Portrait of a Girl Page 11

  “You haven’t told me to stop yet,” he murmured, nibbling at her neck.

  “No, I haven’t.” She licked his shoulder, sending a jolt to his balls. “And I won’t.”

  Smiling, he skimmed his hand over her taut belly. “Then I think we should move to the bedroom.”

  Without a word, she pulled her sweater over her head, shaking her hair until it swept low over her breasts. “An excellent idea.” Sliding across his lap, she stood next to the couch, holding out her hand. He leaped to his feet, took her outstretched hand, and led her from the room.

  Chapter Twelve

  Heather stood on the threshold of his bedroom, not sure how she got to this place. And not really caring. She didn’t normally act recklessly when it came to sex, but she’d been drawn to him ever since they met.

  All her doubts evaporated. She couldn’t be wrong to trust him. Not when it felt this right.

  She walked toward the bed and touched the sheet. Thick cool cotton, soft and welcoming. Turning slightly, she watched Tony as he moved closer, his shirt hanging open, jeans low on his hips, an eye-catching bulge behind the button fly. He approached slowly, giving her plenty of time to change her mind. But she wasn’t going to.

  Climbing onto the bed, she fell back against the thick feather pillows, using her feet to push the blankets farther down the bed and out of the way. Through slit eyes, she watched Tony close the door and turn off one of the lights, leaving the room in a soft golden glow.

  He shrugged off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Shadows danced over his muscles, highlighting places she wanted to explore. He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down to his knees, then walked out of them. Waist, hips, and thighs formed a straight line.

  Perfection.

  Moving to the bed, he lay down next to her, with his head propped up on his hand. She rolled over, mirroring his pose.

  She met his gaze, and they both smiled. Her grin widened further when she touched his chest and his entire body jerked.

  She let her gaze travel over his gorgeous body, all lean muscle and smooth skin, like a statue of pliable marble. A small patch of dark hair centered on his chest trailed in a fine line down to his belly button, and lower. He wore boxer briefs, her favorite style of men’s undies. Snug in all the right places. Especially snug right now given the impressive erection pushing against the fabric.

  “Just so you know, I don’t do this very often.” She let her hand wander lower, reveling in the hard muscles of his belly. She fingered his navel and saw his cock jerk in response.

  “Lie half naked in bed?” He covered her hand with his and pushed it lower until she cupped his bulge.

  She sucked in a breath, his cock hot and heavy in her hand. She cleared her throat before speaking, aware of the quaver in her voice. “No, I quite often sleep in the nude, in the summer. But I rarely have company.”

  “Good to know. I haven’t had an overnight guest in quite a while either.” He slid his hand up her arm and along to her breast, feathering his fingers over her nipple.

  She closed her eyes, quite sure they were crossed with lust. Leaning forward into his embrace, she sighed when he continued his play. She grew bolder and slipped her hand into his briefs. Wrapping her hand around his hard shaft, she stroked the velvet skin. He moaned in appreciation and surged toward her, forcing her to her back, covering her with his body.

  “I’m not sure how patient I can be,” he said, sounding pained at the admission.

  “I’m not sure I want you to be patient.” She spread her legs, letting him settle his weight against her crotch, needing the pressure and friction.

  He groaned and cursed under his breath. Rising up on his knees, he worked quickly and soon had them both naked. He stayed back on his heels, looking at her body, all of it.

  She was tempted to cover herself. Usually she did this sort of thing in the dark, with her eyes closed. Having a man stare at her with such blatant hunger filled her with an answering desire. And a need to satisfy them both. She suspected one touch from him would drive her over the edge.

  Tony grasped her ankles and placed them on his shoulders, running his hands over her calves, her knees, her thighs. He parted her nether lips and stroked her moist folds, sending electricity throughout her body. She angled her hips to encourage him and wasn’t disappointed. He found her swollen nub and gave it plenty of attention. The tension built; the hollow ache begged for filling.

  “Please, Tony. I need you now.” She panted, straining toward a deeper touch.

  He leaned across her to rummage in his bedside table for a condom, quickly sheathed himself, and plunged inside her in one smooth motion.

  Gasping with relief, she let him fill her, meeting him stroke for stroke. Faster and faster, angling her hips to take him deeper and deeper. She grabbed at his shoulders, wrapped her legs around his waist and held on, the tension unbearable, every muscle clenched, reaching for release.

  “Open your eyes, sweetheart.” He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin. “Let me see you.”

  She peeked at him, his face a few inches from hers, his eyes black with passion. He smiled and held himself still, his arms quivering with restraint. “What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me what you want.”

  She pulled him closer and kissed him, savoring his taste, exploring his mouth with hers. Trailing the kiss along his jaw, she whispered, “I want everything you can give me.” If this was only one night of passion, she’d be satisfied.

  Maybe she could be convinced of that, given enough time. Skin to skin, belly to belly, she knew in her heart one night would never be enough.

  Moving again, slow and deep, she met his every thrust, mimicking the action with her tongue in his mouth. Within seconds her inner muscles contracted, and she broke the kiss, crying out her release, waves of pleasure radiating to every nerve in her body. Another powerful thrust and he pulsed deep inside her. Then he collapsed, rolling to the side, pulling her with him.

  Ever so slowly her breathing returned to a normal rate, and she snuggled closer to his heat, resting her head on his shoulder and stroking his smooth back.

  “Wow,” she said, nuzzling his neck. What she really wanted to say was holy crap, Batman, I’ve never come like that before.

  No sense giving the guy a swelled head. Let him think he could do better. Though she doubted she’d survive anything better. “Wow.”

  He chuckled, and his chest shook under her cheek. He kissed the top of her head, pulled the comforter over them both, and turned off the light.

  “We should get some sleep. I’ll help you with your place tomorrow before work.”

  “I’m at work by five.”

  He groaned. “Damn, seriously?”

  “I’m used to it. The city is interesting when the streets are empty. No cars, no noise.”

  “I’ll go with you while you get clean clothes.” He yawned. “You can shower here.”

  She smiled and relaxed against him, wrapping her arm around his waist. “It’s a deal.”

  “The good light for photos will be gone by noon, so I can start clearing up the worst of the mess while you’re at work.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I figure I’ll just sweep everything into a garbage bag.”

  “Let me help, please. Better than you coming home to a disaster.”

  Enough light filtered in so she could see that his eyes were closed, a smile on his lips. Heavens, he was attractive. And darned nice. Almost too good to be true.

  “I must have done something awfully good to deserve this.” She traced the line of his brow and felt the bump of the tiny scar she’d noticed earlier.

  One of his eyes opened. “Having your house trashed?”

  She grinned. “No, meeting you.”

  He tucked her head under his chin and pulled her closer. “The universe is rewarding us both.”

  A little thrill went through her at his words.

  Within minutes his breathing had settled to the even pace of sleep.
Even if the thought of waking up in his bed, with all the attendant morning-after awkwardness, worried her, she was too comfortable, too warm, and too safe. She would deal with the morning in the morning.

  …

  The sound of a shower and discordant whistling slowly penetrated the fog of sleep, and she sat up with a start. The bedside clock glowed four fifty in large scarlet numbers, as if to accuse her of misbehaving. She scrambled out of bed. Damn, she was going to be late. Looking around wildly, she spotted her clothes folded neatly on the chair in the corner. She dressed in record time and headed for the door.

  Dang, she couldn’t just leave. Not without saying good-bye. But no way in hell would she go near the bathroom and risk getting another look at that perfect body. She didn’t have time to get distracted.

  She’d leave a note promising to call as soon as she got to work.

  Cripes, she’d miss the bus if she didn’t hurry. It would be another twenty minutes until the next one. Then she’d be too late to have the bread ready by the seven-thirty opening. What a disaster.

  Except she’d never felt so wonderful in all her life.

  Or—she could wait and let Tony drive.

  No, she needed time to process what had happened. Better to do that away from the guy who’d made it happen.

  The kitchen counter was bare. Not so much as an old receipt littered the surface. What kind of person didn’t have a used envelope lying around?

  The kind of strange bedfellow she’d just slept with. Oh man, she wanted to stay. Climb in the shower with him and get dirty.

  Stay on task.

  There’d be time later for more hanky-panky. She’d make sure.

  The office also came up empty. The top of the table was clear, not even a sticky note in sight.

  How could the man be so freaking neat? Did this all go with his cop—military—whatever background?

  He would’ve learned to be neat in a prison cell, too.

  She knew nothing about the guy, yet she’d just spent the night with him. Well, nothing personal. But he was clearly one of the good guys, one who hadn’t hesitated to help her out on numerous occasions.

  She found a pen in a cracked “I Heart NY” mug and continued to search for something to write on.

  The shower stopped, although the whistling continued. Her time had run out. Blowing out a breath, she opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet.

  “I’m not snooping.” She reached for a notepad lying inside.

  A thick folder underneath caught her eye. Her full name, along with her birth date and her Social Security number, were written on the tab. She plunked into the leather desk chair, her legs suddenly boneless. “What the heck?”

  The folder was the usual manila, except for one glaring difference—the large official-looking crest centered on the cover. She yanked at it but it was stuck on something in the drawer. She’d just deciphered the word “Investigations” when she heard the bathroom door squeak open. She abandoned her attempts to liberate the folder, jumped from the chair, and sped down the hall. The back door jammed and she kicked it, needing to escape.

  Who was Tony, really? And why was he here? And why the heck was he spying on her?

  She hopped down the steps, not stopping at the sound of his voice.

  Panic squeezed her chest, making her pant. Even though she wanted to hurry, her legs felt like they were stuck in mud.

  She didn’t stop running until she reached her own back door. One push and it swung open. In the hazy morning light the mess looked even worse. The feeling of violation washed over her again. She stepped into the kitchen only far enough to reach her purse, then backed out and jogged down the hill, cutting through the woods to avoid the open driveway. She thanked the gods of mass transit that a bus pulled into the stop just as she got there. She climbed on board and huddled in a seat directly behind the driver.

  Should she go to the bakery? No, he’d look for her there. Even if he didn’t know that she knew he was a lying rat, he’d be looking for her.

  Think, think.

  …

  Tony cursed while hopping around on one foot, struggling to pull a sock on, still damp from the shower. A quick search of the house and all he came up with were a hungry cat and a sulking dog, evicted from her bed. Giving a cursory glance in the office, he spotted the open file cabinet drawer and his heart nearly stopped. Hell.

  He fed the cat, told Delilah to grow a pair, and cursed his stupidity. He’d blown his cover for a roll in the sack.

  A mind-blowing, ball-tingling, wonderful roll in the sack. One he wanted to repeat. Many times.

  He was such an idiot. The number one rule in this game was don’t let your emotions get involved. He’d broken that rule beyond repair.

  Jamming his feet into his boots, he grabbed his jacket, keys, and the file on Heather, and slammed out the front door. He looked around the yard. No Heather.

  Cursing louder, he hopped into his car and roared down the drive, skidding into a snowbank as he stopped. He pounded on her door, and when there was no answer, ran around to the back.

  The sight of the door gaping open stopped the blood in his veins. Goddammit, Jeffers may have been waiting for her to return. Pulling his gun from the holster under his arm, he sidled to the door, using the reflection from a glass-fronted cabinet to see inside. When nothing moved for several seconds, he pushed the door hard, letting it bang against the wall. Every nerve attuned to the slightest sound, he stepped into the room, checking corners, identifying shadows.

  “Heather,” he called, holding his breath to listen. Nothing.

  Five minutes later he’d assured himself she wasn’t in the house. So where the hell was she? He rummaged through her desk but could find no clues. More convinced than ever of her innocence, and not only because they’d slept together, he climbed back into his car and tried to put himself in her position. No family to run to. The bakery was too obvious. Wait—he searched through the folder until he found the name he was looking for. Henry Elliot, her godfather, retired art expert.

  He’d tailed her to Elliot’s house a few days earlier, watched her have a cozy lunch with the old guy, and leave, not looking very happy. Perhaps she’d learned more details about her thieving dad.

  Putting the car in gear, he stepped on the gas, hoping he could come up with a plausible excuse for collecting info on her. God knew he’d be screwed if she’d opened the folder and seen the pictures he’d taken.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jeffers waited in his posh hotel room, frustrated that his gut was too painful for him to pace, as was his custom. He poured another shot of whiskey, eased back in the chair, and closed his eyes. The doctor’s prediction might have been on the generous side. At this rate he’d be dead in one month, not six.

  The phone call earlier added to his anxiety. The caller had not been pleased to be denied the item he had bought and paid handsomely for. Jeffers cursed his own impatience and arrogance. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten frustrated when others did not obey him and fall into line. Now the rich, powerful, and dangerous man was demanding delivery of the blasted Fragonard, and Jeffers didn’t have it to give. He knew what happened to people who displeased M. Laroux.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Nicholas said in a low voice, interrupting his morbid thoughts.

  “What do you want?”

  “I just got a call from Maxim. He’s on his way back. Shall I order your breakfast?”

  Jeffers opened his eyes and glared at the young man. “No, I don’t want any fucking breakfast. Get out of my sight. Bring Maxim to me as soon as he gets here. Not a second later. Save your disgusting kissing for after dark, maudit pervers.”

  Nicholas blushed scarlet, bowed slightly and left the room, closing the door with a little more force than necessary. Jeffers couldn’t help but admire his spunk, but he’d pay for it later.

  Within a few minutes the two young men entered the room and stood waiting. Jeffers looked from one to the other. Sweat gleamed on M
axim’s face despite the frigid temperature outside. Jeffers slowly got to his feet, leaning on his ebony cane more heavily than usual, and walked toward the men. Maxim was definitely scared, shaking slightly, exchanging glances with his lover. Jeffers would ordinarily enjoy their discomfort, and would purposely prolong the suspense. But he’d run out of time.

  “Well? Where is she?” he barked, taking another sip of the aged whiskey, letting the warmth slide down his throat.

  Maxim looked at the floor. “I searched the small house near the gate, sir. I couldn’t find her.”

  The cane shot out, catching Maxim on the shin. He yelped and reached for his leg but caught himself, stood up, and clamped his lips shut.

  “Perhaps you weren’t as thorough as you should have been,” Jeffers crooned, taking a step back and placing his empty glass on the side table.

  “I assure you, sir. I looked everywhere. She’s not there.” Maxim’s voice trembled and he favored his left leg. Jeffers saw a signal pass between the two men. He was tired of them sticking together, forming an alliance against him. He paid their salaries, dressed them in custom-tailored suits, gave them the freedom to live like depraved dogs. He deserved respect.

  Without warning Jeffers drove the metal-tipped end of his walking stick into Nicholas’s stomach.

  Nicholas grunted, doubled over, and fell to his knees, coughing and retching.

  “Are you not going to help your friend?” Jeffers asked, shifting his hold on his cane, as if to swing at a ball. He’d quite enjoyed cricket in his youth.

  Maxim kept his gaze focused on a spot on the floor and was silent.

  “I’ll ask you one more time. I don’t like being lied to, so if you were lazy and forgot to look somewhere, just admit it. Now, where is the fucking bitch?”

  Nicholas groaned from his place on the floor.

  Maxim’s face reddened and he raised his eyes, blazing with anger and hatred. “And I told you, she wasn’t in the gatehouse. Sir.”

  Sweat broke out in Jeffers’s armpits and crotch. He smelled his own fear. He knew he was outnumbered, and his strength was failing. Instinct for survival took over. He swung his cane with as much force as he could muster, hitting Maxim on the side of the head with a sickening crack. Maxim crumpled to the floor, his eyelids partially closed, staring fixedly at Jeffers’s boots. Blood seeped from beneath his hair.