She was too weak to move, but he wasn’t finished with her. He hadn’t come. She felt herself lifted almost clear of the countertop, felt him adjust his stance against her, then thrust into her. Long, powerful strokes that, incredibly, made her body throb for release again. Friction almost too blissful to bear.
“Come for me.”
His clenched-jaw command was all it took. Her eyes flickered shut as sweet spasms enveloped her again. She felt him shudder against her, and Gemma opened her eyes to see his face locked in his grimace of lust. Oh, how she loved that she could do that to him. To have that power over this sexy, exciting man.
His fingers dug into her waist as he surged into her body. He was coming. “Gemma ... Gemma,” he groaned, and the sound sang sweet in her ears.
“Mack,” she whispered after he had finally eased his hold on her and her breathing had settled enough to speak.
“Yeah?”
“How ... what’s going to happen?” She wanted to add “with us” but couldn’t pluck up the courage to ask something so personal.
He settled his chin on the top of her head. “We wait and see.”
What did that mean? She decided on a safer topic.
“Mack.”
“I’m still here.”
Cheeky devil.
“You need a shave.”
He grunted. “Right. Do you have anything?”
“Only a lady-shave thingy. I wax.”
He looked down. “I can see that. And very nice it is, too.” He swiped his beard across her cheek, making her squeal. “Mind if I use your shower?”
She pinched his butt in retaliation.
“Only if I can wash your back.”
“Sounds good.”
He slipped out of her, and Gemma sat on the counter watching him remove the condom and head for the bathroom. The man was totally delicious, in a lethal kind of way. An enigma wrapped in a mystery—that was Mack. But at least she now knew where he was raised, where he went to college, and that he had a house in Maine.
The shower was running, and she was halfway to the bathroom to join him, when her doorbell buzzed.
Damn. Not now. Whoever it was, they could just go away. The door buzzed again as she reached the bathroom door. She stood on the spot, dithering. It was most likely Beth from upstairs, wanting to go out for Sunday breakfast or shopping or maybe take in a movie. But then, Beth usually called first.
She ambled resentfully to the door, rehearsing her “this isn’t a good time” spiel. Beth wouldn’t mind being turned away. If anything, her sex-mad neighbor would hoot with glee that Gemma had finally ended her man-drought.
“I need to talk to you.”
Oh, dear God. Kyle.
She took a horrified step back, stupidly giving him enough space to stride past her into the apartment. “It’s looking bad, Gem. Really bad. We need to think this through. The main thing is it’s just his word against yours. As long as we don’t panic, this can be dealt with quickly. At least we have a few minutes.”
“Why are you ... ?” She put a hand to her head, trying to process Kyle’s words. He was ranting. “This really isn’t a good time.”
Kyle shook his head in irritation. “You don’t understand. The police—” He paused to look down at the oversized tee swimming on her body. Gemma could have put voice to every thought in Kyle’s head.
“Jesus, what the hell?”
“Actually, I have someone here ... ” She paused when his eyes darted around the apartment. “I’m sorry, but you need to leave.”
His voice went shrill in astonishment. “Leave? Are you mad?” He shook his head again. “We can talk about this later. Right now, get rid of him. Or if you’re too embarrassed to deal with your one-night stand, I can do it.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t make any words come out.
He angled his head in the direction of her bedroom. “I take it he’s in there.”
“No, don’t,” she managed to splutter as Kyle started toward her bedroom. “He’s not in there ... ”
Her stupid admission stopped Kyle in his tracks. He turned to look at her like she’d completely lost her mind, then snapped his head around to the bathroom. “You!”
Mack stood in the doorway, his jeans half-buttoned, his bare torso glistening with water. He must have only just gotten into the shower when Kyle’s voice pulled him out again.
“What the hell do you want, Lawrence?”
Mack’s tone would make most men think carefully before answering, but Kyle didn’t seem to notice. He’d turned beet red, and Gemma watched his hands curling into fists. Oh God, Kyle was about to do something stupid.
“Get out of my fiancée’s apartment, you bastard.”
She couldn’t believe the scene unfolding in front of her. Her supercontrolled ex-fiancé screaming in rage. Desperately, she tugged at the sleeve of his suit.
“Please don’t, Kyle. Just go.”
Kyle shook her off and strode toward the man standing calmly in the doorway. Toward the man so much bigger, stronger, and trained in God knows what.
“Buchanan, you are some piece of work,” Kyle snarled, his face now inches from Mack’s. “You and your so-called investigation. It was just an excuse. You just wanted to get her to some hotel for your own goddamned pleasure, you prick.”
The insult had no visible effect on Mack. He didn’t move. Not until Kyle’s fist came up—and then he dodged the swing so easily it seemed like a blur. She watched in horror as Mack took a step forward, spun Kyle around, and brought his right arm up in a hold. “Take it easy, you idiot. If you try that again, I won’t be so accommodating. Got it?”
Kyle seemed to visibly deflate. He nodded dumbly, and Mack let him go, shoving him forward so that he stumbled a step.
Kyle turned to her, his face raw with humiliation and anger.
“Just tell me why. I warned you he was dangerous. To stay away from him for your own sake.”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you. What I do—who I’m with—is none of your business anymore.”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“What are you talking about?” Mack’s voice growled from behind her.
It was then Kyle let out a hollow laugh. Gemma saw his expression twist in bitterness, then something else that took her a moment to decipher.
Triumph?
“I came here to warn you, Gem. As your attorney. You’re to be formally questioned in connection with the Bonvalet fraud.” He jabbed a finger towards Mack. “And your ... lover knew about this last night when you were fucking him.”
Her throat constricted so tightly it seemed impossible that she would ever be able to draw a full breath again. Kyle was just making this up out of spite and jealousy. Wasn’t he? She shook her head so hard her head swam.
“I don’t believe you, Kyle. Besides, Mack knows I wasn’t involved.” She spun to face Mack. “You told me last night. Tell Kyle you believe I had nothing to do with this.
Why was he staring at her like she was a stranger?
“Mack, you do believe me, don’t you?”
He stared into her terrified gaze. He seemed genuinely shocked. “Gemma, apparently the case is now with the police. I didn’t know that.”
Gemma met his eyes with the full force of her hurt. “But you would have known. There’s no way you wouldn’t have known.”
“As I said, this is a police matter now.”
“How could you do it, Mack? First the safe. Now this.”
“Safe? What are you talking about?” Kyle broke in sharply.
“It’s nothing, Kyle. Forget it.” She waved him off. “So what happens now?” she asked Kyle dully.
Kyle’s eyes flicked nervously to Mack as if he expected to be manhandled out of the place.
“Right. Well, the police wanted to bring you in early this morning,” he answered, now in attorney mode. “But I assured them that we’d be at the station within the hour.”
Her stre
ngth drained away, Gemma stumbled back and dropped to the sofa, overcome with the reality of what was about to happen to her. “But why now? You said it yourself: McCallister’s doesn’t have any proof.
“Well, now they have their proof.”
“What are you saying?” Gemma heard her words from a long way off.
“They’ve located the forger.”
She blinked, not understanding. “But that’s good—isn’t it?”
“Hardly. He’s named you as his accomplice.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“She doesn’t look the type, does she?”
“I guess not,” Mack agreed, turning to take another look through the one-way mirror at Gemma sitting in the interview room. She looked genuinely terrified. There was no faking the trembling hands or ghost-white face. This had to be a first for her.
One carefully planned job that hadn’t played out as expected.
“She’s like some dainty Snow White. It’s hard to believe that someone so young and such a bloody genius in her field would risk it all. How did she come across to you, Mack?”
He glanced over to Superintendent Ed Hutchinson, who stood with his feet braced wide, his wispy gray hair vertical from habitual raking by nicotine-stained fingers. The man was every bit the veteran cop—right down to the worn shoe leather. They’d met two years ago, when Mack’s superior had consulted London Interpol over an investigation. Mack and Hutch hadn’t exactly formed a friendship, but they’d shared a few beers, and Hutch had talked at length about his career in catching criminals. Mack, as usual, had revealed little about himself.
When Hutch heard of Mack’s forced leave, he’d asked him to take on the art fraud job as a favor. Interpol wanted the investigation conducted outside official channels, and Mack’s background made him perfect for the work. At first, he’d declined, but faced with the prospect of doing nothing for weeks while his wound healed, he’d called Hutch and accepted.
He shifted on his feet, suddenly tired. His neck felt tight, and his back muscles still ached from being unable to stretch out in Gemma’s bed last night.
“Actually, she came across as genuinely shocked by the accusation.”
Hutch nodded, folding thick arms over a beer paunch. “She didn’t expect to get caught. Well at least we’ve got her.”
“Yeah,” Mack muttered. He brought his arm up to rest an elbow against the one-way mirror, watching Gemma lift a glass of water in shaking hands. It reminded him of that first time in her apartment. She’d been so scared of him.
“Fact is, Hutch, I believed her in the end. I could’ve sworn it wasn’t her.”
“Well, she’s the kind who would make a man want to believe. Hell, even an old cynic like me would’ve believed her. I take it there’s something personal going on? I tried to call you last night, but your phone was off.” When Mack didn’t answer, he chuckled. “I grant you, she’d be worth breaking a few rules over.”
The sound of Kyle Lawrence’s voice drew their attention to the doorway behind them.
“This is outrageous. There is absolutely no justifiable reason to hold Dr. Gilmore. I demand you release her immediately.”
It was almost funny to see the jackass stride past them into the interview room and slam the door in the face of the police detective hard on his heels. The officer blew a pained sigh and looked across to Hutch.
“You want to do the interview? She’s well and truly lawyered up. You’ll be lucky to get her middle name, let alone anything else, with Lawrence running the show.”
Hutch turned his bulk toward Mack, grinning.
“You wanna take him on?”
“Under the circumstances, maybe not.” He couldn’t interview Gemma with any impartiality. Barely ninety minutes ago, he’d been inside her body. He closed his eyes, letting his mind flicker through the memory of her round ass cradled in his hold when he’d sunk himself to the hilt.
By God, he’d completely lost it with this woman. How, with all his training, could he have missed all the signs of her guilt? He could usually read body language like a book, but all the way through this investigation, there’d been nothing. Not a facial expression, a gesture, or a word. The evidence was damming. The forger had set out dates, times, and places where he and Gemma had met in Venice. The name of the hotel. It all matched. But he still found it hard to believe that she’d duped him. She could still be innocent, but realistically, he could no longer afford to believe her.
He’d been as shocked as Gemma when Kyle had broken the news about her impending arrest. She’d gone into her bedroom to dress, while Mack had waited quietly and Lawrence had paced. Emerging five minutes later in jeans and a shirt, she’d dragged on her sneakers and left with Kyle. Mack had followed a few minutes later after retrieving his T-shirt from the bed. The faint scent of her body spray still in the fabric came as a constant reminder of what they’d shared.
“You’d better do it, Hutch.” He gave a dry laugh. “The idiot took a swing at me this morning, so there’s no point in riling the guy more.”
“You should’ve laid him out cold,” Hutch snorted. “Would’ve saved us a lot of trouble. Okay, detective, let’s do this.”
At the sound of the interview room door being opened, Gemma looked up, her eyes flashing expectation, followed by something that Mack took to be disappointment. He switched on the intercom.
Hutch had barely dropped into his seat when he fired the first question.
“Tell us when you first met with the forger, Dr. Gilmore.”
“My client doesn’t have to answer that, Mister ... ?”
“Superintendent Hutchinson. British Interpol. It will be better for you, Dr. Gilmore, if you tell us everything. Now, please answer the question.”
“I don’t—” Kyle put a hand on Gemma’s arm in warning.
“Dr. Gilmore won’t respond to that. In fact, she won’t answer any of your questions. My client knows nothing about this so-called art fraud.”
“The forger currently goes by the name of Sorensen,” Hutch continued smoothly, “although we now know he’s had several aliases since he left the United States four years ago. A talented painter, by all accounts. We raided his apartment in Venice around one thirty this morning. It didn’t take much for him to confess to painting the Bonvalet. Not with all the evidence found lying about. He also admitted to Dr. Gilmore’s involvement.”
Damn. That would have been only a few minutes after Mack had set his phone to “do not disturb,” when he and Gemma had finally worn themselves out and slept. This morning, he hadn’t bothered to check for messages. Just another one of his stupid mistakes.
Gemma’s hands were on the table in fists. “I’ve never—”
“That’s enough, Gem,” Kyle interrupted. “Superintendent, just because this Sorensen has named Dr. Gilmore doesn’t mean you have proof. He’d name anyone in exchange for a plea bargain.” Kyle got to his feet. “We’re leaving.”
Hutch shrugged. “You’re welcome to leave, Mr. Lawrence, if that’s what you wish. Your client stays here.”
Kyle sat down again.
“According to McCallister’s, Dr. Gilmore, you went on leave for a week. To Venice.”
She nodded.
“Why Venice?”
“Because Kyle ... ” She stopped.
Hutch eased slowly to his feet and casually moved to stand close behind her. A deliberate move. Mack knew from experience that it sometimes worked to the point where a suspect would unwittingly give something away out of sheer nerves. She shifted in her chair, her face turned as if trying to pinpoint where he was.
Hutch leaned down to speak inches above her head. “Go on. You went to Venice with Mr. Lawrence. To the city where the forger lived? That’s pretty incriminating, don’t you think?”
She gave a small shake of her head.
Kyle twisted around to face Hutch. “My client won’t answer any questions about Venice. Actually, it was my idea to go there on holiday, and I can personally vouch that Dr. Gilm
ore never met any forger. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“But you can’t say for sure, can you? Perhaps you both met with Sorensen.”
“What are you suggesting?” Kyle’s brow rose over an incredulous glare.
Hutch walked around the table to lean his back against the one-way mirror. Mack couldn’t see his face, but Hutch’s tone suggested he was enjoying himself. Of course, the accusation against Lawrence was another deliberate tactic, intended to put him off balance. From all accounts, it was working.
At the beginning of his investigation, Mack had considered the possibility of Lawrence being involved but dismissed it as too unlikely. At thirty-one, the guy was already rich and well-connected from taking on high-profile legal cases. In all likelihood, he nursed political ambitions. True, he was crazy about Gemma and would do a lot to win her back, but Mack doubted that would stretch to art fraud. He didn’t come across as a risk-taker. Quite the opposite.
Hutch lifted a casual shoulder. “You tell me what I’m suggesting.”
“Good God! You’re not seriously trying to make me a suspect, are you?”
“You were there?”
“Damn you, superintendent. Your superiors will hear about this.”
Hutch ignored that threat, just as Mack knew he would. “You would agree that it’s all very convenient. Both of you in Venice right before the fake Bonvalet was delivered to McCallister’s. Do the math, Mr. Lawrence.” Hutch scratched at a gap between two shirt buttons, shrewdly waiting for Kyle to digest the implication, then turned to Gemma.
“Were you with your fiancé the whole time?”
Gemma flicked a glance at Kyle before answering. “Of course.”
“Doing what?”
“The usual things. Sightseeing. Eating at restaurants and cafés.”
Kyle cleared his throat. “That’s not quite true, superintendent.” He paused to slide a look at the one-way mirror. “We did what engaged couples normally do. We spent most of the time in our room.”
“Oh, that’s not—” Gemma started to say and then stopped in confusion. Mack held his breath. It wasn’t jealousy that caught him. Or even that Lawrence’s words were aimed squarely at him. It was the dismayed look on her face at the lie. Mack couldn’t stop his small glimmer of satisfaction that she hadn’t covered for the jackass.
Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories Page 16
