by Julie Leto
He hit the blinker and turned into the parking garage of his brother’s exclusive condominium. He didn’t know his twin as well as he should, yet he’d agreed to jump into Zane’s life and take on his responsibilities. But he’d been desperate and foolishly assumed whatever was on Zane’s plate could be handled in a span of five minutes. The upside was he hadn’t worried about the newspaper all day, not even after Shelby’s comment about sand in gas tanks or Brandon’s reference to the problems that could indeed topple the newspaper empire started by his family generations ago. But would Zane be able to handle it?
His twin had clearly earned Reina’s trust, something Grey guessed to be no easy feat. Yeah, he could handle the newspaper.
Grey, on the other hand, had a more interesting challenge. He had his experience as a journalist, freedom to roam at will—courtesy of Zane—and an arsenal of sexual knowledge he’d wanted to lock away after Lane’s betrayal.
But not anymore.
Grey not only intended to solve the mystery of the robberies at Reina Price’s gallery and protect the di Amante collection, he intended to break the code of secrets behind Reina’s obsidian eyes—and discover if the sensuality she portrayed on the outside ran as deep as he suspected.
“THAT OUGHT TO DO IT,” Brandon announced, carefully maneuvering his large body back through Reina’s bedroom window without bumping his head on the frame. He clipped the last wire, camouflaged it with wood-grain caulk, then lowered and locked the window.
“You’re done?” Reina closed the magazine she’d been pretending to read and sat back against the European shams on her bed, the stiff metal suitcase hidden behind them. She knew Brandon Chance through her mother, and believed him to be honest and honorable, but she wasn’t taking any risks with Claudio’s legacy. The fewer people who knew about the presence of the jewels in her house, the better.
“Done in here,” Brandon said. “I’ve got two more bedroom windows to wire and then I’m going to set up the monitors in the guest room across the hall—unless you want them with you?”
Reina skewed her lips, scanning the bedroom she’d carefully decorated for her ultimate comfort and relaxation. At the end of a long day, the walls—her favorite shade of amber silk—wrapped her in warmth. The artwork, erotic pieces she’d collected over the years, soothed her mind with images of desire. Simple. Sensual. Dried flowers and candles scented the air with antiquity. In this room, she escaped into another world. The last thing she wanted to disrupt her fantasy was video monitors and flashing, beeping technology.
“Across the hall is perfect.”
Brandon nodded and slipped a screwdriver into his tool belt. “Sam’s almost done downstairs and with the back gate. Oh, the delivery guy came with your dinner. I had him put it in the kitchen.”
Reina reached across her bed for her purse. “Thank you. What do I—?”
Brandon waved his hand and winked. “I put it on Zane’s bill. I’m sorry this is taking so long, but he insisted we be thorough.”
Reina tossed her purse aside. “Thorough is good. I appreciate you working so late into the night. Doesn’t your wife mind you being out until all hours?”
Brandon swaggered toward the door. “I make it worth her while when I get home.” He winked again, then left and closed the door behind him.
She just bet he would. Reina couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so besieged by sexy men. First Claudio, then Zane and now Brandon. What woman could possibly resist a handsome hunk laden with hardware, tools he apparently knew how to use? Reina bit back an appreciative sigh. His wife was one lucky woman.
As lucky as Reina was aroused. Well, there was nothing she could do about her aroused state with strangers in the house. And her edgy, sexually charged condition would only worsen, she knew, once she sneaked Viviana’s diary back out from where she’d hidden it beneath her comforter. She’d read the first entries while Brandon worked downstairs, amazed at the mistress’s blatant honesty and natural use of modern language, then remembered the translation had been colored by the translator, Claudio’s mother. Apparently, both women cherished the emotional side of sexuality, rather than just valuing the power of it.
Sex is power. Reina couldn’t remember the precise age she’d been when her mother first presented her with that aphorism, but she’d been young. Definitely prior to puberty and long before her first sexual experience. She could still remember how easily she could enthrall the boys who’d visited her all-girl private school for soirees and sporting events. One short, swaying walk would win her a group of admirers. One wink, the hint of a kiss, and she had more invitations to the upcoming ball than any other girl in her dormitory.
The trick was to keep the mystery going and never quite give her latest beau all he was after. Pilar had taught her that trick as well.
Sex had garnered her mother great wealth and influence. Even the promise of sex—a promise never fulfilled—had proved valuable to Pilar. She’d been born in a poor region of Spain, taught herself several languages and honed her acting skills by inventing stories for the tourists. Then she’d run off with the first man who promised her stardom.
According to Pilar, the man hadn’t planned on fulfilling his pledge, but in the end, he had. She’d seduced him, enslaved him, twisted him around her finger until he introduced her to a legitimate producer in Madrid. She’d been no more than fifteen. Once he’d given her what she wanted, she’d tossed the man aside. A real Lolita, her mother. Reina had heard this story more times than most children heard tales of princesses asleep in castles or guileless girls breaking into a house full of bears.
Now Reina had a different tale to read. One about true love, true obsession. True submission to the power of a man.
Luckily Reina had already read il Gio’s diary and knew the depth of his love for Viviana. She knew him to be a man Viviana could trust, completely, even if he couldn’t give her the one gift she wanted most—marriage. Legitimacy. Reina tossed the magazine aside and retrieved the diary, anxious to read more of the story before she started work on the jewels tomorrow.
She’d read less than a line when she heard Zane’s voice echo up the staircase. “Reina?”
She swore, then hid the diary.
“I’m here,” she called, poking her head through the doorway.
“I know, but dinner’s down here.”
Zane marched up the staircase, the atmosphere in the cramped hallway altering the minute he came into view. He really was incredibly gorgeous, Reina thought. Deep-set, thoughtful blue eyes. Soft, wavy hair, a little shorter than he normally wore it but still begging to be combed by a woman’s fingers. And his smile. Always tilted to that one angle that made her wonder exactly what he found so amusing.
Only Zane’s smile didn’t seem too lopsided tonight. His grin held a tinge of something Reina might best describe as tentative. Wary, even.
A shiver shot up her spine, but she didn’t know if the reaction resulted from the difference in Zane’s expression or the fact that he’d fully entered her personal space, his shoulder pressed against her doorjamb, his face inches from hers.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
He poured a generous ounce of sexual innuendo into his question, snapping Reina back into her protective persona. She licked her lips, then stepped back to blatantly check him out.
“Starved, actually.”
He slipped his hand around hers. “Come with me, then.”
“I don’t want to leave my—” she paused, eyeing Brandon at work across the hall “—treasures unguarded.”
Zane lobbed his own appreciative glance down her torso. “No, we can’t have that.” He nodded toward her bedroom. “If you’ll allow me, I can show you how we can alleviate your problem.”
Reina bit the inside of her mouth to keep from grinning. This flirtation thing could be a lot of fun, particularly since she knew he was only toying with her because he could. She did know that, right? She used to know that. She and Zane had played attentive l
overs at parties on several occasions, mainly to amuse their crowd and keep match-making friends from attempting a fix-up. Their feigned sexual attraction had always been a private joke between them.
Right?
Zane pulled her inside and quietly closed the door. He looked around the room, nodding but saying nothing.
“What?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “I’m just trying to remember what the room looked like before you redecorated.”
Reina had to think herself. Redecorating the bedroom had been her first project. “The walls were chintz. Roses, I think.”
Zane nodded. “Yes, Grand-mère did love florals. Do you remember where the bed was?”
Reina closed her eyes. She knew she’d moved the bed, having immediately thought Zane’s great-grandmother had it in a strange place, partially blocking a window. “Over there.”
Zane followed Reina’s instructions to the window Brandon had just wired, then walked five paces toward the wall. About halfway down, he tapped the wall with his fist. The sound was hard and thick. He adjusted an inch and knocked again. This time, the sound echoed.
Instantly, with a mechanical grunt, a panel of the wall slipped aside.
“Wha—?”
Zane grinned. “Apparently, I never told you about some of the special features of this old house.”
Reina scurried to the opening, stepping back when a ripe, musty smell assailed her. She grabbed a large lit scented candle and thrust it into the narrow opening. The flame flickered, but remained steady as fresh air seeped inside. The room, a closet really, barely had enough space for anyone to stand fully upright.
“Extra storage space?” she asked.
Zane took the candle. “Not quite.”
He leaned into the darkness and tapped the inner wall. Another panel slid aside. Stale air crept out, tickling her nostrils so that she nearly sneezed.
“Another room?” Reina guessed, grabbing a tissue from the box on her dresser.
“There are several,” Zane told her. “Most of them are on the bottom floor, but this floor and the attic each have one and a passageway leading to the others. Grand-mère claimed they were used by the Underground Railroad to hide escaped slaves until they could be smuggled out on Yankee ships. My brother and I used to play one wicked game of hide-and-seek in this house.”
“Who else knows about these rooms?” Reina retrieved the candle from him and ventured inside. In Europe, she’d always been fascinated by the castles and ancient architecture and, as a child, had been notorious for slipping away from the docent to explore on her own. New Orleans, with all its dark and devious history, held a similar appeal. She hadn’t had much time to delve into the city’s many mysteries since she’d moved to the area, and never would have guessed she had something so interesting in her own house.
“My brother, of course. My father, probably, though I’d bet he’s long forgotten. His mother didn’t get on well with Grand-mère. He didn’t spend a lot of time here in his youth.”
She stepped across something sticky and silky, and swiped the web away. “You think it’s safe to hide the jewels here?”
“I think it’s safe enough for you to work in here. You can’t tell now, but during the day, this particular room has good light from a skylight hidden by the eaves.”
“It’ll be hot,” she said.
“Isn’t it always when you’re working?” Zane chuckled and Reina wished she hadn’t chosen that exact phrasing. “I can rig a cooling unit. There’s an old one in the garage that might still work.”
Reina thrust her hand into the darkness, allowing the candle to throw uncertain light on the interior room, empty except for a few old crates and decades worth of dust. She’d have some serious cleaning to do before she could set up shop, but if Zane helped, she could begin work on the collection by tomorrow afternoon. She nodded, silently agreeing that the room would work. She hadn’t liked the idea of having to lock up the jewels each time she left her studio, maybe just to run to the bathroom or to grab something to drink. Now, with Zane in the house, the secret room, and Brandon’s security system protecting the perimeter, she felt confident she could work without fear.
She eased back out of the tight space, startled when Zane blocked her retreat into her bedroom. The candlelight flickered as she pulled up short just a few inches from Zane’s chest.
“Perfect, don’t you agree?” he asked.
She glanced over her shoulder into the darkness. “Should have enough space, and if the light is what you promise…”
“I always fulfill my promises.”
Reina gulped in the musty air, the taste bitter and dry. What was up with Zane, anyway? He was pouring it on a little thick, even for him. Or maybe he always flirted like this and, under normal circumstances, she rebuffed him without a second thought. That was, to some extent, a game they played—though usually not in private. Alone, Reina and Zane established a safe zone, a reserve where each of them could exist without having to worry about what the other might be thinking, might be wanting. Still, with Reina growing increasingly bored with the endless party scene, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d been together. And something in their established dynamic had definitely changed.
“You don’t usually make promises, Zane.”
For a moment, his expression faltered. His ultimate Zane cockiness dropped away and a flash of uncertainty sped through his eyes before he blew out the candle, dousing them in darkness. He folded his large body out of the secret passage and back into her bedroom.
“No promises. A fine way to keep from ever disappointing anyone.”
He took her hand and helped her out, but released her fingers the minute she stepped clear. Reina noted his silence, wondering how he could support his theory about making no promises when he had so many broken hearts littering the path of his love life.
She shook her head. “Is that your secret?”
“I don’t have any secrets,” he said, his gaze focused somewhere, anywhere, other than directly on hers. “Not any good ones, anyway.”
Reina retrieved the metal briefcase, which he slid into the passage before knocking the wall and closing the panel. She waited right next to him, demanding his attention by not moving out of his personal space, just as he’d done to her a moment ago. “I don’t know. These secret rooms are pretty handy.”
“I’m nothing if not handy.”
Reina blew out a contemplative whistle, but didn’t say another word until she’d crossed the room and opened the door into the hall. She spared a glance at the lump in her comforter, the hiding place of Viviana’s diary, then at the space beneath her bed where she stored her collection of sex toys and pleasure aids. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d used any of the ones intended for couples, nor could she remember ever doubting that satisfying herself would relieve her sexual anxiety.
After reading il Gio’s diary last night, she’d indulged in an hour’s worth of self-induced pleasure, starting with a long hot bath and ending with a rather intense orgasm. But now, with the combined thrill of embarking on a new project and confronting Zane’s suddenly potent masculine charm, she was convinced that some steamy water and even a dildo weren’t going to put a dent in squelching her libido tonight.
No, for that, she’d need a flesh-and-blood man.
Zane seemed interested, even if he never had before. And he wouldn’t want anything she wouldn’t willingly give—like commitment, promises and glimpses into the secrets of her heart. In fact, if ever a man existed who could share sexual gratification with her and still retain their special friendship, Zane was that man.
“Handy, huh? We’ll just see about that over the next few days, won’t we?”
5
WITH A BONE-CRUNCHING STRETCH, Grey glanced at the clock on the stand beside his untouched bed. Three in the morning. Brandon had left less than twenty minutes ago, task completed. The house on First Street was now the most secure in the entire Garden District. S
o that Reina could go to bed, Grey had been completely trained on the operation of the security system, and had promised to show Reina in the morning how to work it.
Only she wasn’t asleep. A thin gleam of light reached out from beneath her door. Every so often, amid the settling sounds of the old house and the light hum of the video monitors, he heard the distinct whisper of her body shifting on the sheets, the twang of her bedsprings, the creak of the headboard that had been in that bedroom for over one hundred years.
Not only was she not sleeping, she was restless.
And, heaven help him, so was he.
Combing his hand through his hair, still damp from his shower, he secured the drawstring on his pajama pants and shrugged into his T-shirt. Maybe she couldn’t sleep because she was worried about the jewels. He was honor-bound, of course, to alleviate her fears, right? Maybe the dinner he ordered hadn’t agreed with her…but he doubted that.
They’d lingered over their meal, enjoying the food and each other’s company. He’d entertained her by recounting his and Zane’s childhood adventures in the old house, having already learned that Zane hadn’t told her much himself. Grey had been very careful not to assign all the blame for their subsequent punishments on his brother, since he was supposed to be him. As a result, he’d gained an interesting perspective.
Maybe Zane really hadn’t been to blame for all their mischief. Grey wondered precisely when it had become so easy to categorize his brother as “the bad twin,” but figured the habit formed so early in their childhood, neither one of them could have done anything but live up to the expectations set by the adults around them.
But now? Now Grey knew he was every bit as risk loving and adventure-seeking as his brother. He just preferred his exploits to remain private. As they could now, here, in Reina’s house. In her bedroom.
He rapped on her door. “Reina?”
“Come in,” she answered, her voice lethargic, sultry.
Turning the knob, he took a deep breath, expecting to find her curled beneath her covers. Instead, she sat propped against a collection of pillows, her face scrubbed free of makeup, her hair loosely clipped atop her head and her body swathed in long, silky black pajamas.
