He had no idea what she did with her loot, or how long she’d been in that particular line of work. He was fairly certain it was the thrill of the hunt, not the prize itself, that was the lure. It had to be. More wealth she didn’t need. He’d looked into that after Bogota, wondering if perhaps her inheritance was more burden than actual asset. But her wealth rivaled, if not outdid, that of the queen, so she wasn’t in it for the money.
He didn’t need more wealth either, but then he wasn’t acting in his own best interests. He was in it for the benefit of others. His own benevolent foundation of sorts, he supposed. He didn’t charge his clients for the services provided to them by either himself or his two partners, as their goals were tied to righting wrongs for those who couldn’t do it themselves, not increasing his bottom line. He’d retained enough wealth that his company supported itself in the form of a vast array of investments.
He had no idea what Felicity Jane’s goals were, other than to find something exciting to do in her spare time. Except he couldn’t seem to make that image line up exactly right either.
She reached out her hand to him. “Joining me? Or are you just going to stand there and scowl because my car is bigger than yours?”
He slid in, careful to seat himself at a diagonal, on the far side of the roomy, beautifully appointed interior. If he had any hope of regaining control, he had to get his shit together and get it there fast.
She crossed her legs. He looked out the window. It didn’t help much. He could still see them reflected in the glass. Maybe he should just crawl across the damn seat, drag her underneath him and get it out of his system. Problem was, last time he’d tried that they’d still been going at each other two days later.
Right now there was an ancient artifact floating around the city, with a very limited window of opportunity for retrieval before it likely took off overseas in the pocket of a private collector’s agent. Finn’s client, who happened to be the rightful owner of the stone, if not the necklace itself, regardless of what various legal entities had declared, wouldn’t be too happy if he lost what might likely be his only chance at regaining possession of a precious family heirloom because Finn had been too busy fucking his brains out.
“Perhaps later,” Felicity said, drawing his attention back to her. “After dessert. Or for dessert.”
“Perhaps later, what?”
She glanced down, below his belt, then back at him, with a private smile curving her lips.
He shifted slightly, but there was no hiding what was obvious to them both. “About this dinner,” he said, determined to get them both talking business at the same time. Even if it killed him. Which, given the relentless state of his aching hard-on, it just might. “Do you know who he might be dining with?”
“You mean, who is he going to sell the stone to? I don’t know what courier he’ll be using, but I have a fair idea of who the actual buyer is, yes.”
She’d said stone, not necklace, making him wonder if she knew about the contested nature of this specific artifact. And what impact that might have had on her decision to go after it.
She cocked her head slightly when he didn’t respond right away. “I rather thought you’d be on the same page. After all, you were just behind John when you tracked him to me.”
And Finn should have kept on tracking him, leaving Felicity to deal with her unfortunate incarceration. Now all he could think about was damned dessert. “I have my own ideas on who the other players are, but I wanted your input. You seem to have a direct connection to Reese. If we both know what we’re dealing with, all the better in terms of being successful in getting the piece back.”
She lifted one slender shoulder and picked at the folds of her dress. “As you said, there are several key players, but I’m fairly certain he’s going with the Russian.”
Finn said nothing. She could be telling him the truth, or she could be purposely steering him off the right path. It was true, she’d never directly lied to him in the past, but, despite the adversarial nature of their relationship, she hadn’t had reason to. In both cases during their previous meetings, they’d already known the whereabouts of the quarry in question and hadn’t needed the information or discussed the topic with the other. Had she bested Reese earlier today, she’d have likely beaten him to the prize this time. Only she hadn’t. Which meant it was a race now, to see who got to it first. And he wasn’t entirely sure what she was capable of doing in her quest to win.
What the hell had he been thinking, partnering with her? His cock twitched when she recrossed her legs, reminding him exactly what he’d been thinking with.
“You’re certain he has it?”
She nodded. “I was close, but I’d hoped to get a key piece of information from him and beat him at his own game.”
“He wasn’t aware you were…in the market for the same piece?”
“I let him think I had heard about it and was interested in buying it.”
“And he’d give you just enough information on who he was getting it from?”
“Something like that.”
Finn thought on that for a moment. “Have you used his…services before?”
She smiled then. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous. I assure you, however, there is nothing to be jealous of. Yes, I have worked with him in the past, Foundation business mostly.”
“Mostly.”
“Yes,” she reiterated, “mostly. Some family business as well. Nothing of a personal nature.”
He wondered how foolish he was to believe her. But, holding her direct gaze as he was, he did. “Of course you’re aware of his reputation for playing a bit outside the lines, when it comes to direct line of ownership with some of his more…unique artifacts. Not that this would be a problem for you personally, but how does the Foundation feel about working with someone whose character has been described as less than sterling?”
She laughed. “You’d have to understand British peerage and the Trents’ very rich personal history to know that someone like John Reese causes barely a blip on the discomfort scale. The fact that he’s a very powerful man building quite the trade empire is of more interest than whatever means he might have used to secure some of it. Of course, everyone maintains quite the upper crust appearance on the surface, but that doesn’t mean they don’t wallow in all the gossip once the evening’s event is over. Everyone loves a good story, and John Reese comes packaged with quite a rich one.”
“He’d have gotten along well with my father,” Finn muttered. “Perhaps your family would have as well.”
“Perhaps,” she said, not taking the least offense. “Of course, I’m the last in the line,” she added, her own smile mischievous, “so I more or less dictate what the Foundation will deal with.”
Finn smiled at that. “So, you think the trade itself will take place at Antoine’s?” he said, keeping his gaze anywhere but on her damn legs. “Rather high profile.”
“Which is what he’s counting on, to be certain. Only someone with an…ego the size of John’s would dream of pulling that off.”
Finn scowled, not wanting to think about Felicity having direct knowledge of the size of any part of John Reese. “Won’t seeing you there thwart that particular plan?”
Her smile spread. “I most certainly hope so.”
Finn propped his ankle on the opposite knee and willed his hard-on to subside. Jesus, it was as if he’d never had sex before.
“Not only do I hope to unsettle Mr. Reese, I hope that by seeing that I have not only rebounded from the unfortunate circumstances he left me in this afternoon, but having come back stronger and more determined than ever, he will realize that there is no place that he, or that lovely piece of sapphire, can hide.”
Finn noted that she’d made it sound as if this were still all her game, with him playing the role of nothing more than a convenient escort. He didn’t bother to correct that assumption, thinking perhaps that would be to his advantage later. And God knew he needed one right about no
w.
“Seeing you pop up might make him that much more eager to dump the stone,” Finn warned. “Once he makes his deal, he’s out of it, and the chase moves on to the buyer and the courier. Which gets tricky with Russian import/export laws being what they are.”
“I don’t think Chesnokov will be as eager to take possession of an artifact with a less-than-pristine provenance if there is suddenly some less-than-discreet public attention being paid to it.”
“Less-than-discreet public attention?” Finn leaned forward. “What scheme are you cooking up now?”
“Why look, darling. We’ve arrived.” Felicity turned her attention to the side window, beyond which was the slowly rolling scene of the nightly line that formed outside Antoine’s.
The car rolled to a stop at the entrance. Finn waited for the chauffeur to come around this time, using the extra few minutes to prepare himself for the gauntlet that lay ahead. He was used to operating behind the scenes, preferring to handle his affairs—both business and personal—in a one-on-one setting, without the attendant glare of public attention or speculation. He’d had enough of that during his days as an assistant district attorney in this very city, and even more so during the long months following his father’s death.
He was several years into the private sector now, and his father had been gone long enough, his empire long since dismantled, that Finn rarely drew any attention beyond the local variety back home in Virginia. And even then, he kept a low profile. His neighbors in the privileged Middleburg horse community had never accepted his return upon his father’s death, mostly because they considered what he’d done with his inheritance to be a sacrilege to success. The fact that he was using the remaining Dalton wealth to help people less fortunate than themselves didn’t seem to up his social ante in the least. Which could have something to do with the fact that he didn’t give flat damn what any of them thought.
The driver helped Felicity out of the car, eliciting a wave of murmurs from the crowd as they craned their necks to see who was emerging from the sleek, black town car. Finn followed, and immediately placed a hand on the small of her back, using his body as a shield between her and the crowd, who were now flashing cameras and cell phones, snapping pictures and calling out for her to stop and pose in case she was someone famous. There was a scattering of paparazzi as well, but not likely being aware of her stature in Britain, they were only minimally interested, which was perfectly fine with Finn.
Of course, Felicity didn’t allow him to shepherd her into the restaurant with the minimum of fuss. She slipped from his protective stance and smiled and waved at the people in line, none of whom seemed to be the least bit offended that she was getting preferential treatment, as the mountain of a man governing the line slipped the rope free and motioned them both to go directly inside.
Finn leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I thought the sideshow began inside, for the benefit of Reese.”
“The show begins now, darling.” Keeping her smile intact, she added, “Do your best to keep up.”
It should have pissed him off, her insouciance and dangerously placed bravado. Instead it made him laugh. Because he had little doubt she could pull off whatever scheme she had planned. His reaction set off a whole new wave of pictures, but when she would have paused again, he shuffled her ahead of him, corralling her through the front door, effectively using his broad shoulders to block out the barrage of flashes. He bent his head closer to her ear. “Keeping it up has never exactly been an issue for us.”
She slowed just enough so that his hips bumped into the curve of her backside. She exerted the slightest bit of pressure, which had the immediate result of making him hard all over again. She glanced up at him. “Why, it appears you have a point. A hearty one, at that. We should discuss it in greater…depth, after dinner.”
He really had to remember who he was playing with.
Finn shifted to her side, using the fullness of her skirt as camouflage, thanking God he was wearing loosely pleated trousers. He turned to the maitre d’. “We’d like a table in the main room, preferably on the far side of—”
“Bon soir, Jacques,” Felicity said, leaning past Finn and placing her perfectly manicured fingers on the maitre d’s forearm. “Could you please seat us at Mr. Reese’s table.”
Finn glanced down at her. “That’s rather…direct.”
“Darling, the man left me in a bit of a bind at the end of our previous engagement. I do believe he owes me a glass of champagne, at the very least.”
Less than discreet, indeed. Finn smiled at Jacques. “As the lady insists.”
Jacques frowned ever-so-slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the news he had to deliver. He cleared his throat and looked quite contrite as he said, “I’m sorry, Miss Trent. I believe Mr. Reese is already entertaining a dinner guest. They are on their second course. Perhaps you confused your meeting time?”
Felicity smiled, all charm and British polish. “I assure you, he’ll be delighted to have us join him. Is Jason working this evening?” She glanced at Finn. “Antoine’s has the most wonderful sommelier.” She looked back to the maitre d’. “Please have him bring us your best Chantal Neuf.”
“I’m not familiar with that one,” Finn said.
“It’s relatively rare.” She smiled up at him. “And quite expensive.” She peered around Jacques’s shoulder, and they both spied Reese at the same time, seated prominently, dead center in the main room.
Perfect, just perfect.
A brief wave from her elicited a nod from the rather serious-looking, dark-haired man, which apparently was enough to appease the maitre d’, who proceeded to lead them directly to his table.
Finn had seen several photos of John Reese in his preparation for the case, but in those he had been smiling. Definitely a different vibe at the table this evening. Finn had no idea what her plan of attack would be, but had every expectation that it would be an interesting one. He decided the best plan, at least initially, was to sit back and watch her work, take mental notes, then decide how best to proceed.
This partnership wasn’t exactly panning out as he’d hoped, but why he’d ever thought she’d defer to his judgment or even attempt to work as an actual team, he had no idea. At least they were in it together, where he could keep close tabs on her.
“John, how lovely to see you again.”
Reese stood and extended a well-manicured hand. He was tall, tan, and wearing a very expensively tailored suit. “An unexpected pleasure, to be certain.” His accent was much the same as Felicity’s; polished and well-educated. He had still yet to smile.
She stepped back so that Finn could move in next to her. “Allow me to introduce a friend of mine, Finn Dalton.”
Finn accepted Reese’s offer of a handshake. They were close to the same age, matched in height and build, except Reese had dark hair and gray eyes, whereas Finn was blond and blue. They were a contrast as well in their approach to business. Finn knew Reese’s reputation to be all work and no play. Finn, on the other hand, thought that when work was done right, there was no better playground in the world.
Reese shook his hand firmly, without any overt power play. Finn hadn’t expected anything so blatant anyway. Reese nodded to his dining companion across the table, who had also stood as Felicity approached. “Allow me to introduce Yvgeny Andreev.” He didn’t add anything else, but Finn didn’t require further information, and was betting Felicity had done her homework as well. At least Reese hadn’t insulted them by pretending Chesnokov’s agent was someone else. Or maybe he simply thought they wouldn’t recognize the name.
Finn had. Andreev was a well-known mule used by several European buyers. He was reputed to be excellent at his job; quiet, efficient, and, when required, very good at remaining undetected by those who might otherwise have a quibble with his possession of certain cargo.
Finn extended his hand to the slight man and received a tepid, at best, handshake in return. Andreev had thin, sandy brown hair and skin
that was almost too smooth, without a hint of beard. His eyes were such a pale blue they appeared almost translucent, framed with lashes so blond as to be invisible. Finn had stood in courtrooms and boardrooms filled with all manner of human beings, ranging from the stone cold and psychotic to the wounded and broken. He’d observed enough in his life to know that this man with the dead eyes was essentially soulless.
Suddenly John Reese wasn’t the biggest threat in the room.
Finn pulled out Felicity’s chair, seating her on one side, between Reese and the Russian, then taking the only other available seat, which was opposite hers. His wait-and-see strategy was no longer an option. He trusted Felicity to hold her own, but in this case, he was taking no chances. He took the heavy linen dinner napkin from Felicity’s plate and handed it to her before picking up his own. “So, Reese, I understand you have an interest in international trade.”
If the Brit was surprised by Finn’s direct offensive, his smooth expression didn’t give it away. Felicity, on the other hand, paused ever-so-slightly spreading her napkin in her lap, but did nothing more than shoot him a quick, expressionless glance, before continuing to settle herself in. Good to know she was willing to follow his lead on occasion.
Finn turned his attention exclusively to Reese then, though he kept Andreev in his peripheral vision. He was frankly more interested in what the Russian was thinking at the moment than what was going through Reese’s mind. Reese would likely react to this disruption somewhat predictably. He’d want to mitigate the fallout of Felicity’s unplanned intrusion so as not to lose the sale. Not that he couldn’t get another buyer for such a precious piece. But setting up another transfer would take time. And that was the one thing Reese couldn’t afford now that he had possession of the artifact. Especially not with Felicity Jane smiling at him so guilelessly.
“Yes, I do,” Reese said, casually shifting his gaze from the gentle swell of Felicity’s creamy breasts, to Finn’s face. He hadn’t bothered to hide his prurient interest in her, but there was no gleam of challenge in his clear gray eyes, either.
The Black Sheep and the English Rose Page 4
