Two diamonds lay on the red-and-cream toile de Jouy counterpane. The round brilliant Pink had nabbed from the auction, and the asscher diamond they had left in London with Lester. The diamond Agent Arlowe had supposedly secured for the CIA.
“What’s going on?”
Becca eased a hand over her aching right shoulder. “Beats me.”
How had the asscher stone followed them to Paris? Had Pink known Lester? Why would he give it to her knowing it was evidence that belonged to Scotland Yard?
Had Agent Arlowe gotten to him too late? Of course. But why hadn’t she contacted Zeek about not finding the diamond?
Dane said, “Is that—”
“It’s the stone Scotland Yard nabbed in London.”
“The one you gave to your very trustworthy friend, Lester Price?”
Becca rubbed her palms up her arms, chasing a chill. “I don’t know what the hell is going on. If Pink took that diamond from Lester it means she’s been on our tail since London. Or we’ve been following her.”
“Unless another contact took the diamond from Lester and handed it over to Pink?”
“Well, Zeek…”
“Your CIA handler?”
“You make me sound like a monkey on a leash.”
He smirked, but the lack of comment raised her ire.
“We sent an agent to pick up the stone.”
“Need to know, eh?”
Sucking in her lower lip, Becca winced. She’d been playing the need-to-know card, too. And getting caught felt so wrong.
Had she handed the diamond over to the enemy? No. Lester had to have been robbed.
Are you going to be that naive?
Lester could have been working against her. But Arlowe’s silence troubled her the most. The CIA had dropped the ball.
“All that matters is it’s back in our hands,” Dane stated.
“Did you say ‘our’? As in, we’re sharing this one?”
“Slip of the tongue, love.”
Of course.
Dane blasted out a tremendous sigh and scrubbed the back of his neck with a palm. “So we’ve got both stones.”
“Looks like our mission here is complete. Evidence in hand.” Becca wandered to the serving tray and popped a sliver of cracker into her mouth. “Except there’s still Dimitri.”
Reminded of her search, she returned to the laptop.
“I thought you were charged to get the stone? Just that.”
“You don’t want to know who that bastard was in verte?”
“I’ll leave it to headquarters.”
“Well, I don’t like to rely on others if I can do it myself.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You were never going to call for an arrest, were you?”
“I did.”
“Didn’t.”
“Doesn’t matter now.”
“It should.”
“Love, you’re stepping in over your head. Germologists don’t—”
“Stop!” She held up a hand to silence him. Closing her eyes, Becca silently counted to five and then let out a breath. He just didn’t get it.
Ignoring Dane’s heavy and troubling presence, she tapped out the URL for the New York Social Diary. It listed a daily diary of happenings, parties and galas, along with pictures of the lavish events. “The List” featured a veritable gallery of who’s who. She skipped that, knowing it was only residents, and instead paged through the events she had been to of late. Pictures of celebrities and heiresses and foreign billionaires scrolled before her.
“I think you love that computer more than me.”
She smirked. “Love is not a part of this equation.”
“Right.” He slouched in his favorite chair. “I suspect you haven’t a clue what love is.”
“I do, too. Asshole.”
“Such talk is not becoming of a lady.”
“So now I’m a lady?”
“Well. Not after that lap dance you gave the Turk.”
“I—”
“I was stunned that you, a woman who has made it crystal clear she doesn’t like to be touched, descended to such—”
“Why do you insist on calling him Turkish?”
“You’re the one who first said it. You’re also changing the subject.”
“Yes, and for good reason. We both talked to him. He spoke Russian, idiot.”
“Oh, idiot. Much better than arsehole.”
Becca caught her forehead in a palm.
It was well past midnight. She needed to sleep. This day might be the longest in her life. It had started with her boarding a plane to London, and now here she sat in Paris, exchanging barbs with a strange man who wasn’t so much strange as…frustrating. In ways that challenged her every need for truth and human contact.
“Wait. A. Minute.”
The photo that unscrolled before her featured one Dimitri, aka Aubergine Suit, with his arms wrapped around two young socialites. The caption below the photo read: Sally Devereaux, Dimitri Boratav, Turkish prince, and Molly von Hutchins enjoy the festivities.
She leaned back to allow Dane to look over her shoulder at the screen.
“That’s him,” he said. “Turkish prince?”
“This picture is one of dozens taken at a cocktail reception given by the American Turkish Society held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I knew I’d seen him somewhere.”
“Copy that and I’ll forward it to headquarters.”
“Right. Like you called for an arrest? I’ll do you one better and send it on to the CIA.”
“Love.”
“I’m not your love, and this is not your computer, so back off and just chill.”
She forwarded the picture to Zeek and Alan. Suspicions running the gamut, Becca hoped Zeek would get back to her soon. She had questions that needed answers.
Aware when Dane stalked off and stretched out on the bed, Becca held back a smile. While he seemed capable enough, he didn’t make a lot of contact with his own people. Which didn’t score him any points on the trustworthy scale.
The click of diamond against diamond punctuated Becca’s keystrokes as she signed off.
“I’m going to shower.” She stood and headed toward the bathroom.
“Thought you were hydrophobic?”
“Please. The shower?”
Dane held up a diamond to each of his eyes. “Go for it.”
Becca wondered if she could trust the man while she bathed. Not for a New York minute. “Toss me those, will you?”
“What, these lovely bits?”
She curled her fingers in a “gimmee” gesture.
Dane jumped from the bed and approached, the diamonds clicking in one palm. “You don’t trust me?”
“You know I don’t.”
“Fair enough. I’ll give you this one.” He offered the asscher, but any data that may have been encoded on the crown had been erased.
“I want the other.” She snatched for it, but he retracted.
“Ah, ah. For a price.”
Becca blustered. If he was going to ask for another kiss…“Look, Dane—”
“I want the truth. A confession.”
Frankly, a kiss would have been easier.
“Like what?”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“What?”
“Dancing with Dimitri. His hands all over you.” The distance between them lessened. Dane’s breath grazed her neck and chin. “And me standing there in the shadows, watching you play the bad girl.”
She moved in and slipped her tongue across her lips, then slid her fingers over the diamonds. “Every bloody moment.”
Grasping the brilliant, she dodged into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. Listening, she waited. Dane rapped on the door once, then walked away.
She set the diamond on a plush white hand towel. The stained glass window, in turquoise and red art deco curves, scattered colored beams of moonlight across the shower stall.
Becca quickly shed the clingy Ungaro gown and stepped beneath the water. It was merely a stream; the water pressure in most European hotels stunk. But the lavender soap the hotel provided seeped into her pores and relaxed her.
As far as her superiors were concerned, the mission had been a success. She’d obtained both diamonds and figured out who wanted them. Or had she?
The fact that Dimitri Whoever-He-Was roamed free bothered her. Why had he wanted the diamonds? Obviously for whatever was inside. Shouldn’t that cause both the CIA and MI-6 more concern than they were showing?
Alan had yet to report on the code she had sent to him, and Zeek hadn’t given her further info on Amandus Magnusson or Pink. It was as if a puzzle lay scattered upon the table. She had all the pieces and now just needed to assemble them.
She ran a soapy hand over her shoulder, massaging her sore muscles. No Parisian shower was going to beat away the pulsing pain of bruised flesh.
Did you enjoy it?
That Dane had even asked proved he was more bothered by her display than she had been. Good. The Brit needed to have his world rocked.
Turning off the water, Becca stepped out and wrapped a towel around her torso. She missed having warm towels at the ready, and Jake nearby with a chocolate martini in hand after a long day.
Staring at her steam-fogged reflection, Becca grimaced at how tired she appeared. Jet lag aside, she felt as hellish as she looked. Inspecting her shoulder, she traced a thin purple line from her armpit to the top of her shoulder. And now she noticed a huge purple bruise on her left thigh. Yikes, when had that happened?
“You so need a massage,” she said to her reflection. And not the strenuous Thai massage she indulged in every Wednesday morning, which was more like an assisted yoga session. Right now she needed gentle fingers and soft music. Release.
A Zen session would be perfect. Zen never wasted words when his mouth could be put to better use. Hell, she needed to have sex and come wildly. That usually settled her anxieties and made her sleep like a baby.
An angry knock sounded repeatedly on the bathroom door.
“What?” she muttered, so tired she didn’t even have the energy to muster annoyance for Mr. Need-to-Know. Likely, because she’d come to realize she was engaged in the same game.
Dane’s voice seeped through the wood door. “Are you going to be in the loo all night?”
“Not all night.” But if it bothered him, she’d find something to do to waste more time.
“Could I get my toothbrush out?”
She glanced to the small leather toiletry bag at the end of the white marble counter.
“I can’t sleep until I’ve brushed my teeth and scrubbed my face, love.”
“Love,” she murmured to her reflection. “He wishes.”
She knew it was a common pet name used by the Brits, but the word annoyed her. There was no love between the two of them. Although she did sense a bit of twisted, lustful curiosity on both their parts.
“What are you doing in there? Maybe I shouldn’t be listening.…”
Clad in only a towel, Becca snatched the diamond, opened the door and slid past Dane. “Knock yourself out.”
The velvet pouch lay on the bed. She grabbed it, put her stone in with the other, then stashed it in her laptop bag. Then Becca strode to the serving tray and picked over the food. Half a dry cracker with a bit of cream cheese spread stuck to the white paper liner. Almost appealing. But the half bottle of white wine did appeal. Alsace Grand Cru, 2004. Tilting it back, she drank a healthy swallow.
The bathroom door stood open, and Becca noticed for the first time that Dane had removed his shirt. Wearing just the tuxedo pants, he bent before the sink, scrubbing his hands under the faucet.
It might have been the exhaustion, it may have been the wine, but Becca wasn’t about to analyze her next move.
Wine bottle in hand, she strolled into the bathroom and pushed up to sit on the double-wide, two-sinked vanity next to Dane. Her pot of Cié de Peau Beauté moisturizer sat to her right. Setting the wine down, she picked up the cream and screwed off the cap. The scent of almonds mingled with the lavender steam.
Dane rinsed his hands. “Almost finished. Though I’m thinking I should shower again. God knows what I rubbed in when you shoved me against the building. My trousers are soaked. Smells like petrol.”
“No hurry.” She scooped up a wodge of cream and rubbed it over her elbow. The moisturizer came with a very small spoon for doling out slowly. Becca always tossed the thing. “Do you want me to get out?”
That question sparked the most delightful look from Dane.
“Suit yourself. That stuff smells good,” he said around the washcloth he scrubbed over his face. Why were men so rough with themselves? “You put that cream all over?”
“Sounds like a need-to-know question to me.”
He patted his neck with the towel. “Smells expensive.”
“Four hundred dollars for six ounces.”
“Christ. I could make a bloody car payment with that.”
“That little toy you drive cost that much? It looks like something a kid would dump out of a cereal box in the morning.”
He flicked off the water and tossed the wet hand towel to the floor.
“Slob,” Becca muttered.
“Snob,” Dane countered. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the half wall at one end of the bathtub. Muscles in his biceps flexed sinuously with his movement. The man worked out. And Becca didn’t mind staring.
Another wodge of cream. She started down her other arm. “Tell me about Dimitri.”
“Love—”
“Seemed for a moment there in the club you knew he wasn’t Turkish.”
“Like you said, we both heard him speak.”
“Yeah, but you also knew his name.”
“Lipreading.”
He did have a knack for keeping his story straight.
Skating her eyes over his flesh, Becca felt a flush of warmth within. The man was a surprise underneath the swank attire. Firm muscles, even the beginnings of a six-pack. He hadn’t struck her as the sort who would have the discipline to work out.
“So you like it when people watch, eh?”
“I was playing a role, Agent Dane.”
“A role you assumed with ease. We call people like you honey traps in the trade.”
“As they say, you can lure more flies…” Torn between a ridiculous attraction and the need to remain professional, she felt the moral side of her begging to be obeyed. “Despite your digs, I am experienced in the field. You, on the other hand, were positively mortified.”
“For you, love, for you.”
“Give me a break. If the situation were different I think you would have liked to join in.”
“No threesomes for me. Christ, the man touched my arse.”
She smoothed cream across her forearm and thought for a moment. For all the mental turmoil he’d caused her today…“So what if it had been just the two of us?”
Dane’s posture changed. Every part of him curved toward her. “You propositioning me?”
“Maybe.”
“Better than a proper no.”
Becca laughed, loving his easy surrender to her flirtation. She was a little tipsy from the few sips of Grand Cru, added to the absinthe fumes she’d inhaled from Dimitri’s kiss.
“So, did you get a buzz from that hit of absinthe you took at the club? Or were you faking?”
“I’ll never tell.”
Ah yes, need-to-know. And what she wouldn’t pay for a peek into all his secrets.
Becca closed her eyes and leaned back against the mirrored wall above the vanity.
“All right, let’s see if I can ask something you will answer…. Have you ever been married?”
“Never.”
“Serious girlfriends?”
“Two. One in school, the other a few years ago. Next question?”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
Six years her senior. Not an enormous age difference. He’d been around a few times, had seen the world.
“What about you?” he asked. “Dare I ask a woman her age?”
“Twenty-six. But I act older, yes?”
“But you look younger.”
“One point for you on the knowing-what-to-say scale. So, why’d you transfer from Scotland Yard to MI-6?”
“I see Lester has been filling your ears.” He shrugged. “The quick down-and-dirty? My father was MI-5. He was killed in the line of duty. I thought I could do more good in Six because of their further reach, you know?”
“Do you know the person who killed your father?”
“I do.” He inhaled heavily and shook his head. “It’s not something I feel comfortable talking about.” A catch in his voice stopped him for a second. “Just know I’m not going to do anything rash. My job comes first, before all.
“Anyway, now it’s my turn. How did you get into the gemology business? Shouldn’t an heiress spend her days with her Manolos up in the manicurist’s chair and her servants asking her which diamonds she wants to wear with her outfit?”
Becca gave a loose shrug. She was feeling the wine.
“If not the life of leisure,” Dane pressed, “then I’d think you’d be playing the circuit alongside Daddy.”
“I didn’t feel the music as my father does. You know, in your bones, like the trance music at verte. I can play anything, but the emotion isn’t there, and I didn’t know how to make it happen.”
“You’re kind of weak on the whole emotion thing.”
“Whatever.” She slid off the vanity and grabbed the wine bottle.
“You see?”
Yes, she did see, but she wasn’t about to acknowledge the truth he’d discovered. Becca could hardly waste her time caring what others thought of the choices she made in life. Perfection demanded one curb emotion. It was as simple as that.
“You know what I’ve figured about you?”
“Hmm?”
“You’ve never dated outside your social set.”
“Why should I?”
“So being with me…well, it’s like slumming, isn’t it?”
“What makes you think I would even consider being with you?”
“Oh, that’s harsh.” He crossed his arms.
It was harsh. She knew it, and yet she didn’t feel it. It was a conditioned response.
But a surprising reaction followed.
Becca leaned forward, drawing Dane to her by his shoulders, then kissed him. At first he resisted—in anger or surprise? But quickly his hands eased around her shoulders and over the plush towel to land on her bottom. Stepping closer, he insinuated himself against her body.
He kissed like a dream. Not too soft or tentative. Not demanding or trying-to-prove-himself manly. Just right. Secrets be damned, this man touched her darkest desires with ease. Whatever he needed to know about her could be had.
“This is insane,” he muttered against her open mouth. “You don’t want this. You’re tipsy.”
When he started to draw away, Becca pressed the heels of her palms to the counter behind her and leaned back.
Was he right? Did the wine make her react?
While part of her knew that must be the case, an even bigger part said, You want this. You need this! Don’t let him talk you out of it.
He stepped backward. “I think I need a cold shower.”
“You don’t like kissing me?”
“Kissing you is brilliant, beyond brilliant. But that’s the problem. I’m not going to take advantage of you just to get my rocks—hard as they are—off.”
“I’m not drunk, Dane.” She caught the towel wrapped around her as it began to part beneath her arm. The action exposed her right leg and thigh all the way up to her stomach.
“You’re just trying to fulfill a need, is that right?”
“Maybe. Why are you backing away? I would have expected you to jump right in. Don’t I attract you? Am I the wrong social class for you?”
“Becca.” His back hit the doorjamb.
She stood up and moved closer until she was only inches from him. “You’re sending me mixed signals, Dane. You know what that’s called in musical terms?”
“Should I care?”
“Playing a countermelody.”
“Yeah? Well, there’s no one to witness this little tango. One of us could end up getting burned.”
Becca tugged her towel tighter. She wanted to fling it away and stride naked across the room. Straddle Dane and have sex with him. But he’d made his opinion clear. He wasn’t interested.
Grabbing the cream from the counter, she strode past him and heard him slam the bathroom door shut. Setting the pot of cream on the desk, she plunked down on her bed in a huff.
The shower started. Becca stared up at the ceiling. Stretching, she reached for the lamp and dimmed it.
Dane was right. This—whatever it was—was wrong.
But she was…well, horny, damn it. She was wet, and not because she’d just taken a shower. She ached for satisfaction.
Slipping her hand over her hip, she nudged up the towel and eased her fingers into the heat Dane had created. Closing her eyes, she exhaled. She was very efficient at getting herself off. He’d never know. The shower would disguise any whimpers that should escape.
Oh yes, no turning back now. Images of a solid, hard man visited her thoughts. Just to imagine his ripped abs glancing over her nipples, and that kiss…
Becca arched her back. She was close to coming. Part of her brain protested. No, this was wrong. He was in the next room! The other half said, So what!
And she released, spilling out the day’s tension. Giggles bubbled out. Anxiety swept away on waves of satisfaction.
Breathing heavily, and sighing, Becca suddenly realized the shower had stopped.
The bathroom door was open.
Dane stood in the doorway, towel around his hips, and his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.