Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  Her eyes were still closed when, slowly, he began to move inside her, taking his time to build a steady tempo, each stroke pushing her up the slippery wall, his arms securing her hips to his.

  He was doing all the work: she wanted to help, but he was in total command, leaving her helpless under his powerful thrusts. When he pulled back to look down at her breasts, she could feel them bounce with every drive upward.

  “Beautiful,” he grinned, jiggling her in his arms to make them bounce harder.

  Oh God, the man was so sexy.

  “You’re close,” he whispered into her mouth when he kissed her, but Gemma no longer had the strength to speak. Her whole body was jelly, the warm water made exquisite sensations on her tight nipples, and he was inside her, taking her higher and higher ...

  Then she was there again—one big upward spiral of gratification. Through her climax, she could feel him move his knee under her, bracing himself against the wall for leverage as he surged harder into her moments before his release.

  When they finally regained their breathing, he leaned down to kiss her lightly.

  “Fucking good, isn’t it?”

  Gemma sighed contentedly. Fucking fantastic more like it.

  • • •

  The man certainly lived up to his promises. Gemma literally felt weak at the knees from sex. And she’d had a turn on top.

  This was so not how she’d planned to spend her day, although for the life of her, she couldn’t exactly remember what the plan had been, except there had been one. The Enright and—oh, hell, that’s right—to meet Kyle at four.

  Okay, she could still make it. He was back in the shower, her hair was dried off, and she was mostly dressed. All she had to do was find her panties, wherever they were.

  The shower was still running when she finally dragged them from under the bed.

  But there was a distraction. Try as she might to ignore it, it was just sitting there, tempting her like a pair of Jimmy Choo pumps in a January sale.

  His wallet.

  Turning her head, she listened. The water was still running.

  Of course, she shouldn’t do it. But, she reasoned, she knew nothing about him and needed to know at least something. Otherwise, how could she ever clear her name? Besides, there might be one or two useful things to tell Kyle when she met him. But still, it didn’t seem right. He’d made love to her, and she’d loved him right back. For hours.

  For a long moment, she hesitated.

  Should she do this?

  Yes, she should. Flicking open the wallet, she checked the compartments. She found a generous amount of cash, but no driver’s license, registration, or even a credit card. Understandable, if he were James Bond. But just as she was about to give up, she noticed the corner of a folded piece of paper protruding from a small side compartment. Easing it out a fraction, she paused again to listen. Safe. He was still in the shower.

  Four rows of three numbers, nothing else.

  Whatever they were, they were all she had. Gemma scanned the rows, chanting each line under her breath before closing her eyes to visualize them. There was only enough time to repeat the process once before she heard the water turn off and she had to slip the paper back where she found it.

  But by then she had every row memorized.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “She took the bait.”

  “You think it’ll work?”

  Mack lowered his phone and closed his eyes, wishing he didn’t have to do this. Hell, what was wrong with him? This was nothing special. Just a simple assignment to keep him occupied until he went back in the field.

  “Mack, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. It’ll work. She’s a smart girl. Smart enough to memorize a set of numbers in less than thirty seconds. She’ll figure it out.”

  “And do you still think she’s involved? If McCallister’s says the Bonvalet is a perfect copy, maybe she was really fooled.”

  “McCallister’s doesn’t believe it was an honest mistake. From what the operations manager, John Allen, says, there are only three authenticators in the world with her knowledge of Bonvalet, and she’s considered the best. If she worked with an expert forger, no one would ever know the fake from the real thing. And remember, nobody had seen it for forty years.”

  “So next steps?”

  “Allen will contact her and set up a meeting at McCallister’s. From there, we just wait and see what she does.”

  “Right. We’ve had no luck with identifying the forger—all we know is he’s still in Venice. We have two guys on it full time, but it won’t be easy to track him down. We need her to talk.”

  He sighed. “She’s a lot tougher than I first thought. Anyway, I’ll be in touch as soon as it’s over.”

  He ended the call and sat on the end of the bed, brooding.

  He hadn’t wanted to set a trap but there it was. A spur-of-the-moment decision to slip the numbers into his wallet while she was in the bathroom drying off her hair. He half-hoped it wouldn’t work, but he had to give it a try. To have any chance of connecting her to the fraud, she needed to be caught red-handed.

  But was she guilty? Despite all his questioning, she’d never once wavered. But then maybe she’s just very clever at playing innocent. Either way, all they could do was wait. After meeting with Allen, her actions would probably confirm her involvement in the fraud, and she could be arrested. After that, Mack’s part in the investigation would be over.

  Investigation. Yeah, he’d investigated her all right. To the point where he now knew every inch of her. She was beautiful. And smart. And in his head. Even if, by some miracle, she was actually genuinely fooled by the fake painting, he still couldn’t take things further. Relationships didn’t fit on his radar. His work was dangerous by even the toughest undercover intel standards. His last job had almost killed him. A stupid mistake on his part. But if nothing else, it served as a brutal reminder of why he stuck to a solo life.

  He slipped on his jacket and grabbed the room pass, looking across to the bed, smiling wryly at the wreckage of bed linens. But man, they’d been hot for each other. He could have had her again if she hadn’t taken off, saying she had an appointment. It had to be her ex, Kyle Lawrence. She’d be looking for legal advice no doubt. Maybe something more. Damn, he shouldn’t care.

  He closed the hotel door and walked to the elevator, trying to ignore the heaviness in his chest. He did care about Gemma Gilmore. Far too much.

  Don’t sweat it, Buchanan. It’s just a job.

  He just needed to believe it.

  • • •

  “You want coffee?”

  “No thanks. You’ve gotten a bigger office. Nice view.”

  “The perks of senior partnership. You’re flushed,” Kyle said, almost accusingly.

  For one horrible moment, she thought Kyle had figured out the reason. She was so full-on post-orgasmic her body was still humming.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” she fibbed, looking around the room in a desperate attempt to avoid Kyle’s inquisitive attorney gaze. “It was a rush to get here on time.”

  It was true enough. Running late, and afraid that Mack would distract her into forgetting the numbers, she’d gabbled something about an appointment and then practically bolted from the hotel room, leaving him standing naked in the bathroom doorway with a towel slung over his shoulder. It was all she could do not to throw herself at him and beg him to make love to her again.

  “Is that a new dress?”

  Gemma started. He still sounded accusing. “Oh, just something summery I picked up,” she said a little breathlessly.

  He looked it over and frowned. “There’s not much of it. Right, so about Mack Buchanan. Where did you first meet him?”

  This was tricky. There really wasn’t an easy way to say I tried to pick him up without sounding desperate. Not only would her upstanding ex consider it “unbecoming,” he’d think her a total dimwit, considering all that had happened in the past two days.
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  “He was at McCallister’s the day the Bonvalet sold.”

  “Go on.”

  “We were in the same area of the auction room.”

  “Go on.”

  “One of us made a comment about the auction. I don’t remember who it was.”

  “And ... ”

  She shrugged, faking nonchalance. “There’s nothing more to tell. We watched the auction.”

  Kyle leaned forward and drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk.

  “Gem, if we’re going to get anywhere with this, you have to tell me everything. You understand? Everything.”

  “Everything?” she echoed, feeling her cheeks going pink all over again under Kyle’s probing stare. She’d definitely leave out a few details, although he was now looking at her suspiciously. Did she have “multiple orgasms” emblazoned on her forehead or something?

  “Somehow we got into a conversation about art,” she said on a rush. “He asked if I liked the Bonvalet, that’s all. After the sale, I left.”

  “And the next time you saw him?”

  “In Maxim Stonebridge’s office, when Maxim told me about the forgery. I ... fainted and Mack Buchanan took me home.” Crap. She shouldn’t have said that. Kyle’s eyebrows had flown up. “Actually, he insisted on coming in ... ”

  Oh, hell. Now she’d done it.

  Kyle’s eyebrows went higher. “You let him into your apartment? For Christ’s sake, Gem.”

  “I didn’t have a choice. He forced his way in.” She squirmed in her chair, trying to quell the heat in her cheeks. “You know what he’s like,” she finished lamely.

  “Jesus, you should have called the police. That guy seems capable of anything.”

  Capable didn’t begin to describe it. For most of the morning, Mack had demonstrated his capability. She shook off the sizzling thought as more unwanted warmth flooded her face. “Anyway, there’s not much else to tell. I met Lucy yesterday afternoon, and she’s going to get my Bonvalet notes and photos.”

  Except Lucy hadn’t texted or called, which was strange. Knowing Lucy’s nosiness and enthusiasm for missions, she would’ve gone straight to the workroom upon arriving at the office—right about the time when Gemma and Mack were at the Enright. But her phone hadn’t buzzed once all day, and there was no point in calling Lucy if the girl didn’t have any news.

  “How long did he stay?”

  “Not long,” she mumbled absently, looking down to adjust the strap of her purse as a distraction. Dammit, Kyle wasn’t going to let this go. “He just asked a lot of questions about who the forger was, that’s all.”

  She looked up to find Kyle’s brown eyes fixed on hers like a set of crosshairs. “And ... what else?”

  Gemma found herself chewing at her lip, then realized with a start that Kyle was staring at her mouth. He knew her so well he could read the message it sent: guilt. She released it fast.

  “He said something about other agencies coming after me, such as the FBI.”

  “Anyone else?”

  Kyle was almost as dangerous as Mack when it came to interrogation. Not surprising, considering his formidable skill at questioning witnesses on the stand.

  “Not that I can remember.”

  To her relief, he seemed satisfied with her answer, at least for the moment. “So, at this stage, no one else has spoken to you about the fraud. You’ve not been contacted by the police or any federal agency?”

  “No. What do you think it means?”

  Kyle shrugged and relaxed back in his chair. “Going by what’s happened, Buchanan’s just guessing. If he had proof of your involvement, the police would have arrested you by now. After you authenticated the work, you never saw it again. There’s no direct connection.”

  “The thing is, Per—I mean Mack Buchanan won’t even say who he works for.” She chewed her lip again while she thought, not caring that Kyle was watching. “I still don’t understand why they think it was me.”

  “Was it?”

  “Kyle!”

  “Don’t get mad.” His mouth quirked up in a grin. “It helps to know guilt or innocence before representation.”

  Oh. She hadn’t even thought of that. It seemed so drastic. “Will I need representation?”

  Kyle stood and came around his desk, sat on a corner, and stared down at her bare thighs. “Probably.” He shrugged. “But don’t worry about it. I’ll set up a meeting with McCallister’s in a few days. They have no proof of your involvement, so they’ll have to reinstate you. If they don’t, we sue. Just a hint of bad publicity will destroy their reputation, so they’ll fold. Or, they might offer you a hefty settlement to resign. Either way, you’ll be fine.”

  Fine? She didn’t want fine. She wanted her old life and reputation back.

  “It sounds so cold. McCallister’s was—is—my whole life.”

  “What about dinner tonight?”

  She didn’t much like this new direction.

  “What for?”

  She was being rude, but it didn’t stop Kyle leaning down to take her hand. “Hey, let me take you to dinner.” He flashed a smile. “You know how I feel. Just give us a chance to talk things through, that’s all I ask.” She tamped down the instinct to pull her hand away. Kyle had loved her, and she’d loved him. Maybe not as much as she should have, and maybe there hadn’t been the sexual sparks that made her body sing the way she would have liked, but that wasn’t everything. They had been happy together. And truthfully, she had neglected him for months, working on her dissertation when she could have been enjoying her engagement and planning her dream wedding. Okay, he’d cheated with Miranda, but she could deal. Lots of people cheat, and their partners get past it, right?

  Wrong.

  Gemma tugged her hand free. “There’s nothing to talk about, Kyle. You made your choice.” Needing to segue to something more pressing, she dug into her purse, pulling out her phone. “By the way, I have a set of numbers.” She held the phone to him. “I’ve no idea what it means, but could it be a Swiss bank account number or something?”

  Kyle’s brow furrowed as he studied the rows of numbers on the screen. “No, too short for a bank account number, but ... hang on, it looks like it could be a combination.”

  “You mean to a bank deposit box?”

  He shook his head. “No, a safe.”

  “Are you sure?” She stared at the rows again.

  “Yeah, that’s how safe combinations are usually written. Where’d you get them?”

  How to word this?

  “I came across them in an old file in my workroom.” She shoved the phone back in her bag and pretended to search for a tissue.

  Of course he knew she was lying. She had to look like a guilty defendant sitting in the witness box. Why on earth hadn’t she kept her mouth shut?

  “How did really you get them, Gem?”

  She tried to empty her mind of the hotel room, but she could feel the guilty heat seeping into every pore of her cheeks. “Um ... like I said, they were in a file.”

  Kyle’s voice rose in irritation. “You noted them for a reason. Tell me.”

  She might as well just fess up and get it over with.

  “I stole them from Mack Buchanan’s wallet, all right?” She winced. That sounded so bad.

  Kyle’s face grew red splotches as he stood up and glared down at her short dress. Standing beside her, he seemed almost intimidating, but maybe she’d just never seen him so worked up before.

  “How the hell did you get access to his wallet?”

  She was so screwed.

  “Oh, it was nothing,” she answered vaguely, desperately wanting to claw back the last minute.

  “You’ve been with him!”

  It wasn’t so much a question as an angry accusation, but she answered anyway. “It’s not what you think.” Lord, could a set of words sound more guilty?

  “Oh, Jesus. Where?”

  Closing her eyes, Gemma prayed for strength to say the words. Kyle would stay on this like a dog
with a bone until she told him everything. Besides, if she didn’t tell him, he’d probably call Mack and find out for himself. Worse, he’d spill the beans to Kyle on every sordid detail.

  “A hotel,” she blurted. Why did that sound so cheap?

  “When?”

  Gemma tried to make her voice sound normal, but it came out as a squeak. “Today.” Oh, it was so much worse than cheap. It was downright tawdry. Sliding her eyes to the side, she saw Kyle take a step back, as if she physically repulsed him.

  Looking up, she didn’t think she’d ever seen Kyle so flushed.

  “You fucked him before coming here? The guy who’s trying to ruin your whole career? You want me to give you legal advice about the man you’ve just been with?”

  His outrage slammed at her conscience so brutally she felt dizzy. How to explain? That it just happened. That she was a fool. That she’d never see Mack again. Oh, dear God, those were the exact excuses Kyle had given her when she’d found out about Miranda.

  “I’m sorry, Kyle. I know it looks bad. I never meant ... ” She closed her mouth, knowing there was nothing to say that would lessen his anger and hurt. Any excuse would sound pathetic. And she’d hurt the one person who was trying to help her. Of course, after what Kyle had done, she owed him nothing. It wasn’t as if they were still together, even if he still wanted to think so.

  He sat down and slumped back, shaking his head in disbelief. “How did it happen?”

  Good question. The whole thing had been a blur from start to finish.

  “I met him at the Enright this morning. Just to try and get some information about who he works for, that’s all. It was stupid, I know. But he ... well, he ... ”

  Kyle’s eyes drilled hers as he leaned forward in his chair.

  “What?”

  “He asked me questions about the forgery, and when I couldn’t tell him anything, he took me to a hotel,” she answered, pulling at the hem of her dress as if that could, somehow, stretch it to a decent length. She didn’t even have to look up to know that Kyle was disgusted. She could practically taste it coming at her from across his desk.

  “And you went with him? Good God, have you no sense? Didn’t you think it strange, under the circumstances? Christ, Gem, the guy’s dangerous. You’re not dealing with some bumbling, overweight private investigator going around photographing cheating spouses. From the look of him, he must be military intelligence or something close to that. The fact that he’s even been brought in on this case should be warning enough that there’s a lot more to this whole thing.”