by Julie Leto
Then he said her name again.
She dropped to her knees beside the bed. Heat suffused his skin, curling the dark hair at his temple and forehead. She lifted her hand to brush the moisture aside, but stopped. If she touched him, he might wake up. And if he did, then what would she do? He was more than ready to slide his thick and rigid length right into her. He was so primed, so fevered, the act of copulation might take a minute, maybe more, to bring him to the edge.
But she’d want more than a minute.
No, wait.
She didn’t want anything at all.
She couldn’t want him. Could she?
His eyes fluttered open, but they were sightless, still trapped in a madness she could not allow herself to join.
“You came back,” he said before his eyelids drifted closed again and he launched into another string of nonsense words—each more erotic than the last.
She had no idea what he was saying, but God help her, she knew what he meant. From the way his tongue rolled and his lips buzzed, he was reciting a collection of sensual promises that only he could fulfill. Her mind flew back in time, to the night he’d first kissed her, to the night she’d surrendered to passions she’d kept locked inside since the first time she’d seen a nude portrait at the Art Institute or read a romance novel.
But with Danny, no lock on her sensuous nature would hold. He’d awakened her like no other man had before.
Or since.
Forgive me, Marshall.
She reached out and risked running her fingers over Danny’s rough cheek. His skin was as hot and sharp as the tears suddenly streaming down her face. The thought of the sandpaper sensations grazing over her naked body stole her breath. Fiery heat flooded her veins, sparking a gentle throb between her thighs.
The sweet tattoo of pleasure synched with the beat of her heart. She refused to be ashamed. She refused to feel regret. She didn’t want Danny because she was still hung up on him—she wanted him because even while asleep, he brought to the surface pieces of herself she kept buried deep inside, pieces she needed to find and nurture or she might never be whole.
Risking everything, she leaned over until her face was inches from Danny’s. She hesitated, not breathing, caught in the twilight world between hoping he’d wake up and praying he’d remain asleep. From his rapid breaths and undulating eyelids, she could imagine the eroticism of his dreams. She wished she could see them. She wished she could live them.
Like a feather floating in a curved cushion of air, Abby lowered her lips. His warmth intoxicated her. Like a key in a keyhole, his taste opened the store of memories she’d tried so hard to repress. Floodgates of sensation nearly drowned her, but she remained still, applying only enough pressure to his mouth so that she could experience the flavors that were his and his alone.
“Abby.”
At the sound of her muffled name, she shot back into the darkness. She waited for him to open his eyes, maybe laugh at her for falling for him again…or drive home the fact that she was the one who couldn’t keep away from him, not the other way around.
Instead, he rolled over onto his stomach, moved erotically against the mattress for a second, then stilled. He hadn’t come, but he’d dreamed about it. Probably with her underneath, accepting his silky hot erection into her wet, tight body…her legs wrapped around his waist…his name bursting from her lips.
She slid into the chair by the window and curled into a ball, wishing it was daylight so she could forget, just for a minute, everything she was missing while Danny slept in her bed alone.
THE WEIGHT ON Danny’s chest was not a good sign.
He was under forty. He was in excellent shape. He’d just spent the night next to a beautiful woman and, shockingly, he’d kept to his promise to not touch her.
At least, not while he was awake.
That wasn’t entirely true, either. Just after she’d finally fallen asleep, he’d turned over to watch her. Unable to resist, he’d smoothed a lock of hair out of her face. The texture of her skin had struck him like a match and lit a continuous stream of erotic dreams that might have resulted in wet sheets if he’d been younger.
Could the heightened frustration of having her so close and yet being totally unable to act on the fantasies playing out in his subconscious have caused him to have a heart attack?
Then the weight sitting on the center of his chest swatted his nose with its paw.
He cracked one eye open. The amber eyes staring at him did not belong to Abby, but to her massive, long-haired, pissed-off-looking male cat.
Danny scooted back onto the pillows. The cat flew off the side of the bed, but his companion was curled contentedly in the crook of Danny’s arm. Black Jack pounced atop the mattress again and hissed.
Jeez, what was it with him and the Albertinis? Could he never go after a female in this family who wasn’t already spoken for?
“You’re awake.”
He turned to find Abby standing in the doorway, her pretty, petite hands wrapped around a quirky mug with a handle that looked like the marquee outside the old Chicago theater. She looked well rested, her complexion bright, as if she’d just gotten back from the gym.
He pushed Black Jack away, then gingerly coaxed Lady off his wrist so he could rub his face with his hands. Prickly stubble bit into his palms, and though he’d only had one glass of wine last night on the plane, he felt as if he’d drunk everyone in a biker bar under the table.
“If you say so,” he said.
She came around to his side of the bed, sat near his feet and handed him her mug. He sniffed. She drank her brew with cream and sweetener, but he needed caffeine and wasn’t about to be choosy.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked.
He tested the temperature and then finished what was left of her coffee in a couple of gulps. “Like a baby.”
She took back the empty mug, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “A baby Casanova, maybe.”
“Excuse me?”
She waggled her eyebrows.
“Crap. I didn’t do anything, did I?”
The humorous twinkle in her eyes dropped off her face, taking the tilted corners of her mouth down with it. He untangled the blanket from his legs and looked down, half afraid he’d shed his clothes during the night before doing something he’d sworn he wouldn’t do.
But he was fully dressed. His zipper was lowered, but his johnson was tucked safely away. He grunted with relief.
“You should see your face!” Abby said, dissolving with laughter. “I never knew skin could fade to that particular shade of green.”
He glared at her. So she thought this was funny, did she?
He’d show her funny.
He tackled her.
She squealed. The coffee mug went flying, bouncing first on the mattress and then onto her plush, carpeted floor. The cat screeched and ran.
Then his body made full contact with hers and he wasn’t aware of anything else happening in the room. Was there sunlight? Was there air? He could feel nothing but her softness against his hardness and then, incrementally, her heartbeat thrumming against his chest.
“Danny,” she said.
“Hmm, that sounds suspiciously like a plea to me. What do you want me to do, Abby? Or maybe I should ask where you prefer me to start? I mean, your neck has always been a favorite spot of mine, especially that little curve right beneath your ear where you…”
“Danny, please.”
He lowered his head, but stopped short of kissing her on the sensitive area that he couldn’t tear his gaze from.
“Remember what I said about begging, Abby.”
She folded her lips together, then speared him with a determined glare.
“Please, Danny. Please get off me.”
She sounded serious. Damn it.
“First, I think I should get some credit for keeping my hands to myself last night. I kept my end of the deal.”
“Yes, you did,” she confirmed. “You lived up to you
r word. And from what I could gather about your dreams, it wasn’t an easy task.”
“Nothing about you has ever been easy.”
“Except getting me into bed the first time.”
He grinned. “We didn’t do it in a bed the first time.”
In her bid to free herself, she shifted beneath him. He winced as the teeth of his zipper scraped against his naked flesh.
“You know what I mean.”
“Of course I do. What do you think I was dreaming about all night?”
Pushing past the pain of knowing he’d get no more contact than this, Danny concentrated on the feel of Abby underneath him. Their natural curves fit together like the tongues and grooves of a masterfully carved frame. No gaps. No space.
No room for uncertainty.
“You said you wouldn’t do anything unless I begged you to,” she reminded him, even as her nipples pebbled beneath her T-shirt. “And the only thing I’m begging you to do right now is let me up.”
She sounded so reasonable, so calm, he had no choice but to comply. He might have tricked a few women—including her—into doing things they might not have done otherwise, but he’d never forced anyone.
Still, he couldn’t help himself from prolonging the situation for a bit longer. “The sun’s up now, sweetheart. That means the rules have to change. And I happen to know that as much as I was dreaming about you last night, you were doing the same about me.”
He was guessing, of course. He’d been too caught up in his own fantasies to have picked up on any of hers. But the instantaneous blush of her cheeks told him his theory was dead-on.
The truth knocked him senseless long enough for her to scramble out from under him. Stunned, he rolled over and folded his hands behind his head while she attempted to straighten her yoga pants and zip up her hoodie.
Her skin was still pink and she was a little breathless. He supposed he should feel a measure of remorse after what he’d promised her last night, but he didn’t. High from the prolonged contact of his body against hers, his blood zinged through his system and made him feel as if he could take on the world.
Or at the very least, one questionable art collector.
“So if we’re not going to spend all day in bed, what is on the agenda?”
“Strategizing,” she replied, snatching up her empty mug.
From the outer room, the doorbell rang.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
“Delivery. Take a shower in the guest room and stay out of sight. I don’t want to explain you to anyone just yet.”
“As if you could,” he teased.
She frowned, then disappeared out the door.
Curiosity piqued, Danny followed her into the hall and found a spot that was both hidden and had fairly good acoustics to the entryway.
“Are you going to tell me why you need men’s clothes and toiletries?” a sharply feminine voice asked.
“Not yet,” Abby answered. “But thanks for coming through for me. Did you do the other thing, too?”
“Of course,” the woman replied, her annoyance evident, as if the thought of her not doing something that Abby had asked was utterly repugnant. “But you need to tell me what’s going on. The last time you were so secretive…”
“Yeah,” Abby said quickly.
Interesting. Danny wasn’t normally so vain as to think that all conversations were about him…well, maybe he was. But in either case, this one certainly seemed to fit. He was, after all, Abby’s biggest mistake. From what he knew of her life, she’d been the perfect child, the perfect daughter, the perfect student and the perfect wife. Except for the part where she cheated on her fiancé—thanks to him.
He ducked farther back into the hall. Somehow, he didn’t think that inserting himself into the conversation was a good idea.
He heard the rustle of plastic coming nearer. He dashed into the guest room and removed his shirt seconds before Abby stopped dead in the doorway.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
His voice popped her out of her frozen state. She scurried inside and shut the door behind her.
“My friend Erica. She lives on the Magnificent Mile, so I asked her to pick up some clothes for you—well, not for you specifically, but for a man your size—as soon as the stores opened so we didn’t have to go out in public together before we had a plan.”
“I am perfectly capable of shopping for myself.”
“I’m sure you are, but I prefer to keep an eye on you until this business is handled.” She tossed him the bag. Inside were jeans, a shirt, a sweater and underwear.
Tighty whities?
As if.
“And she did this favor for you without asking questions?”
“Just because she asks doesn’t mean I have to answer,” Abby countered. “It’s just the basics, but we’ll pick up more later.”
“No reason why we can’t plan a heist in the buff,” he suggested, handing her back the bag. He had no real objection to the clothes inside. He didn’t have many preferences when it came to fashion. But he did like teasing her, especially when she skewered him with one of her dangerous looks.
Five years ago, he never would have imagined Abigail Albertini had any dangerous looks. She’d been secretly passionate and publicly malleable. But in the time since him, she’d grown a backbone lined with steel that glinted straight through her cognac-colored eyes.
He took the bag back.
“Right. No naked strategizing. It was just a suggestion.”
She groaned and marched—quietly—out of the room.
He dumped the contents onto the bed, then pawed through them to see that her friend had indeed purchased the right sizes. As he tested the softness of a dark gray cashmere sweater, the Murrieta ring caught the eastern light streaming in through the guest-room windows. He tried once again to remove it from his hand, but it was stuck. The ring he’d been so keen to own for so long was now starting to piss him off.
He’d only met his biological father, Ramon Murrieta, once, but he distinctly remembered the moment he’d first noticed the man’s ring. About five seconds into his explanation that Danny’s mother had never told him she was pregnant, he’d lifted his hand to wipe sweat from his temple and the ring had sparkled green in more ways than one.
But Danny hadn’t had a chance to take it. He’d dismissed Ramon’s offer for a relationship. Already adopted into the Burnett family, Daniel hadn’t seen any need to know more about the man who’d done nothing for him except provide half of his DNA.
At sixteen, Danny had not been interested in the history. He’d seen right away that the center stone was scratched and the gold showed signs of sloppy repair. Both then and now, the only things that kept the signet from being a total piece of junk were the brilliant black opals. But the ring had meant something special to Ramon. He turned it while he talked, as if contact gave him a measure of comfort or a jolt of courage.
From that moment, Danny had dreamed about stealing it. Not because he needed courage or comfort, but because the ring meant something to his father. He’d considered holding it for ransom or keeping it as punishment for his father’s oblivious neglect. He’d considered selling it and destroying the family legacy he’d never be a part of.
As he’d done none of the above, now he was stuck with the thing.
And what was worse, he’d seen with his own eyes what had happened to his brothers when they’d worn the damned thing. Alejandro, a confirmed bachelor, was now planning his marriage to Lucy Burnett, Danny’s adopted sister and the only woman he’d ever trusted. And upstanding, reliable Michael had chucked his law-enforcement career aside to remain in New Orleans with a sexy private investigator who had a reputation for bending laws until just before they snapped in two.
And he was no better. Danny had been wearing the ring for less than twenty-four hours and he’d already spent the night in Abigail Albertini’s bed without touching her once.
What the hell kind of magic did this thing have?
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Determined to use the soap in the shower to coax the ring off his finger, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and headed into the bathroom, where he found a disposable razor and the toothbrush he’d scored last night from her drawer, along with a travel-size shaving cream, toothpaste and deodorant. The precision of Abby’s thought processes took him by surprise. Apparently, she’d prepped the room for his use sometime before he woke up. He thought he was always ready for any contingency, but she had him beat. What she probably saw as basic hospitality and preparedness, he saw as careful attention to detail.
Maybe planning a heist with her wouldn’t be so bad.
Maybe winning her back would be better.
The thought was insane.
Impossible.
And yet, Danny had pulled off unlikely heists before. His reputation for taking on the most difficult schemes and breaking through the most sophisticated security had not been unearned. And who knew? Maybe the ring would help him.
Stranger things had happened.
7
“SO, WHO IS HE?”
Abby cursed under her breath, then trudged into the living room. Instead of leaving quietly, as she’d hoped, Erica had planted herself on the couch, ankles crossed demurely and hands folded beatifically in her lap. She’d poured herself a cup of coffee in one of Abby’s china cups and waited for her friend to dish.
Abby pushed aside her annoyance. If her best friend had sent her on such a mysterious errand first thing on a Monday morning, there was no way she’d scoot out without learning as many details as she could. She and Erica were peas-in-a-pod—two young ladies of wealth and privilege raised to be smart and capable. They’d both gone from their small, exclusive private school to Northwestern. They’d both collected master’s degrees and now had low-key, but respectable jobs: Abby as an art curator and Erica as an event designer. While Erica had never married, she’d had three long-term relationships with three of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors.
Although Erica disappointed her mother daily because she hadn’t produced at least one grandchild by now, she was as close to perfect as Abby could stand. Time and again, she’d proven to be an ideal friend—mostly because she didn’t ask too many deep and probing questions, waiting instead for Abby to come clean on her own.
