were damn good. "The king suggested that we devise some sort of sting operation."
"Really?" Her eyes all but glittered. The muse magic had returned with a vengeance. "We're going to trap Gregor Paulus?"
"Figuratively speaking. It won't be you and me pulling this off. It will involve an undercover agent."
Her eyes dulled. "So what's the plan?"
"I haven't worked out the details yet. I'm kicking around the idea of baiting him with a potential buyer for the pirated files. As far as I can tell, those CDs haven't turned up on the black market. Their hacker is probably trying to crack the encryption code. Those files aren't worth nearly as much in code, but at this point Paulus would probably welcome a quick, painless sale."
"Are you sure he even has the CDs?" she asked. "They were shipped to Chicago and hidden somewhere by the Kellys."
"After the Kellys were busted, Paulus probably sent Rocky after them. They wouldn't have taken the chance of leaving them there"
Luke finished his meal, then eyed the dessert on a nearby serving tray. Deciding to indulge, he reached for a parfait glass and tasted the tapioca and cranberry swirl. Pleased, he made a mental note to compliment the chef.
Maggie sat back in her chair and gave him a serious look. "We don't need an undercover agent," she said. "I can handle the sting operation."
He nearly choked on the pudding. "Excuse me?"
"Think about it. I'm perfect for the job."
Before he could respond, she continued, "I'll convince Paulus that I have a potential buyer, but I want in on the deal." She leaned forward a little. "And here's the beauty of it. Paulus has access to some of the CDs, and I have access to the rest. Plus I can get ahold of the encryption program. Together we can sell all the files and make a fortune."
"And why would he believe that you're on the level?" Luke shook his head. "Hell, Maggie, you're practically living with me. The whole world thinks we're lovers. And Paulus knows damn well that I'm investigating this case. He's not an idiot. They killed your grandfather, your uncle, my partner. We're knee-deep in this."
"And that's exactly why it will work. I have a wild reputation. Like Prince Marc," she added. "The media used to compare me to him. And he was part of the smuggling scam."
"He owed the mob money. You're a twenty-two-year-old artist with a trust fund."
"For your information, I won't have access to my trust fund until I'm thirty." She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "And I can play up that angle. I can say that I need more than the petty cash my stingy family tosses my way. Paulus can skip town after we unload the CDs, and I can defy my parents with my own money, pulling the wool over their eyes in the process."
Luke couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What about your relationship with me? How are you going to explain that away?"
She sent him a seductive look. "I've been using you to get access to the CDs. And, of course, you've fallen prey to my charms."
He grabbed his water and took a swig. Did she realize the danger she would be putting herself in? People they cared about were dead. Rowan Neville's innocent children had been threatened. Armed guards were protecting the king. And Maggie wanted to walk headfirst into a hornet's nest, with nothing but her youth and feminine wiles. "Get this ridiculous scheme out of your head right now. I won't consider it, not even for a second."
She pushed away from the table, rattling the dishes. "I know I can make it work."
Luke stood and came toward her. She stared at him defiantly, with her head held high, her chin thrust forward.
"It's a good plan," she said. "And if you helped me refine it, we could catch Paulus."
"It's dangerous," he countered. "And even if I thought Paulus would fall for it, I wouldn't let you do it." Damn it. He care
d about her, more than he could say. What would he do if something happened to her? How could he go on?
"That isn't—"
"Don't say another word." Frustrated, he backed her against the wall, silencing her argument. And then he realized how close they were. Their faces were inches apart, their bodies almost brushing.
She was still angry. She hissed like a cat, and he lost control. Tugging her head back with her hair, he kissed her, catching her startled gasp as he covered her mouth.
She clawed, then rubbed against him, bumping his zipper with grinding hips. Their tongues mated desperately, and all of his fantasies crashed and tumbled in his brain. Making love to her on the shore, both of them rolling frantically over the sand. The striptease he'd imagined when he'd gotten drunk. The hot, gritty lap dance. He wanted all of that and more.
Ending the kiss, he shackled her wrists in his hand and held her arms above her head. He knew he should step back, release her, kill the urge to tear off her clothes. Maggie Connelly was trouble. She messed with his emotions. She challenged his heart. And she was too young, he thought. Too reckless. Too free.
She met his gaze, her eyes flashing. She looked like a vixen, hot and ready, her hair falling like rain.
"Do it," she said. "Take what you want."
He knew she was baiting him, taking his weakness and using it against him, but suddenly he didn't give a damn.
The need was too strong.
Her dress was red silk, adorned with a row of tiny, jeweled buttons. Luke grabbed the collar and pulled the fabric. Buttons popped as the garment tore, exposing a bra nearly the same color as her skin.
He kept tearing until he saw her panties. She wore a garter belt and hose, and the sultry lingerie turned him on even more. It was as if she knew, as if she'd been preparing for this moment since the night she'd asked him to dance. The inevitable seduction. The unholy surrender.
"Take everything off," he told her. "I want to watch you undress." And then he wanted to ravage her, to make her come, to feel her melt in his arms.
She removed the tattered dress, then unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor. When she touched her nipples, Luke's entire body trembled.
Anxious and aroused, he watched. She discarded her shoes, a pair of red leather pumps with spiked heels. The garter belt and hose came next. And after she took off her panties, she slid her hand between her legs. But only for second. For one wild, erotic second.
Luke wasn't in the mood to wait, to play a slow, sexual game. This fantasy was unbridled and swift.
He dropped to his knees, grabbed her hips and pulled her against his mouth.
She bucked on contact, but she wasn't shy. She dragged her hands through his hair and encouraged him to taste her, rubbing and making throaty little sounds.
Young. Free. Reckless.
Licking and kissing, he teased her with his tongue, absorbing the slick, womanly flavor. He knew she was close. He could feel the moisture, the heat, the tangle of electricity.
He looked up at her and saw that she looked back at him. "Luke." She breathed his name, and suddenly her eyes glazed.
He intensified each intimate kiss, and she climaxed, shuddering violently. He kept his mouth there, tasting her release. And when her limbs went molten, he rose to catch her so she could fall gently into his arms.
Maggie felt as if she were floating. And then she realized Luke was carrying her to bed. She kissed him, brushing his lips softly.
"Sometimes when I look at you, I have to remind myself to breathe," he said. "You're all I think about."
Still dazed, she blinked. She hadn't expected such romantic words, not when he'd just driven her to madness.
She touched his face, skimming her fingers over those rugged features. "You're my lover now." My heart, she thought. The man I love.
He pushed the quilt away and placed her on the sheet. It was cool and inviting against her skin. When she reached for him, he shook his head.
"Not yet," he said, nipping her bottom lip as he kissed her. "We need protection." Luke headed for the bathroom, and Maggie smiled.
Naked and aroused, she scooted against the headboard, feeling delightfully wicked. The lights were on, and the table was cluttered with discarded dishes. Yet the setting seemed perfect.
Luke returned with his shaving kit. He rifled through it, secured a foil packet and placed it on the nightstand. Maggie watched as he undressed hastily, tossing his shirt onto the floor. When he unzipped his trousers, she pulled him onto the bed and they tumbled over the sheet, kissing and dragging off his pants and briefs.
His body boasted power and strength. Sliding her hands over broad shoulders, she followed the ripple of muscle down his stomach to stroke his sex.
He was unbelievably hard, with a bead of moisture pearling at the tip. She lowered her head and kissed him there, tasting the saltiness with her tongue.
His stomach muscles jumped. "Don't do that," he warned.
Maggie didn't listen. Stroking him, she took him in her mouth. In sudden surrender, he lifted his hips and said something unintelligible – a groan, a prayer, a curse – she couldn't be sure. But it didn't matter. Tonight he was hers. Every rough plane, every raw, rugged inch.
He didn't let her claim him for long. He was, she realized, much too eager to engage in the final act. To make love. To join with her.
Luke tore into the condom, sheathed himself and nudged her thighs apart, taking control once again. She let him have what he wanted. She gave willingly – her body and her heart.
He was tender yet rough. Anxious yet somehow patient. He pleasured them both, thrusting deep and then withdrawing, over and over, heightening the sensation. She arched to meet him as he tongued her nipple. And those hands, those skilled soldier's hands, were everywhere, sending slow, dreamy shivers over her skin.
"I don't want this to end," he said. "I want to be inside you forever."
He spoke of sex, but she told herself it was love. She needed so desperately for him to love her.
She could hear the ocean, like a seashell against her ear. Or was it her pulse pounding at her throat? He pressed his forehead to hers, and for a moment the world stilled. There was nothing but them. Lovers who could have risen from the sea.
Overwhelmed, Maggie kissed him. She longed to know his heart, to heal his spirit. This beautiful man, she thought, with the dark eyes and the dark, reclusive soul. Emotion, hers and his, swirled like a mist. She could feel it rise and float over them, a haunting they couldn't see.
They clasped hands, and he increased the rhythm.
Deeper. Stronger.
The maddening, lethal rhythm. The explosive heat.
This was more than sex, she told herself as her body quaked. So much more, she whispered as Lucas Starwind threw back his head and climaxed, spilling his seed.
* * *
Chapter 11
«^»
Even without an alarm clock, Luke awakened before dawn. He sat up and watched Maggie sleep. He thought she looked damn good in his bed. Night-tousled hair tangled around her face, and a pale-blue blanket covered her nakedness.
Smoothing her hair, he kissed her forehead. She made an incoherent sound and turned onto her side. He smiled, leaving her alone. She wasn't a morning person, that much he already knew.
Luke went about his usual routine. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, pulled on a gray sweatsuit and headed to the wet bar, grateful the suite provided an array of caffeine choices, including a no-frills brand of American coffee.
After putting on a pair of running shoes, he took his coffee onto the balcony, then sat at the glass-topped table and waited for the sun to rise, enjoying a misty view of the private beach.
Finding comfort in the wind and sea, Luke sat for hours, studying the sky. Glittering beams of red and gold broke through the clouds, finally introducing the Mediterranean sun.
"I thought I'd find you out here."
He turned to see Maggie wrapped in a white silk robe, her e
yes still sleepy, her hair tousled. She came toward him and when she leaned against the balcony rail, he caught the faint outline of her naked body beneath the thin material.
She looked enchanting as ever. A muse who inspired the arts – poetry, dance and song. She inspired lust, too, he thought. Fantasies he couldn't seem to control.
His sex stirred. "I want you," he said. "Right here. Right now."
"Do you?" She sent him a sultry smile and opened her palm. A foil packet shimmered in her hand. "I had the same idea, only I came prepared."
Reaching for her, he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her hard and quick. She tasted like mint, as cool and refreshing as the morning air.
She opened her robe and brought his head to her breast He licked her nipples, then caught one with his teeth and tugged, just a little, just enough to make her moan.
Sliding his hands down her body, he caressed every curve, stroking her belly. She squirmed, and he moved lower.
When he plunged a finger deep inside, she gasped. She was wet and slick and eager. While the ocean rolled quietly upon the shore and clouds floated softly across the sky, Luke and Maggie went crazy.
She streaked up his sweatshirt to scrape her nails across his chest; he bit her neck and sucked the tender spot like a vampire.
He couldn't think, but he didn't want to. She was naked and straddling his lap, her white robe billowing like wings. All that mattered was her. Tasting, feeling, living out the lust.
He lifted his hips and tugged down his sweats. The moment he was free, the very instant the male hardness nudged her thigh, she tore into the condom, slipped it on him and sank onto his length.
He closed his eyes, and she rode him until he thought he might die – from beauty, from bliss, from emotions that slammed into his soul.
Her climax triggered his, and they shared a mind-blowing release, kissing and panting.
When it ended, when he could breathe again, he opened his eyes and knew he would never be the same. Not from the sex, but from her. She'd changed something inside him, and because he wasn't quite sure what it was, he told himself not to panic.
CHEROKEE MARRIAGE DARE Page 11
