by Beth Ciotta
“Let’s find a coat closet,” I whispered in his ear, still unsure as to which would come first—questions or kissing.
Arch grinned. “I’m going to need more room than that.”
Zowie. Not sure what that meant, but it zapped my libido like a live wire.
I located Nic, who was sitting in a booth sipping ginger ale and allowing a cute guy sporting a John Deere cap and a smitten grin to drool all over her. “We’re leaving,” I said.
“Where’s Northbrook?”
“He gave Mr. Gish a ride to the airport. Some sort of personal crisis,” I said, keeping up pretenses in front of the infatuated local.
She looked over my shoulder at Arch, then back at me. “Think I’ll hang out here,” she said, smiling at her new hunky friend. “I’ll call you later.”
“Um…” I leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Don’t you think Northbrook would be a little jealous if he knew—”
“We had a fight,” she said in a normal tone.
A real fight? Or a fake fight? “Did I miss something?”
“It was fun while it lasted, but his heart wasn’t in it,” she said with a fake pout and a glance toward her friend. “I’m calling it quits.”
I didn’t know what she was talking about. I hoped to hell Beckett did. “Does he know?”
She smiled. “He will.”
Ooookay. I vamoosed, pondering her strange behavior.
Arch met me at the front door. “Where’s Nic?”
“Back there, encouraging the interest of some beefcake tractor guy.” I frowned. “She said she’s breaking up with Beckett. I mean, Northbrook. Do you know anything about that?”
“No.”
“She’s in a mood today.”
“I noticed.” He narrowed his eyes. “I can hear your wheels turning, Sunshine. Dinnae worry aboot how this affects the overall ruse. Whirlwind affair gone bad. Simple as that. Happens all the time, yeah?”
Not exactly the words I wanted to hear considering we were engaged in a whirlwind affair. “Yeah.”
“Except where we’re concerned,” he said, clearly reading my mind. He quirked a knee-melting grin. “Look at it this way—for the time being, it’s just you and me and the entire B and B, eh, Sunshine?”
Zing. “What are we waiting for?”
IF IT WEREN’T FOR fear of Joe Kitt tailing us with his telephoto lens, I would’ve indulged in some racy inclinations while Arch drove. Instead I behaved like a good girl, tightening my seat belt so I couldn’t ease over and palm Bad Boy’s erection.
“Now that we’re alone,” I said, trying to sidetrack my naughty thoughts, “tell me what really went down with Gish.”
He slid on his sunglasses as we left the shaded streets for the sunny countryside. “What matters is that you get it all, yeah? Your ma’s money and pride and knowing Gish is going to pay for his crimes.”
“Well, yeah. But I’m dying to know how you and Beckett pulled it off.”
“We fucked with his head.”
“Yes, but—”
“Evie.”
“What?”
“You know the scenario in a movie where a soldier refuses to talk with his family aboot what he saw or did when he was at war?”
“Sure.”
“What aboot the homicide cop who withholds the grim details of his job from his wife and kids?”
His expression was relaxed, his tone controlled. Uh-oh. “Are you saying you don’t want to talk about your work?”
“I’m saying that I think you’ve glamorized what Chameleon does, yeah? It’s not much different than what I used to do—and I know how you feel aboot that.”
I opened my mouth and he cut me off with a raised hand. “I know. Now when I con, it’s not for personal gain but the greater good. I’m beginning to regret the day I used that phrase on you.”
“I don’t understand why you’re angry.”
“Do I sound angry?”
“No. A dead giveaway that you’re two seconds from blowing your cork.”
He regarded me over the rims of his shades with a cocked brow. “My tell, yeah?”
“Now that you mention it.”
“I promise I willnae…blow my cork. It’s just lately…I’m not always proud of what I do, you know?” He focused back on the road and my stomach did a little flip. I’d never heard him talk like this. And apparently he wasn’t done. “I may be working on the right side of the law, but the tricks of the trade are the same. I deal in deceit, something that goes against your nature. You’re striving to be a bad girl, but it’s the good girl I adore. That I admire, yeah?”
My heart jackhammered in my chest.
“I understand that you dinnae want to go back. I just dinnae want to see you lose touch with what makes you shine.”
On the surface, that statement packed a heck of an “aw” factor. Truly it was a sweet sentiment, and I confess my heart fluttered like the wings of a hyper butterfly. But I also worried if I peeled away the pretty layers, I’d learn an ugly truth. “Are you saying you don’t want me to be part of Chameleon? Are you asking me to choose?”
“I worry that subjecting you to deceit and manipulation on a regular basis will desensitize you. It’s the way of things, yeah? But I also acknowledge that you are a skilled actress with brilliant improvisational skills, full of potential and surprises. Watching you work the jailhouse yesterday and Gish today…it gave me a bloody hard-on.”
Sweet and sexy. Holy smoke.
He pulled into the driveway, parked and cut the engine.
My mouth went dry when he tossed his sunglasses on the dash and angled to look me in the eyes. “If I did ask you to choose—”
“Please don’t.”
“I just want to know you’re in love with me and not my world.”
The vulnerability in his tone undid me, along with the raw openness in his gaze. “I think that’s the most honest you’ve ever been with me.”
“A moment of weakness.”
“A rarity.”
“Aye.”
“It was hot.”
He cocked his head. “That so?”
“Really hot. The backs of my knees are sweating.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It means it’s all about you.” I launched across the seat, fired up and desperate to soothe his worries. Yes, I was fascinated with his world and a little obsessed with learning about his profession, but it was the man who’d won my heart. I tried to cram all of that sentiment into an impassioned kiss.
From his ardent reaction, I’m thinking he got the message. “Let’s take this inside, lass.”
I wouldn’t let go, so he had to maneuver both of us out the driver’s side. I locked my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, and continued to ravage his mouth as he carried me inside the deserted B and B.
Once over the threshold, he slammed shut the door and set me to my feet. I unknotted his tie without breaking the kiss. God, could this man kiss.
A retro R & B groove welled in my head. George Michael serenaded my senses as Arch rendered me topless. I want your sex. I want your love.
Crazed with desire, I yanked open his shirtfront. Buttons flew and clattered to the hardwood floor. I ran my hands over his chest, shoulders and back, delighting in corded muscle, heated flesh.
He flipped me around, trapping me between the wall and his amazing body. I moaned my approval as he kissed a trail from my mouth to my cleavage. He nipped and sucked my breasts while sliding my jeans and panties to my ankles, then moved farther south to kiss away the ache between my legs.
I felt brazen and naughty, braced against the wall, half-naked, enjoying the hot flicks of Arch’s tongue. The thought of being caught in the act mortified and excited me at the same time.
Delirious, I tensed and cried out my climax, too breathless to argue when he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. Not sure how I would’ve navigated the stairs with my pants around my ankles anyway.
Seconds
later we burst into his room and he tossed me on the bed. I scrambled to shuck my shoes and jeans while he stripped naked. He was faster. “My socks,” I said as he pushed me back and pinned me down.
“Leave them.” He glanced down, then nailed me with a wicked smile. “Kind of sexy, yeah?”
Bright yellow socks decorated with tiny green frogs? I laughed. “That so?”
He winked. “Definitely sexy.” He captured my mouth in a ravenous kiss, pinned my wrists over my head with one hand while exploring my curves with the other.
The mood was so hot and playful I expected him to bend me into some exotic position. I was quite flexible and he was scary creative. While in London, we’d experimented plenty. Call me a pretzel. Not that I ever complained. Mostly I moaned and groaned and spoke in broken sentences. Yes. Do it. Oh, God. More!
But instead of flipping me over or turning me sideways or having me balance on one leg, he took me on the bed, on my back, him on top, missionary style. Just like the first time two nights ago. Except he gazed into my eyes the entire time we made love. The R & B groove gave way to angelic voices and Celtic melodies.
I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing. The moment was that beautiful. When we climaxed as one, I cried. What a ninny.
“I’ve never felt anything like this,” I whispered as he kissed away my tears. “It’s not just sex. I mean, the sex is great. It’s the connection. You and me. We don’t make sense, but…”
“I know.” He kissed me, slow, deep.
Questions and reservations whirled in my brain. So much I wanted to ask about the future…only the longer he kissed me, the more my thoughts blurred.
Then suddenly he was inside me again, filling me, loving me, and all that mattered was this moment.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
BUSTED.
I scrambled to cover my tush but cracked out of turn. Just us—Charlie and Sugar—the Fish and a squirrely thug.
“Pat them down.”
Panic.
Fainting. Falling.
My head!
Bleary-eyed. What’s happening?
“Get your hands off me, old boy. Allow me to help my wife.”
Arch fighting.
Gun.
Must help.
Shoving.
Bang!
Falling.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
My eyes flew open. Heart pounding, I stared at the ceiling. Gunshots echoed in my ears.
“What is it, Sunshine?”
I reconnected with the conscious world, naked and disoriented but safe in Arch’s arms.
He smoothed my hair from my damp face. “What’s wrong?’
“Nothing.”
“Something.”
“Bad dream.” Suddenly it clicked. Dreams, Jayne had once told me, are rarely literal. Deep down, I worried that I wasn’t up to Chameleon standards, that they’d never accept me as a full-fledged team member. I knew for certain Arch thought I was too soft to weather his world. My insecurities, my fear of failure, had crept into my subconscious. I blew out a breath, shook off the feeling of dread. An anxiety dream. “I’m okay now. Really.”
Arch propped himself on one elbow, quirked a devilish grin. “What you need is a distraction.” He brushed featherlight fingertips over my shoulders. I shivered with sensual delight as those fingers tickled my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, my ribs…
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I remembered quite vividly the exhausting lovemaking. It was the first time we’d been alone like this since London and we’d made the most of our privacy. One nice thing about shagging a younger man was his stamina. Then again, a man as potent and sexual as Arch would probably have stamina even at seventy-five. Of course, at that point I’d be eighty-one—or six feet under. Don’t go there, Parish.
My head lolled to the side as his fingers circled my belly button. My stomach tightened and quivered as his touch skimmed my inner thighs.
The bedside clock jolted me like a bucket of ice water: 4:00 p.m.
Beckett would be back from Indianapolis soon. I thought about the clothes strewn in the foyer and the living room. An embarrassment I could forgo. I clasped Arch’s hand. “Sad to say this will have to wait until later tonight.”
He squinted at the clock. “Voice of reason, yeah?”
“Yeah.” With regret, I rolled out of bed and shimmied into my jeans. “I’m going downstairs to get our clothes and a couple bottles of water.”
“I’m going to hop in the shower.” He grinned and slapped my butt. “Hurry and you can join me.”
I pulled one of his T-shirts over my head. “I don’t think I have the strength.”
Buck naked, he strode toward the bathroom with a bad-boy smile. “Your loss.”
No argument there. Suitably distracted, I skittered from the room, thinking if I hydrated, maybe I’d get a renewed burst of energy. Heh. Barefoot, I sailed down the stairs and picked up our shirts and my bra and started hunting down his buttons.
Then I remembered I left my purse in the car. I dropped our clothes in a pile and hurried outside. I turned my face to the clear blue sky and breathed deep. It helped to burn off the residual glum of that dream. I padded across the lush green lawn and focused on the good. Mom and Dad’s reconciliation. Gish’s incarceration. Bonding with my brother. The indefinable connection with Arch.
I nabbed my purse off the front seat. Saw Arch’s suit jacket and grabbed that, too. Sophisticated cut. Expensive fabric. The man had great taste. Then again, he was portraying a baron.
“Strike that. He is a baron.” Paying for the privilege didn’t diminish the outcome. Arch possessed title and lands and a stone cottage—the size unknown, but did it matter? Images of the Scottish highlands burned bright in my head. Scenes from Braveheart and Rob Roy. How could he not want to live there year-round? “I would.”
I pressed my face into his jacket and inhaled his sexy scent. Maybe Broxley could be my happy place.
Declaring myself a besotted idiot, I draped the jacket over my arm and traipsed back to the house. I felt a zap. No, a vibration. Curious, I investigated and found a slim silver phone tucked in his inner breast pocket. Definitely not the cell phone I’d used to call my brother. Closer to the one I’d spied from the tree. “Why would a man carry two phones?”
Another vibration.
I should let it roll over to voice mail. But what if it’s important? Not nosy, I told myself, responsible. I flipped open the cell. I couldn’t help but notice the displayed name of the caller before connecting. “Hello?”
Silence. Well, except for the background noise. Music. Culture Club? Then dead silence. Call over.
Hmm. I guess Kate wasn’t expecting a woman to answer Arch’s phone. His secret phone.
Instead of internalizing and letting my imagination run amok, I decided to ask him straight out. No sooner did I cross the threshold when I heard the personalized ring of my own phone. I dug the cell out of my purse and answered, thinking it was Nic, shocked that it was Michael.
“Hi, hon.”
Hon. His pet name for all women. I sank down on the nearest chair, which happened to be a padded footstool. “Hi,” I croaked. “Where are you?”
“If I told you, you’d hate me.”
I frowned at his slurred speech. “I know you’re in Paris, Michael. I meant, where specifically. It’s the middle of the night over there, isn’t it?”
“We had a fight.”
I assumed he meant him and his new wife. “So you went out and got drunk?”
“She locked me out of the room.”
“What did you do?”
“Brought up your name one too many times.”
My stomach dropped. “You’re on your honeymoon, Michael. Why in the world would you bring up your ex-wife?”
“Because we’re in Paris.”
“I know.”
“The city of your dreams.”
I gritted my teeth. “You don’t want to go down this road, Michael. Trust me.
”
“It’s just that I’ve been feeling guilty, hon.”
That catapulted me to my feet. Furious, I paced the foyer. “What do you want from me, Michael? Forgiveness? For what? For cheating on me? For giving another woman a baby after telling me you didn’t want children? For marrying her without telling me and whisking her off to my dream city?”
“For introducing you to Arch.”
“What?”
“He’s a—”
“I know what he is.” Nic was right. I did feel something. It felt good to let the anger out. “What I want to know is how you know and the dynamic of your relationship.”
“Long story. Point is, Evie, he’s bad news. The work he does, the people he hangs out with…you’re not like that.”
“Don’t tell me what I’m like. You don’t know me, Michael. Not the new me, anyway.”
“What’s that mean? Oh, hell. Oh, fuck. You slept with him, didn’t you?”
My cheeks heated and I fought to keep my voice low. “That’s none of your business.” Then, remembering I wanted to prove to him that I was not uptight and predictable, I added, “And so what if I did?”
“Christ, Evie. Tell me you haven’t fallen for him.”
“So what if I have?”
“As long as I’ve known Duvall he’s never been in a serious relationship. He hops from one woman to another, including the women he works with.”
I was trembling now, furious with Michael for trying to sabotage my happiness, furious with myself for not hanging up on him.
“Remember the actress you replaced on the cruise ship gig?”
“Yes.”
“He’d used Pam as a shill a few times, and according to her, they’d been intimate. Jesus, last I heard, he was doing the brunette on Beckett’s team.”
