“We’ll get out of here eventually, though. You’ll be able to explain.”
She studied their clasped hands as though they were something she’d never seen before. “I know, but it’s still hard. Things haven’t been going so well between us since my divorce, and she’s sitting there right now thinking I ditched her. It’ll be like a big slap in the face, that I couldn’t be bothered to show.” Julia blinked and swiped furiously at her eyes. “And she doesn’t deserve that. I love her, you know?” She slid off the table and walked a few feet away.
Alex followed her, touched her shoulder. “I know,” he said quietly.
“I may not understand her and her life may not make a hell of a lot of sense to me, but I love her. And it kills me to hurt her feelings like this, while she’s in the middle of running around trying to make everything perfect for everyone.”
He reached out and pulled her to him. At first, she stiffened. “Come on,” he murmured, “just relax.” And he held her against him.
For the first time in all the many times they’d been together, he touched her with the intention only to comfort. Desire didn’t matter; pulling that miserable look from her eyes did. And when he heard her sigh and felt her soften against him, he bent his head down to kiss her hair.
They had always been about flash and fire, about heat and passion. Now, a quiet warmth simmered between them. Now he wanted only to banish the shadows from her eyes.
Julia sighed, feeling warm and protected in a way she almost never had. She’d opened up to him in a way she rarely did with anyone, and yet somehow she didn’t feel vulnerable, she didn’t feel exposed. Instead, she felt…reassured, cared for. Comforted. His hand stroked her back. He held her close to the warmth of his body, and in the curve of his arms, she felt safe.
She couldn’t have said when it changed, when caring turned to wanting when comfort transformed into the beginnings of need. One moment, she was leaning quietly against him, wanting nothing more than for the moment to stretch out, wanting nothing more than to be held this way forever. The next, desire had flickered to life within her, like the spark that ignites the roaring blaze.
She slid her hand around the nape of his neck and turned her face to his. Surprise. She saw it in his eyes, in the curve of his mouth. She saw the question that she knew only one way of answering.
And she brought his mouth down to hers.
THE ROOM WAS STUFFY and small. Allard ignored it and concentrated on squeezing the bare breasts of the blonde astride him.
“That what you like, baby? Huh?” she grunted, riding him, rising up and down on the cock buried inside her. “You want some more of that?”
“I wish for you to shut up,” he said coldly. That was the benefit of paying for a service. In a restaurant, he ordered what he wished, demanded that everything be to his satisfaction. He would accept no less now. The woman was a paid performer, nothing more. And he would get the performance he desired.
He raised up slightly and pushed her off him. “Suck on me,” he ordered, enjoying the quick flash of insult on her face. “Get on your knees.” In the lights of the room, he could see the lines on her face that hadn’t been apparent outside, could see the stretch marks. She’d been on the street too long and she looked tired, though her mouth was warm and mobile as it slid up and down the hard length of him.
There would be better women soon, though. Young and beautiful, and they’d give him everything he wanted in the villa he’d buy by the sea. Or perhaps there would be a boat, a white yacht he would cruise around the islands, from Capri to Santorini. And servants and hired people to manage all the practical details while he concerned himself only with the pleasure he’d take from the women. Whatever his appetites, he would satisfy them.
“You want to try something else, baby?”
He was getting soft, he realized in annoyance. It was just the useless whore. She did not realize who he was, she did not appreciate what he had done. He fingered the key on a chain around his neck and thought of the White Star, locked up in a box that only he could access.
He felt the throb of his arousal and the whore chuckled and began to speed her motion.
And if he wanted, on Monday he could go to the bank, pull the amulet out of the box, touch her. Have her. She was his for now, lovely and smooth and warm, his alone. For an instant he imagined the feel of her in his hand, imagined possessing her, white and hard and satiny. And his.
And his.
He stiffened and groaned out his climax.
ANDJULIAdreamed of the desert…
Warm winds rattled the fronds of the palm trees overhead. She was aware of her body in a way she’d never been in her entire life. And she unfastened her robe and let it drop to the sand, raising her head to meet the green eyes of the man who stood in shadow, watching her.
The press of lips, the heat of mouth against mouth, the brush of hand over skin. The surge of body against body. And in a shimmering moment under the crystalline sky, pleasure exploded into ecstasy.
16
Sunday, May 7, 6:00 a.m.
IT WAS THE LIFE he’d always wanted, the life he’d always deserved, Allard thought: the sun-drenched deck of the white yacht, the sound of the water, the woman working on him with her mouth and her hands while another brushed her enormous breasts against his lips. She moved to straddle him on the chaise—
—and his world exploded into light and white-hot pain.
He came clawing up into consciousness to see the dingy backstreet hotel room in the light of dawn, the bleary-eyed whore beside him.
And the two hard-faced men who stood facing them.
Merde. Allard searched with his tongue for broken teeth. “It is an unkind way to wake a man.”
“Our employer is not feeling particularly kind.”
The whore began to shriek. Emotionlessly, one of them struck her hard enough to stun her, then tied her stockings around her head in a gag.
Allard struggled to gather his wits. He ignored the clench of fear in his gut. La Souris Noire, he heard his father’s taunt. But he was not a frightened mouse, he was a professional who had escaped far worse situations than this. He would make the adrenaline work for him. And he was still in control. Consciously, he evened his breathing. Despite their guns, they needed him to get the amulet. He was not expendable.
For now.
He rose from the bed, a spark of insolence in his eyes. “What do you hope to accomplish here? I have the…package and I will deliver it at the appropriate time.”
The fist of the taller man lashed out and snapped Allard’s head back. Pain exploded through him and he staggered back, knocking over the bedside lamp. Pushing himself upright, he raised the back of one hand to his torn lip.
“You do not speak,” the stockier of the two said in an even tone. “The time for speaking is past. Your only task is to do what you are told.”
“If your employer wants his prize,” Allard began, and another blow sent him down to one knee.
“You do not listen so well, eh? No talk, unless it is to answer questions. We want the package.”
“It is not here,” Allard said sullenly.
“Then you will take us to it.”
“When the money has been transferred, your employer will have his prize.” The tall one raised his hand, but Allard only stared back at him belligerently. “I have been beaten before. And a bank becomes suspicious when a bloodied man comes in with others to empty out a safe-deposit box. Tread carefully, my friends. All I want is my money and your employer will have his prize.”
The stocky man shook his head. “That is past, now. You have made a very great mistake. There will be no money. You will give us the amulet.”
“But I—”
The stocky man moved swiftly to catch Allard by the throat with one hand, hoisting him up until he stood on tiptoe to avoid being throttled. “No buts,” he hissed. “You are not in control here. Would you like us to demonstrate?”
He released Allard and n
odded to the tall man, who dragged the groggy whore to her feet and pulled a silvery bar out of his pocket. With a snick, the bar in his hand became a knife. He turned her away from him, toward the bed.
And with one efficient motion, sliced her throat.
Arterial spray sent a bright arc of scarlet splattering against the far wall as she struggled. Allard felt something hit his face and raised his hands to wipe it off.
They came away red. And staring at the blood, he never saw the blow coming.
When he woke, the angle of the sun had changed only a little. Just a few moments elapsed.
A few crucial moments.
The whore’s body was sprawled across the bloodstained bed where they’d thrown it. Next to her, though, was the knife.
“It is a policeman’s wet dream,” the stocky one said softly. “A murder, a victim, a weapon, complete with fingerprints. Oh yes, there are fingerprints on it,” he added as he saw Allard’s gaze shoot to their gloved hands. “Yours, my friend. And as you are no doubt aware, any law-enforcement search will bring up your name. Your real name. And they will no doubt find your semen in the condom in the rubbish bin.”
He leaned in, gaze flat and hard. “This is all to demonstrate that we mean what we say. We will leave here now and put the privacy sign on the door.” He caught up a handful of Allard’s hair and pulled his head back. “If you deliver the amulet, we will free you to come back and do what you can to remove the evidence. If not, we will make a phone call to the police and you will spend the rest of your worthless life in prison.” The stocky one released him. “Now get dressed,” he ordered. “We are leaving.”
DARKNESS. THE WARMTH of a body against her, the reassuring rhythm of breath. Julia snuggled closer and sighed.
And then full consciousness hit.
Her first impulse was flight, which was something of a challenge given that she was locked in, not to mention curled up in pitch darkness with the very man she wanted to escape.
Or maybe she wanted to escape her idiotic, impulsive self. Not that she was idiotic and impulsive, but she’d sure been doing a good imitation of it. How the hell did you have a morning-after experience when you’d been sleeping with a guy for six months?
She opened her eyes to darkness for the second time in two days and resisted the urge to groan. She’d broken up with Alex and been, if not happy with it, at the very least resigned to the fact that it was the best thing for both of them. How, then, did she explain the fact that she’d slept with him again? And it wasn’t something that she could blame on being carried away. He’d given her the ball and she had—as the saying went—run with it.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut until patterns of red and yellow and orange formed. If she told him that she still meant it about the breakup and she wanted to act as if nothing had happened—Either time? taunted a voice in her head—he’d think she was nuts. And rightfully so. The problem was, she couldn’t think straight when he was touching her. Then again, she couldn’t think straight when he wasn’t, clearly, or she’d never have gone within ten feet of him.
She sighed.
And Alex’s arms tightened around her. “You awake?” he murmured.
For a moment, she wanted only to curl up against him and go back to sleep. Instead, she rose and hit the switch, squinting at the flood of brightness. Time to shed a little light on things. “Welcome to my world.”
Alex stepped up to her to rest his hands on her hips, smiling. “I kind of like your world,” he said. “I kind of like you in mine.” He leaned in to kiss her.
And adroitly she ducked away. “You don’t happen to have any more of those green strips, do you?” she asked, stepping to the sink. If she let him kiss her, she’d be sunk. She had to stop this, now.
He watched her as though he knew just what she was thinking. “Sure,” he said flatly, handing her the package. “Help yourself.”
She rinsed her mouth and then put in the breath strip, screwing up her face. “God, I can’t wait to use a real toothbrush for a change. And get out of here. We’ll be out of each other’s hair and be able to breathe.”
“I kind of like being locked up with you.”
“Alex,” she said gently, “this isn’t the real world. We’re still not right together.”
Something very like anger flashed in his eyes. “Oh, last night was just scratching another itch? I thought you wanted something more than just sex.”
“I do.”
“Then what does it take to convince you? How much more right do you need it to be? Try looking at what’s in front of your face instead of what’s in your head, Julia. Open up your mind for a change.”
“I do have an open mind,” she returned, stung.
“You could have fooled me. I’m going to go check Paul’s computer,” he said shortly, heading toward the office without turning.
And Julia felt like hell. Okay, so the sex was fabulous. What happened over a weekend of isolation didn’t count. They were in a special situation, a situation that wouldn’t hold once the door opened. What was she supposed to do, forget the guy she’d known for a year and a half? Forget the man she’d been sleeping with for six months? Was she supposed to believe that he’d suddenly turned into the person she’d been seeing bits of in the past two days? That was just following her emotions and whims, and she’d had enough of that.
She had to take control of her life, she had to start using her head again, not her emotions. Not her heart. She’d already told him where things stood, she knew the right thing to do.
How was it that it didn’t feel so right anymore?
ALEX PLUNKED DOWN in the chair at Paul’s desk and flipped open the box to stare at the statue of Anibus, fighting back the surge of frustration. Just when he thought he was getting somewhere with Julia, that they were getting somewhere, it became very apparent that he really hadn’t gotten anywhere at all.
And it bothered him, far more than he’d ever expected it to. Okay, so if he were totally honest with himself, he’d followed her down to the lab two days before partly out of desire, sure, but also partly out of injured pride. Her announcement had shocked him. That wasn’t the way it worked in his world. He was the one who walked away from the women. Women weren’t the ones who walked away from him, especially not when he was happy with the way things were going.
Especially not when he’d decided he might just want more.
But Julia was so stubborn. Why couldn’t she understand that things were different? That he was different—not from who he’d been but from the image she had of him? Something had grown over the time they’d been locked up together, something far stronger and deeper than they’d had before. How could she not see it? How could she block him out and walk away?
And how could he let her?
He shut the top of the artifact box with unnecessary force. The answer was, he couldn’t. Not without trying. She might not be ready to admit it, but things between them had shifted already. And the more they were together, the more they would continue to shift. And if that took hanging around and hanging around until she finally acknowledged it, well, that was what he would do.
Because there was no way he was letting Julia Covington walk away.
Feeling better, he tapped the Shift key of the laptop, interrupting the screen saver. The e-mail program still sat open, unchanged; no wireless-network icon showed in the corner. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to hang around for a few minutes and see what happened.
Then he looked more closely, puzzled.
With a tap on the door, Julia stuck her head in. “I brought you coffee,” she said, holding out a cup.
A peace offering. The mug was too hot to hold, and he set it down. “Thanks.”
She perched on the spare chair. “Any luck?” she asked brightly.
Was he surprised that she acted as though nothing had just happened? No.
To keep his hands busy, he picked up one of the books sitting on the corner of the desk. “Not so far. Looks like our b
uddy from yesterday decided to stay home.”
“Maybe he’ll come in later. It’s only ten.”
“I suppose.” Alex glanced down at the book. “Proceedings of the Fifteenth International Conference on the Conservation of Three-Dimensional Collections, Reims, France, May 2005,” he read aloud. “No wonder he finds excuses to go to conferences. I’d go to conferences, too, if I could go to Reims in May.”
“I hate to break your heart, but he’s supposed to leave for this year’s meeting this week, I think,” she said, pointing to the travel-agency envelope stuck between the jumble of blocks and a box of latex gloves at the back of the desk.
“How do you know that?”
“I’m supposed to leave Tuesday.”
Alex shook his head. “I got the wrong job,” he muttered. “I go to NEA meetings in D.C. when I could be in Reims learning about—” he thumbed through the book “—formation of calcium oxalate on stone surfaces or microbial species on ecclesiastical polychrome sculptures. Now there’s a can’t-miss paper. Or, hey, here’s one that looks like it gets a lot of mileage, ‘The Preparation and Use of Isinglass for Conservation of Polychrome Wood Sculpture.’” He glanced at her. “That’s that stuff in the refrigerator, right? He’s got a recipe here.” He scanned the article and grimaced. “Oh, man, you know this stuff is made by boiling fish bladders? That’s disgusting.”
“You should smell it cooking.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
She gave a half smile. “Well, he’ll have to throw it out soon, and you’d better hope you’re not around when he does. It’s only good for a couple of days. I don’t know what he’s doing with it.”
“Painting the pages of this book, it looks like.” Alex turned the page. “He’s dripped gunk all over his recipe.”
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