by Lori Wilde
“Good,” he said. “I’ve got you right where I want you. Sweet dreams.”
7
AT BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING, Sam and Cass aced Bunnie’s ten questions. Their success didn’t stem so much from the mostly fictitious answers they’d conspired on the night before—Bunnie asked only the virginity one from their list—but from reading each other’s body language.
The sexual tension sparking between them was so intense it must have made them simpatico. Sam had no other explanation for their victory, particularly since he hadn’t slept a wink last night.
He’d lain there in the darkness, listening to her soft breathing, wrestling between his desire to reach over, pull her into his arms and make red-hot love to her until dawn and his inborn need to take things slow and get it right before acting on an impulse.
Except now he was so hot for her, he’d lost all perspective. He kept forgetting he was here as a police detective and kept getting caught up in Bunnie Bernaldo’s dramatic little game and the effect it was having on his sexual feelings for Cass. He’d never in his life been so inclined to ignore his conscience and pursue a woman.
“I’m going in for the orange juice,” Cass said.
They’d arrived at the big house to find the massive dining room table laden with a sumptuous morning feast. Scrambled eggs and bacon and sausages and Belgian waffles and hash browns with biscuits and gravy. Filling their plates at the buffet line had been a tricky maneuver with the handcuffs and a couple of strips of bacon ended up on the floor as casualties. And after a mishap with the salt shaker, they’d learn to forewarn each other when they were about to move their conjoined hands.
“Gotcha.”
Cass reached for the glass, taking his hand along with her, and when her wrist brushed against his, Sam felt the burn up his arm, into his shoulder and clear on down to lodge in his heart.
For the first time, he noticed that her firm, determined chin was too small for the rest of her face and that her nose had a tiny hump in the bridge. Her forehead was flat as a cookie sheet and her bottom lip was almost twice the size of the top. Taken feature by feature her parts were not those of a great beauty, but together those features merged in a symmetry that robbed a man’s breath.
“And now,” Bunnie said after applauding Cass and Sam for winning the first round, “for your second challenge.”
All eyes turned to Bunnie.
This morning their hostess was awash in jewels. A diamond watch, a ruby necklace that matched her smart red designer track suit, ruby earrings and the topper was a diamond and ruby tiara.
A little early in the day for the tiara, Sam thought, but Bunnie was undoubtedly the Queen of Southampton. She was intentionally putting her jewels on flagrant display, daring the Blueblood Burglar to strike.
Bunnie opened the Bergdorf-Goodman bag that had been sitting on the table beside her and began pulling out silk scarves. Red, blue, green, purple. Every color in the rainbow and then some.
“Ta-da,” she said, and looked around the table at her twenty-four guests.
Everyone waited for an explanation. Sam marveled at Bunnie’s ability to capture an audience. She’d missed her calling. She should have gone to Hollywood.
“Blindfolds.” Bunnie picked up a handful of scarves. “Trevor and I will come around and blindfold you all.”
The people at the table looked at each other, shared meaningful glances, raised eyebrows in speculation.
“Then,” Bunnie continued, “each couple will be driven, still handcuffed and blindfolded, to a location where your driver will give you a treasure map. At that point and not a minute before, you may remove your blindfolds.”
“What will we be looking for?” Marcos’s partner asked.
“Your quest is a replica of the White Star amulet stolen from Stanhope auction house last Friday.”
This last bit about the White Star had been Sam’s idea. Bunnie had loved it and commissioned her jeweler to make copies for the party game.
“The White Star represents true love. Find it and make your way back here while remaining handcuffed together. The first couple who returns with the White Star and is still speaking to each other wins. The catch? You must surrender your wallets, cell phones, beepers, watches and PDAs.”
The crowd rebelled.
“No way am I giving up my wallet,” one lady argued. “It’s Kate Spade.”
“Bunnie, you must be joking.”
“There’s eccentric fun and then there’s downright insanity.”
“It’s just too Amazing Race. Besides, I’m not dressed for this.”
Bunnie raised a hand. “You will put your valuables in my safe. They will be itemized and accounted for. I’ll be fully responsible. If at this point you want out of the game, I understand. But remember, there’s fifty thousand dollars up for grabs. Charity of your choice and an article about you in Moment.”
“We want out,” one couple exclaimed. Apparently the offer of charitable donations and magazine celebrity weren’t enough to offset the inconvenience of handcuffs and blindfolds and surrendering their valuables.
“Us too,” said another.
And then there were ten, Sam thought and swung his gaze to Marcos and his partner, who looked staunchly committed to the game.
Cass leaned over to whisper to Sam, her hair grazing against his cheek. “Do you want to leave?”
“No way,” he said, praying she wouldn’t insist they go. “You?”
But he needn’t have worried. Cass was the ultimate party girl.
She smiled. “Let’s win this puppy.”
“WALK.”
“Excuse me?” Cass said.
The darned blindfold was on so tight she was seeing red and yellow starbursts behind her eyelids. After three hours in the backseat of a car with a driver who wouldn’t talk to them, she was beginning to regret staying in Bunnie’s silly game.
“Start walking,” the driver said. “Instructions from Ms. Bernaldo.”
“This has all the earmarks of a mob hit,” she joked.
“Just walk,” the driver said.
“Which direction?”
“Straight ahead.”
“We’re walking,” Sam said and squeezed Cass’s hand reassuringly.
She shouldn’t be nervous. Nothing to be nervous about. Parlor game.
“It is nerve-racking,” Sam whispered. “Not being about to see where you’re going.”
Her feet left the asphalt for soft earth. Where in the heck were they? Interesting development, the whole grass thing. Were they back in the city? In Central Park?
Cass tilted her head, listening. She felt a cool breeze on her face. Heard some birds chirping but no other Central Park noises like taxi horns blaring in the distance or runners pounding the sidewalks or the noise of children at play.
Basically, she heard nothing except the wind through the trees, Sam’s breathing and the sound of their shoes crunching twigs and pebbles and leafs.
Her sense of hearing heightened, as did her sense of smell. Was that pine and wood smoke?
Where were they?
The driver made them walk for another five minutes, which was no fun blindfolded, wearing handcuffs and in three-inch ankle strap heels. One wrong step and she would sprain her ankle.
“You can stop now,” the driver said.
They stopped.
“Count to a hundred before you take the blindfolds off. Start counting.”
“One,” Cassie said. “Two.”
She heard the sound of running feet and immediately yanked the blindfold off. Her intention was to see which direction the driver took off in, but she was so startled by where she was that she forgot to see where he went.
“Oh. My. God.”
“What?” Sam asked.
She whipped her head around, saw that he still had his blindfold on. “Take your blindfold off.”
“The driver said to count to one hundred first.”
“Do you always do what you’re told? Take the blindfol
d off.”
Sam did, looked around and broke into a grin. “What do you know. We’re in the Catskills.”
They were standing on a gently sloping hill, surrounded by trees and mountains, with a view of a lake below them. Thick trees, big mountains and a lake that was probably filled with fish and mosquitoes—ick.
“I don’t frickin’ believe Bunnie dumped me in this wilderness,” Cass ranted.
“I’m here, too.”
“Yeah, but you like it here.”
“It’s nice, quiet.”
“I’m wearing three-inch ankle strap Manolo Blahniks,” she said.
“I tried to get you to change shoes.”
“The other pair I brought with me were four-inchers. Believe it or not, this pair was better suited for walking.”
“If you say so.”
“Where’s the map? The driver was supposed to leave us a treasure map.”
“Look around—maybe he dropped it.”
“How are we going to get back?”
“Relax. One thing at a time. First we find the amulet.”
“We have no money, no cell phone. We’re handcuffed together.”
“You’re not relaxing.”
“Okay, Zen guru, wanna tell me how to go about doing that?”
“Breathe in the adventure. I thought you were Miss Grab-Life-By-the-Throat risk taker.”
“Yeah, risk not getting a table at Chez Danielle’s because I waited too long to make a reservation, not risking life and limb trying to get off a mountain.”
“Try it, you might like it.”
“You’re entirely too optimistic about this.”
“Look, Bunnie isn’t going to jeopardize her guests’ safety. I’m sure the guy who dumped us off is waiting down the road a bit in case we run into trouble.”
“Obviously, you don’t know Bunnie. I bet this is because she’s still mad at me for stealing her boyfriend when we were in college.”
“You stole her boyfriend?”
“She didn’t like him anyway. With good reason, it turned out. Toby was a Mama’s boy.”
“I don’t need to hear any more about that, thank you very much.”
“Jealous?” She tilted her head back and slanted him a speculative glance.
“You want me to say yes?” He had this fierce look on his face that tickled her.
“Not unless you are.”
“I don’t like thinking about you in bed with other men. Does that make me jealous?”
“But you don’t mind thinking about me being in bed with you?”
“Mind? Cass, in case you haven’t figured out, thinking about having you in my bed has become mandatory.”
“Really?” She was pleased to receive this bit of information. “I was in your bed last night and nothing happened.”
“Look,” he said, changing the subject, “there’s the treasure map, tacked to that pine tree.”
He started over to the tree and she had to follow. He took the map down, studied it, and then passed it over to her. “Looks like one of those amusement park ‘you-are-here’ maps. Should be easy enough to follow.”
“Hey, Houdini, get out your lock-picking do-hickey and undo us.” Cass held up her wrist.
“Can’t. Lock-picking tool was in my wallet, which Trevor took from me after breakfast.”
“You think it’s kind of weird that Bunnie and Trevor are your suspects in the Stanhope break-in and they’re having us look for the White Star?”
“Definitely weird,” he said, but then changed the subject on her again. “I think this way is north.”
“You’ll end up looking pretty bad in front of the NYPD if Bunnie and Trevor steal everyone’s belongings while we’re out on this wild-goose chase.”
“Thanks for bringing that up. But Bunnie has a reputation to uphold. I don’t see her doing that.” Stuffing the map in his back pocket, he headed toward a trail snaking through the woods.
Cass minced along beside him. “They could hire someone to break in and steal the valuables.”
“Yes,” he said. “They could, but if Bunnie’s involved in the heist at Stanhope’s why draw attention to herself with petty larceny?”
“Marcos’s watch alone is worth sixteen grand. I was with him when he bought it. That’s hardly petty.”
“In comparison to the haul from the Zander estate, it’s peanuts. Besides, Bunnie’s worth millions, why bother with small potatoes?”
“Properly invested small potatoes can grow into big spuds. Or so my brother-in-law, the investment banker, keeps telling me.”
“Smart man.”
“Do you play the stock market?”
“I have a nest egg. You?”
Cass looked down at her shoes. “These babies are my investment. I figure invest in looking good and everything else will take care of itself.”
“Translation, you’re totally broke.”
“Yes, but I’m spending the weekend in the Hamptons with the possibility of earning fifty grand, eating rich food and sleeping in a beachside bungalow and it’s not costing me a red cent.”
She stumbled over a log and her knees crumpled but Sam pulled her upright with the handcuff. “Thank you.”
“But look at you. You’re handcuffed to a man you barely know in the woods which you hate and you had to spend the three-hour drive getting here blindfolded. You’ve paid for it with your dignity.”
“Hey, I’m not here by myself. Who’s handcuffed to me?”
“Besides,” Sam said. “It’s twenty-five grand.”
“What is?”
“You only get twenty-five grand. I get the other half. And the money goes to your charity not you.”
“But I get mentioned in Moment magazine. Do you have any idea how many free lunches I’ll get out of that?” She tripped again, lumbering clumsily against him, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Your investments are costing you big-time. I think it’s time to sell.” He stopped.
The look in his eyes did not bode well for her Manolo Blahniks. She tried to keep going, getting as far away from him as her tether would allow—which was only about five inches.
He went down on one knee.
“What are you doing?”
“Put your foot up here.” He patted his upraised knee.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“Who died and made you king?”
“For once, could you please just do as I asked?”
“If you chop the heels off my shoes like Michael Douglas did to Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
“Big threat coming from such a petite woman. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a machete handy with which to do any heel chopping, so you can relax on that score.”
“You want me to hate you? Is that it?”
“Foot on my knee. Now.”
“Is this your caveman impression? Because I’m not impressed.” She sank her hands on her hips and scowled at him.
“No, this is my guy-who-doesn’t-want-to-be-handcuffed-to-a-woman-with-a-broken-leg impression.” He patted his knee again.
Tentatively she eased her foot onto his knee. His big fingers looked incongruous as he worked to unbuckle the strap from around her ankle.
“I have to admit, you’ve certainly got the ankles for these shoes,” he said.
“Thank you.”
Sam took off one shoe, and then held out his hand for the other.
“What now?” she asked when he was finished. The ground felt cold and squishy beneath her bare feet.
“Piggyback ride.”
“How? We’re handcuffed.”
“You drape your right arm around my neck, come around and climb on my back.”
“I’m not as skinny as I look.”
“But I’m stronger than I look.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Get on.”
Cass climbed on his back
. “What about my shoes?”
He hung them by their heels over a nearby tree branch. “We’ll pick them up on the way back.”
“What if someone takes them?” she fretted.
“Last time I checked, bears weren’t into making the cover of Moment magazine.”
“Touché.”
“You’re welcome,” he said as he started down the trail once more.
“Thank you,” she said, trying her best not to feel like Cinderella.
8
THIRTY MINUTES LATER Sam was wearing out. Cass wasn’t heavy and he was strong, but traversing down a hill, sidestepping rocks and boulders, all the while handcuffed and trying not to drop her, wasn’t as easy as it looked.
The sky had turned moody. The sun, which had already crested its zenith, played tag with the gray clouds staggering across the western horizon. Even though they’d eaten a hearty breakfast, his stomach kicked with hunger pains. He wished he’d had the foresight to stuff some of those breakfast rolls in his pocket. Unfortunately, he’d been just egotistical enough to think he’d have aced Bunnie’s challenge by now. His entire plan was unraveling miserably.
Now, he only had one thing on his mind. Get that damned fake and get out of here with both him and Cass in one piece.
And the only reason he was even going after the replica was to keep up appearances for her.
Cass’s soft arm was wrapped around his neck and her cute little face was resting against his cheek and she smelled like a combination of pine forest and prima donna and the scent drove him wild. Her breath was warm against the back of his neck and her sturdy but slender legs were strapped tightly around his waist.
Okay, make that two things on his mind.
Even though he was trying his best to focus on the present moment, he kept getting jarred back into last night when they’d shared a bed.
But nothing happened.
Maybe not on the surface, but something had happened, no doubt. Something a lot more intangible than sex, but significant nonetheless.
He’d been daring her to come across that bed after him, baiting her with his nudity and he had no idea why he’d done it. Had he been testing her? Had she passed? Or failed? What was wrong with him? If he’d wanted her, why hadn’t he made the first move? Why had he solidly lobbed the ball in her court? Why had he hesitated?
