Tango in Paradise

by Donna Kauffman

  She was so intent on the pistol, she was startled when she felt his finger under her chin, urging her gaze upward. She met his eyes and a measure of her fear must have shown on her face.

  “I don’t need this, do I?” he murmured, lowering the pistol. Julianna vehemently shook her head. He smiled at her response, and then released the trigger gently. He leaned over and set the gun down on a nearby table. Julianna was so relieved, she leaned back against the wall, her knees weak.

  “Why do you want my pearl?” he asked quietly. He reached out and gently brushed a fallen lock of hair off her cheek, his finger trailing along from her forehead to her jaw.

  He was so close and so unguarded, and a dozen scenarios of how she could escape this unfortunate situation flashed through Julianna’s mind. But each one ended in violence, and she found herself strangely unwilling to attack him. He had put the gun down, as foolish as that might have been, which represented a modicum of trust that she did not want to betray. The truth was, her odds of escaping were fairly slim. The only feasible exit was the window, and it was too far away to make it there without being caught. And if she ran, this odd truce would surely be at an end.

  “I need the money.” She surprised herself by answering his question. Although surely the answer should have been obvious to him. Why else would someone steal something?

  That wicked finger of his trailed down her neck and pushed open the collar of her shirt. He slowly and very lightly rubbed the pad of his finger along her collarbone and Julianna shivered. She should not, absolutely should not, be letting him do that. But it felt delicious, and no man had ever touched her like that. No man had ever gotten close enough to do so. She supposed she should protest his familiarity, but the circumstances were not in her favor. And really, what was she going to do to stop him? If she wanted to, that is.

  “Do you?”

  His murmured words did strange things to Julianna’s insides. She’d found men attractive before, but she’d never desired one. She shook her head at her wayward thoughts. No, no. That way led to trouble. If she’d learned anything from her father’s devious romantic entanglements, it was that. Desire was one thing; surrendering to it, and the potentially disastrous consequences, was quite another thing entirely.

  “No? You don’t need the money?” He stopped rubbing along her collarbone, and Julianna felt the skin and muscles there tighten and jump in protest. Surely that was not good.

  “No,” she said loudly, and his head jerked back a little in surprise. Julianna blinked rapidly and then shook her head again. She was so completely out of her depth in this situation that his mere touch confused her. “I mean, yes, yes I do need the money. For rent, you see.”

  She winced at her garbled explanation. Could she possibly sound any more foolish? It would be better if she just kept silent.

  “Are you desperate, poppet?” he murmured. He was looking at her oddly, his head tipped to the side. His finger resumed its exploration of her collarbone, adding a new twist as he dragged it down one side of her deep, open shirt collar and back up the other side. Julianna shivered and bit her lip to suppress a whimper. “How desperate? I wonder,” he said, and Julianna wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to himself.

  He stopped the movement of his finger but left it pressed against the hollow dip between her collarbones. Good lord, she’d never imagined that area could be so extremely sensitive. It would be difficult to expose her throat and shoulders in the latest fashions without remembering his touch. He had managed to make such a simple caress feel sinfully erotic. What a delightfully wicked man he is turning out to be. She smiled at the thought, and she saw an answering spark in the narrowing of his pale eyes and the twist of his lips into a wry smile. Julianna immediately pulled back, breaking their contact. She was being a fool, encouraging him when she should be trying to talk her way out of the situation. What on earth was wrong with her? Despite appearances, she had never engaged in conversation, or anything else for that matter, with a naked man. She was about to tell him as much when he spoke again.

  “Do you know what I will do?” he asked conversationally, as he stepped back from her. He smiled politely before turning and walking over to the bed. He leaned against the bedpost, crossing his arms as he regarded her.

  Julianna was having trouble thinking of anything except how much she missed his touch. “I …” She paused to lick her lips, and his smile grew. “I have no idea, frankly. This situation is beyond me.” Julianna could not imagine how she was going to get out of this mess. She was so scared at the thought of being turned over to the authorities that she could hardly think. She couldn’t reveal her identity. Doing so would create a furor, producing a whole new set of problems for her. But how else was she going to convince him of her innocence when she had his pearl in her pocket? She’d always expected to come to a bad end—her father was a thief, after all, and she’d had no mother to raise her.

  At her honest and exasperated remark, Mr. Sharp laughed out loud. He was her adversary. She had to remember that, if she hoped to get out of this situation unscathed.

  He straightened and took a step toward her. “I’ll give you the pearl, my dear.”

  Julianna’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “What?”

  “For one night in my bed. Tonight.”

  * * *

  When he had run his finger down her cheek, Alasdair had felt how fine her bone structure was, with sharply defined cheekbones and a strong, square jaw, not to mention her soft, smooth skin. Now a shaft of pale moonlight that had crept across the room revealed her astonished expression. From her silence he assumed she was contemplating his offer. She really was the most awful thief, unable to conceal anything in that guileless face, the poor darling. A dark kerchief covered most of her hair, though some had escaped to rest in wisps against her cheeks. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place her. He would figure it out in the morning, when there was more light.

  Clearly she’d been reduced to trying to steal the pearl by the most desperate of circumstances. God only knows what else she had needed to do to keep the wolf from her door. Such a small thing to have so many burdens on her delicate shoulders. In the morning he would make arrangements for her. After breakfast they would go shopping for clothes and those fripperies that women loved so. And then he would call on his agent and they’d find a nice little house for her, perhaps here in London, or someplace just outside of the city. He was getting tired of the society here. It would be nice to have a pleasant little house and his little thief there to keep him company at night. She would never again have to sneak into a man’s bedchamber to commit larceny in order to keep a roof over her head. Alasdair would see to that, even after they parted company.

  “Well?” he prompted, pleased with his plans.

  She frowned at him and he nearly laughed. She really was delightful. When a man went to bed at night, he never knew what might await him the next time he climbed out of it. He certainly hadn’t been prepared for her. When he’d first become aware of the stranger sneaking around in his rooms, he’d expected to spend the better part of his night dealing with the watchmen. What a marvelous surprise she was turning out to be.

  “I need a moment to think,” she snapped at him.

  He raised his brows, a little surprised at her tone. “Well, that’s hardly flattering.”

  In the weak moonlight he saw her delicate brows go up, mocking him. “Why? Did you expect me to joyously throw myself against your manly chest at the first opportunity? I am not that inexperienced, Mr. Sharp.”

  Well, when she put it that way it was even less flattering, especially since that was exactly what he had been thinking. “I do not doubt your experience, my dear. I am simply offering to give you what you came here for.”

  “I did not come here for that.”

  The way she said “that” told Alasdair more than her words. Clearly she had never had a pleasant experience in a man’s bed. He didn’t doubt that she’d been in one befo
re. But he was offering her so much more than one night. He wanted to pleasure her, to hear her cry his name in ecstasy. Yes, he always liked that part. He smiled at the thought.

  She frowned harder when she saw his smile. “And if I … lay with you tonight, will you swear to give me the pearl in the morning?”

  “If that is still what you want,” he answered, knowing full well she would have other things on her mind by morning. He’d spent the better part of his wayward youth learning to please a variety of lovers, and he knew this delightful little thief would get more than she was bargaining for.

  She shook her head firmly. “No. I want your word. If I … stay here tonight, with you, I want your word that you will give me the pearl in the morning.”

  He took a moment to study her. When he’d first heard her voice, he’d gotten the impression of delicacy—an impression that was strengthened when he stood over her, touching her. She seemed small, fragile, with big, luminous eyes, a small nose, and a wide, generous mouth just made for love. Surely a mouth like that couldn’t lie. But he’d almost forgotten that she was a thief. She had broken into his home with the intention of stealing from him. No matter how guileless and innocent her face, she lacked moral character. For some perverse reason, that made him want her all the more.

  “I have said I will if that is what you desire.” He could see that his answer didn’t satisfy her.

  “Say it,” she demanded. “Say, ‘I will give you the pearl tomorrow morning after you have lain with me tonight.’ Give me your word of honor.”

  Ah, so the immoral little cat hoped to tangle him in his own honor, did she? Well, he had no qualms about making promises to thieves in the night. “You have my word of honor, my dear. I will give you the pearl in the morning after you have lain with me tonight.” He knew the words were a lie even as he spoke them. But he also knew that the money and gifts he would give her in the morning would more than make up for it.

  He took a step closer and saw her eyes widen. Her gaze seemed to be in constant motion, as if she was too nervous to let it alight on any one part of his exposed person. He found it charming regardless of whether it was true or a performance for his benefit.

  “But you will do more than lie with me, my dear,” he whispered, noting with satisfaction the shiver along her shoulders. She licked her lips again, and Alasdair went from firm interest to hard desire as he followed the path of her tongue along the plump folds of her lips, now wet and glistening in the moonlight. “I will make you cry tonight, little thief. I will make you moan and beg and cry out with pleasure.” With each word her eyes grew larger and more alarmed. “Now, are you still willing to make this bargain?”

  * * *

  Julianna was terrified. Because some part of her, some clearly perverse and heretofore unknown part of her, desperately wanted this beautiful naked man to make her cry and beg. But it wasn’t about what Julianna wanted, was it? It was about what she needed. And she needed that pearl. She had no other options. It was too late to look for funds elsewhere. And if she didn’t pay the solicitor within the week, the children would all be out on the street. She had worked so desperately to shield them from the harsh realities of their life, to provide a safe home and a happy future for them. All would be lost if she lacked the courage to accept this bargain. Truly, it would ruin her if she failed to produce the rent. Ruin her chance at independence, her chance to prove she was capable of taking care of herself and others. The failure would hang over her head, branding her incompetent and unworthy. And that would be the ultimate failure on her part. She would lose the children and so much more.

  She nibbled on her fingertip as she debated with herself. Her virginity certainly hadn’t ever helped her up until now. After all, it wasn’t as if she was saving herself for someone. True, she was untouched, but that had been by choice. She had never wanted to give herself to any man before, either in bed or in matrimony. She very much doubted that would change after a night in bed with Mr. Sharp, who most certainly did not have matrimony on his mind. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit her attraction to him was part of the reason she’d decided on this mad scheme. Surely this weakness she harbored for him would pass if she surrendered to it for one night? Then she could move forward, take care of business, and forget Mr. Sharp entirely. It was a business proposition, nothing more. She had seen countless men and women, her father included, walk away from affairs such as this without a backward glance. She knew Mr. Sharp had done so in the past. She saw no reason why she couldn’t do the same.

  But could she trust his word? That was the real question. Could she trust that he would live up to his side of the bargain? And could she live with herself after it was over, after she had sold her body for the price of a pearl? Well, an incredibly beautiful, valuable pearl, but still.

  She could feel his eyes on her, measuring her, tempting her, seducing her. She bit her lip in panicked indecision and watched his eyes narrow just a bit more as the rise and fall of his chest lost a step in the cadence of his breathing.

  With amazement she realized he really did want her. This might be a diversion for him, a meaningless encounter, but he really did want her. Why? He didn’t recognize her. For all he knew she was nothing but an immoral thief. And yet he wanted her. Did he even know what she looked like? It was dark enough in the room that she could make out only the basic outline of his features. If she hadn’t seen him countless times before, she wouldn’t know the blue of his eyes, the gleaming blond of his hair. So what did he see that intrigued him?

  It is what he thinks me to be. He thought her a thief, a trickster, a criminal. It was why he’d proposed the bargain. He thought she was experienced, he’d said as much. He thought she was a woman of the streets. She almost laughed aloud. She knew her way around a lock, it was true, but she hadn’t learned that on the streets. Oh, no. She’d learned that in the drawing rooms and country houses of the glittering society in which he moved so effortlessly. He had no idea who she was, none at all. And that was a good thing. She worked very hard to blend into the background, disguising the real Julianna behind a bland facade. That way no one would take an interest in her. It was a habit she’d learned as a child, so as not to interfere with her father’s thieving or romancing. She’d grown to like the anonymity of it. Now her disguise gave her the freedom to do as she chose while society promenaded past her, uncaring about who she was or what she did. Clearly Mr. Sharp had walked past as uncaring as everyone else.

  But tonight he cared. Tonight she would drop all disguises and, for the first time in her life, she would be herself and take what she wanted, as well as get what she needed.

  “I accept,” she whispered the words as she closed her eyes tightly, her stomach flipping, though not unpleasantly, at the risk she was taking.

  Read on for an excerpt from Adrienne Staff’s

  Paradise Cafe

  One

  “Let go of the raft!”

  The words shouted from behind were lost in the roar of the water over her, the thunder of the water crashing against the sheer canyon walls and hurtling her downstream.

  “Let go of the raft!” The second time she heard the shout, but her fingers clutched the edge of the heavy rubber raft more tightly, as tightly as she ever had held to anything in her life. Her life! Oh, Lord, she was going to die! She knew it. In the seconds after she was swept through the first rapids, her thoughts were fragmented: Death. Fear. Loss. Panic. She hadn’t said good-bye to her parents. She’d never see home again. She was going to die in this ice-cold water, all alone in the rushing river, the white and green foam swirling over her face.

  Moving ever downstream, Abby lashed one arm across the hump of the raft and wept, her tears instantly erased by the icy splash of spray. What was she going to do? Oh, God, she prayed, oh, someone, help! She began to scream. “Help me! Oh, help me … oh …”

  Like a living thing, the river gathered itself beneath her and leaped forward. “Oh, help! Someone help me!” She felt the
river surge and rise, and ahead she saw the white riffles and hanging spray that signaled the start of the next rapids.

  Saw them and was taken by them in the same second.

  The water was lifting and churning over rocks that were only dark, looming shadows beneath the white, foaming surface. “Oh, no, not again, no more—please!” she screamed, while the raft strained at her hold, leaping and jumping over the dark, crouched rocks, wrenching at her arms, pulling her faster and faster, the water always in her eyes and mouth and nose.

  And then the third shout came from behind, loud and insistent and commanding:

  “Let go of the raft!”

  And her mind, or the tiny section of her mind that wasn’t numbed by fear and panic and cold, remembered her guide’s instructions before they ever got on the river, the damned, damned river where she was about to die. Three rules if you fall in: Point your feet downstream to cushion the blows, hold on to your life jacket, and if someone yells “Let go of the raft!” then do it!

  “Oh, no. She couldn’t. She couldn’t! It was all she had that meant safety and hope. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.…

  “Let go of the raft! Now!”

  She released her hold, and the raft tore downstream like a demon creature bent for hell. Flying, springing, it crashed against the looming black canyon wall.

  Abby swung her arms wildly, the water swirling over her face, drowning her, choking her. But instead of the wall, her feet hit the torn rubbery side of the raft, and she bounced back away from the rocks and out into the middle of the river again.

  For a moment she hung there, shocked into immobility by the memory of those looming rock walls flying at her and away. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think; her eyes were wide with fear. She hung there in the deceptive, momentary calm of one of the deep, still pools between the rapids.