Eli mentally kicked himself. Instead of putting Sam at ease, he’d allowed his attraction for her to show. Now he’d first have to calm the wariness he saw in her eyes before he could even attempt to get her to trust him. He had to remember that she was his mark, not a potential lover. When she turned her back on him and set the wine on the counter, he took a backward step, putting a little more space between them. “Sure you don’t want to go out to eat? I hate for you to go to any trouble. And to be perfectly honest, I can tell you’re nervous about being alone with me. I can assure you that I won’t turn into a werewolf. That only happens to me where there’s a full moon.”
She faced him, eyeing him for several moments, and the crease of her brow gradually smoothed out. Her tense stance relaxed, although she hadn’t even cracked a smile at his joke. “This is fine, as long as it’s okay with you.”
“A home-cooked meal? Yeah, it’s great.” He rubbed his hands together and followed Sam a few steps to a postage-stamp-size kitchen. “What can I do to help with dinner?”
“What are werewolves good at?” Finally, she smiled.
“Good question. Tearing stuff apart? Trying to fool little girls in red cloaks?”
Sam rolled her eyes. “That was a regular old wolf, not a werewolf.”
“I failed fairytales in kindergarten.”
She took down two glasses from the overhead rack. “Opener is in the drawer next to the stove. Either bottle’s fine. I’ll be back in a sec. Then I’ll check out Aunt Emma’s fridge for ingredients.”
“An improvising chef. Impressive.”
A grin lifted one corner of her mouth. “You should probably wait to see what I come up with before you start handing me compliments.” With that, she strode from the room.
Eli uncorked the Chardonnay while he scanned the kitchen. Had Sam taken the time to hide the brooch? The kitchen would be a logical place. With a bunch of shelves packed with various containers, a refrigerator full of food, and drawers and cabinets that were probably crammed with all sorts of the junk people stashed away, it would take him hours to search the room. No, he wouldn’t be able to merely rummage through the cottage and find the sapphire. He’d have to gain her trust to get her to tell him where she was keeping it.
Sam returned with her hair a little drier, the curls already starting to poof. She still smelled just as wonderful as she had before—like patchouli and sweet orange, scents he was now familiar with after several hours of mixing essential oils for her aunt’s customers.
Picking up one of the wine glasses he’d filled, she took a sip. “Mm. That’s good.” She closed her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath then exhaled slowly. “Wine and a hot shower. It doesn’t get much better than that.”
“I know today was difficult for you. I’m sorry if I added any tension.”
She widened her eyes. “You? Seriously? I’d have never gotten through it without your help. It was challenging, though. A few of the customers took me for an incompetent idiot because I wasn’t able to find what they were looking for in a nanosecond. One of them actually said so to my face.” Her brow furrowed for a moment. She took another drink. “Doesn’t matter. Growing up with a mother who constantly hurled insults at me, I grew a thick skin.”
A weight constricted his chest. “That doesn’t make it right.”
Shrugging, she set her glass down and opened the fridge. “Gotta love Aunt Emma. Looks like she's still doing her shopping at a wholesale club and buying enough to feed an army.”
With Sam engrossed in figuring out their menu, this would be a great opportunity to snoop around. “Mind if I use your restroom?” he asked.
Without taking her head out of the refrigerator, she said, “Second door on the left.”
He wasted no time checking out the bathroom medicine cabinet. Nothing but the usual suspects there. With a glance toward the kitchen, he quietly padded to the room across the hall. The light and ceiling fan was on. The open suitcase on the bed and a tackle box dotted with paint on the floor told him it was Sam’s room. An uncomfortable heaviness pressed his abdomen.
He held perfectly still and listened. From the kitchen, pots clanged, and an electric mixer or blender turn on. With Sam occupied, he seized the moment to quickly search her suitcase but came up empty—except for his remorse over invading her privacy.
When the appliance noise stopped, he slipped out of the bedroom and made his way back to the kitchen. A painting on the wall in the hallway caught his eye—a little girl with auburn curls sat on a blanket on the beach, dwarfed by dunes and seagrass. There was something so sad and lonely about the child. Even the muted browns and moss greens scrub palms evoked such a gloomy feel. The initials in the bottom right corner were painted in white—SC. His eyes burned as he focused on the girl.
“Did you fall in?”
He jumped at Sam’s voice. Standing in the kitchen doorway holding her wine, she tucked her hair behind her ear, giving him a better view of her long, graceful neck and a silver hoop earring.
“Sorry.” He tipped his chin toward the painting. “This is your work, right?”
“Mm-hmm. Not my best, but one Aunt Emma fell in love with.”
“I have to agree with your aunt. It’s very good. Incredibly lonely, though.”
Her eyes hooded. “Guess I captured the mood of my childhood, at least the time when I was with my mother.”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. Damn it. He couldn’t let emotions get in the way of the job he had to do. The consequences of failure would be more than he could bear. He forced his thoughts to Lizzy, and what could happen to her if he didn’t do what Rodrigo wanted. He conjured an image of his sister, helpless in her wheelchair, unable to defend herself from those vicious thugs. Fear twisted in his gut, until he tamped down all thoughts of Lizzy, and met Sam’s stare. “Sounds like you’ve been cooking up a storm in there.”
She shrugged. “Easy stuff. I hope you like eggs. And tomatoes. We’re having a frittata and garlic-cheese bread.”
“Sounds delicious.” While she checked on their dinner, he refilled her wine. Alcohol might loosen her up enough to confide in him. Handing her the glass, he savored the aromas of basil, oregano, and cheese. “Smells great. What can I do to help?”
“Set the table.” She handed him napkins and forks, their fingers touching for a brief moment. Their gazes met and held, and sparks charged the atmosphere between them. Until Sam broke the connection and turned away.
Liking her wasn’t part of the plan. Feelings would only complicate his mission.
She plated the frittata and set out a basket of bread. Gesturing toward one of the simple wooden chairs, she sat opposite Eli. “Dig in.”
The food was as good as any he’d had at five-star hotels in Nevada or Atlantic City. After they finished eating, he insisted on doing the dishes. That done, he opened the pinot noir and brought their glasses to the living room sofa.
Sam hesitated. “I’m pretty tired.”
If she fell asleep while he was there, he could slip back to her room and hopefully find the jewel. Then he could get the hell out of there and not have to face her. Better that he should quickly rip off the bandage rather than prolong their time together. “Just one nightcap?”
A slow smile settled on her lips. “You drive a hard bargain.” She took the wine from him and drank. Her eyes were getting glassy. “I don’t indulge very often, and hardly ever this much, thanks to my mother’s addictive habits. This stuff is way better than I’ve had in a long time, though. Maybe ever.”
He’d been nursing his drink all night, which he doubted she’d noticed, although if he got buzzed, maybe his mission—and the fact that Sam was going to be destroyed by it—wouldn’t be so difficult to swallow. He settled in next to her and tapped his glass to hers. “So, tell me more about Samantha. You said your mom and your aunt took turns raising you. Was your father in the picture at all?”
The furrow of her brow reflected unhealed emotional scars. “Not much. Dad was a lot older than my mother. They were only married for about five minutes. Mom kicked him out while I was still in diapers. He called me three years ago, said he wanted to rebuild our relationship.”
At least someone else besides her aunt had cared about her.
“But then he died a couple years later.” She took a healthy swallow of wine. Ginger jumped onto the sofa and curled up on Sam’s lap as if the cat sensed Sam’s emotions.
He patted the cat’s head. “I’m sorry. Was he an artist like you?”
“He was a gemologist, traveled around the country going to gem and mineral shows.” Her eyes widened. “That’s what I got from him. I’ve been wandering my whole life. I’ve always been a bit of a rolling stone.” She smiled at her joke.
“Cute.” He couldn’t tear his gaze from her pretty face. Those cornflower eyes sparkled. When she smiled, it was like the sun peeking through the clouds after a spring rain. A heavy silence hung in the space between them. Until he reminded himself that he was there for a reason. “A gemologist. Sounds interesting.”
She rolled her eyes. “Never was to me. But maybe that’s because he seemed to care more about his amethyst cathedrals and his Dominican amber specimens than he did about me.”
Forcing himself to ignore the tug at his chest, he continued drawing her out. “I’m sure you were more important to him than gems. Did he ever give you any that you liked?”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and stared at him for several seconds. Did she suspect anything?
“He left me one in his will,” she finally answered. “A magic sapphire brooch. When someone holds it or wears it, they can’t tell a lie.” A sad smile settled on her lips. “From the man who repeatedly lied to me. I might not be able to spell irony, but I know it when I hear it.”
The confirmation that she had the jewel was more bitter than sweet. “Sounds intriguing, if you believe in that sort of stuff. Have you ever tested it?” Would this be so easy as merely asking her to show him the gemstone?
Her lips bunched to one side, but she didn’t say anything. After several beats, she brightened. “I almost forgot. I have something for you.” She set the cat aside and sprung off the sofa, disappearing from the room.
Eli scanned the living room in search of anything that might be a hiding spot for the sapphire. Unfortunately for him, Sam’s aunt was apparently one of those people with numerous collections. A dozen or more small pendulums hung from the curtain rods over both windows; several shelves held boxes of tarot cards and crystal balls on pedestals; baskets of all shapes and sizes were scattered all over the room. He’d never find something so small as a brooch in a hoarder’s paradise like her aunt’s house.
If he couldn’t get Sam to reveal where the sapphire was, he’d be forced to break in when she wasn’t there, and search everything. Another potential crime to add to his resume.
While she was gone, he filled her glass almost to the rim. That invisible weight he hadn’t been able to shake, kept pressing on him.
Sam came back carrying a black zippered portfolio and set it on the coffee table in front of him. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath before she sat down and opened the zipper. “I really hope you like this.” She pulled out a large sketchpad, opened it to the middle, and handed it to Eli. “It’s not a hundred percent finished yet, but I wanted you to see it.”
She’d made a drawing of him. The vise around his insides squeezed tighter. “This is incredible, Sam.” She’d captured him perfectly, almost like a photo, but with more depth and emotion. Her technique reminded him of the drawings and paintings at a museum exhibit Lizzy had taken him to when he was a kid. Contemporary realism, his sister had called the style.
Only his face was done in Sam’s drawing, but the way she’d drawn his eyes was startling. They appeared to look straight at him—or rather, through him, accusing him. His own guilt stared back at him. He swallowed hard and straightened. “I can’t believe you did this, and so fast. I love it.”
She waved off his praise. “Not everyone is okay with being drawn.” She took a sip of her wine. “Sometimes, I can’t help myself.” She flipped a few sheets forward to a pencil drawing of a middle-aged woman sitting on a park bench. “Like this lady I sketched when I was living in upstate New York. I was hoping she might buy it. But oh my God, she freaked out when she saw it. She started saying stuff about suing me and invading her privacy.”
And he knew why. Sam had a knack for capturing the essence of her subjects, which was a little disconcerting, especially for people with something to hide.
Closing the tablet, she sighed. “I grabbed my supplies and ran. I mean, I don’t have a pot, if you know what I mean. I sure as heck don’t need a lawsuit.”
But she did have something valuable. And he was going to steal from her. He took a sip of wine to wash away the bitter taste in the back of his throat.
“Makes you wonder what’s beneath the surface, you know?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
She closed her eyes for a second. “Like she probably had a reason for being so suspicious of me. Maybe someone had invaded her privacy before, and that was why she was so uptight about me drawing her.” A wry grin brightened her expression. “Or she was on the lam for…murdering her lover or stealing millions from the company she worked for. Everyone has a story, stuff they’re hiding.”
He forced a chuckle, yet her observation had struck a nerve with him. “You have quite an imagination.”
Her eyelids were droopy. She was getting tipsy. “I don’t know about that. You never can tell what people are really about. Most wear masks some of the time, others always do.”
His mouth was suddenly dry as dust. “You think everyone’s dishonest?”
She drained her glass. “Everyone I’ve dealt with.”
“What about your Aunt Emma? You said she took you in, helped raise you.”
“She did, and she also candy-coated a lot of things. Her lies were white, but they were still dishonest.” Her eyes went liquid. “My mother always denied she’d been doing drugs, and time after time, my father promised he was coming to see me for a birthday or Christmas. He never did. Only lies. All the guys I’ve dated either cheated or lied or left me when they promised to hang around. I guess that’s just what people do.”
He wanted to deny it, tell her that there were good people in the world, but he’d rarely encountered any. And he was destined to earn a spot on her list of people who’d deceived her. God, he hated himself for it.
“Want some more wine?” Sam stood up, wobbling as she did. “Whew.”
Eli reached for her arm to steady her, but before he could get her, she practically collapsed, half on the cushion, half on him.
She stayed there for a moment until a rosy flush crawled up her neck and face. She shifted off of him. “Whoops. Sorry about that.”
He wasn’t. What was the matter with him? She was the very last woman in the world he should be attracted to. Another reason to disappear from her life as soon as he got the brooch.
Instead of standing, she leaned against his shoulder. “You smell good.”
Summoning all his restraint, he started to move away. Until Sam hooked her hand around his neck and pulled him closer. Their eyes were an inch apart.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He blocked everything out of his mind. There was no mission, no loan shark, no threats. Only the fascinating woman he was starting to like way more than he had a right to.
Then her lips were on his. He circled his arms around her waist and drew her against him. She tasted of good wine and innocence. And he wanted more. He cupped her face, caressing her satiny skin, running his thumb over the pale freckles on her cheek, deepening the kiss.
Sam broke contact and her lips—still swollen and red from their kiss—moved as if she was trying to formulate words.
He didn’t want to hear the reasons why they shouldn’t; they’d just met, hardly knew each other. Hell, he had way more cause to stop than Sam did, but he yearned for more. He pressed his lips to hers for another taste and drank in her sweetness.
Her pleasured moan assured him they were on the same page. She climbed onto his lap, facing him. If they didn’t stop, he wouldn’t be able to stand up. And he couldn’t let this go too far. He kissed the tip of her nose, her forehead, then eased her off of him.
Her puzzled expression cut through him. As much as he desired her, making love to her now would make him the worst kind of jerk. “We shouldn’t.”
The pulse at her temples fluttered. “I thought…”
Gathering her hands in his, he kissed her fingers. “You thought right, believe me. But…I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”
The excuse didn’t do much to ease the disappointment in her expression. He’d wounded her already-fragile ego. Another transgression against her. The list was growing.
Unless… Maybe he could convince Rodrigo to give him a different assignment, some other task to pay back his debt. There had to be something else Diaz wanted. Or he could try to up the limit on his credit card and take a cash advance to pay part of his gambling debt. His Visa was maxed out from paying the private duty nurse after Lizzy had fallen several months ago. It was already going to take him years to get out of debt, so what did it matter if he added more? He’d do anything to get out of hurting Sam.
He kissed her cheek.
Her lips flattened to a thin line. “That feels like goodbye.”
The disillusionment in her eyes ripped through him. “No, Sam, not at all. How about I come by the shop tomorrow? I can help you with the customers. As soon as I’m finished with my meeting.”
She brightened. “That’d be great.”
“I love the drawing.”
Glancing toward her sketchpad, she shrugged one shoulder. “It’ll be better when I’m done with it.”
“I can’t wait to see it.” Rather than torture himself anymore, he got up. “I should be going.”
“Yeah, I guess you should. See you tomorrow?”
“Definitely.” He headed out, and as soon as he started his car, he checked the time. Didn’t matter that it was past eleven. Rodrigo’s evening exploits were probably just beginning, although Eli couldn’t care less if he woke him up. He called the contact number that he’d been given on the flash drive.
Diaz’s voicemail picked up after several rings.
A light went on in one of Sam’s windows. Her pretty blue eyes flashed in his mind, her soft lips and the earthy scent of her skin. He cleared his throat and backed out of the parking spot. “Mr. Diaz, this is Eli Kincaid. I’d like a different…assignment. This one isn’t going to work out. I’m sure we can come to an agreement about what I can do for you. Call me.” He hung up as he pulled onto the main road just outside the subdivision. For good measure, he fished out his lucky poker chip and closed it in his fist. “Please let this work,” he murmured.
Minutes later he checked into the Palmetto Motel, a dive a few miles outside of town. The dingy room was all he’d expected a thirty-dollar-a-night place would be—yellowed paint, 1960-style lamps and a bed that appeared to have seen more action than Ron Jeremy and John Holmes combined. Didn’t matter. He had more important things on his mind.
After a long shower with lousy water pressure, he pulled off the threadbare bedspread and sat on the bed. His cell signaled a message. He called his voicemail and listened. “That’s a good one, Kincaid,” Rodrigo said in the message. “You’re a funny guy. Unfortunately for you, this isn’t the labor pool. You don’t get to choose another job. So you’d better find what we discussed, or my associates will be paying a visit to your sister. Sven likes Atlanta. And Manny’s real handy with a paper cutter, if you catch my drift.”
“Shit!” Eli threw the phone across the bed, then paced the stained carpet. There had to be a solution. Nothing came to him, so after several minutes, he turned on his laptop and logged into his bank account. He found a phone number to call for inquiring about raising his credit limit. He’d try that in the morning. If he could give Rodrigo half or even a third of what he owed him, he prayed the old shark would cut him a break and give him more time to pay the rest. If he could secure a cash advance, maybe he could work on Sam, and talk her into selling the brooch to him. Then he’d give Rodrigo what he wanted, and Lizzy would remain safe.
One thing he knew for sure—he already cared about Sam, and he couldn’t betray her.