Sweet Revenge (26 page)

Delighted, Adrianne slipped the case and her necklace into her bag. She thought it was a pity she wouldn’t see his face in the morning. Then she turned and collided with him.

She barely had time to suck in her breath before he tossed her over his shoulder. Even as she kicked out, she found herself tumbling through the air. This time the breath was knocked out of her as she hit the mattress. Adrianne could only swear as her arms were pinned to her sides and Philip’s body spread over hers.

“Good morning, darling,” he said, then pressed his mouth to hers. He felt her arms strain against him, her body arch and buck even as her mouth softened, heated, opened. Aroused by the contrast, he took the kiss deeper than he’d intended.

Pulling himself back, he braceleted her wrists with one hand and reached for the light. The moment it came on, he decided he liked the way she looked in his bed.

She was well aware of her position. Her own fault, Adrianne thought in disgust as she struggled between temper and bitterness. For nearly ten years she’d stolen the best, and she’d stolen with a cool head and logic. Now, because of a worthless necklace—and her own pride—she was caught. The only choice left was to brazen it out.

“Let go of me.”

“Not a chance.” Holding her arms above her head, he used his free hand to brush the hair from her cheek. “You must admit it was a clever way to get you into bed.”

“I came for my necklace, not to go to bed with you.”

“You could do both.” He grinned. Because he was unprepared for the sudden violence of her struggle, he lost his grip. The next thirty seconds were a heated and silent bid for supremacy. She was agile, and one hell of a lot stronger than she looked. Philip discovered that when she landed a solid blow in his solar plexus. This time he pinned her hands
between their bodies and kept his face an inch from hers. “All right, well discuss it later.”

It wasn’t the cool Princess Adrianne who glared up at him, but the woman he’d suspected lay beneath, passionate, volatile … and involved. “You set me up, you bastard.”

“Guilty on both counts. I’m surprised you’d risk so much to get the necklace back. It’s worth only a few hundred pounds. Sentimental value, Addy?”

Panting, she pulled her thoughts together. He either had an excellent eye or a jeweler’s loupe. “Why did you take it?”

“Curiosity. Why does Princess Adrianne wear colored glass?”

“I’ve better things to spend my money on.” His chest was bare. She could feel each beat of his heart against her fingers. “If you let me go, I’ll take it back and we can forget this happened. I won’t turn you over to the police.”

“Do better.”

She had her wind back and, she hoped, her control. “What do you want?”

His brow lifted at that, and he took a long, leisurely study of her face. “I’ll let that pass,” he decided. “It’s too easy.”

“I won’t apologize for breaking into your room to take back my own property.”

“What about my jewelry case?”

“That was revenge.” The flash of passion, quick and intense, came into her eyes. “I believe strongly in revenge.”

“Fair enough. Would you like a drink?”

“Yes.”

He smiled at her again. “Then I’ll have your word that you’ll stay where you are.” He could almost see her thoughts shifting and taking shape. “You could run, Adrianne, and as I’m hardly dressed to chase you, you’d get away. Today. There’d still be tomorrow.”

“My word,” she agreed. “I could use a drink.”

He rose, giving her a chance to slip off the bed and into a chair. He was bare-chested and the drawstring pants hung precariously low on his hips. Steadying herself, Adrianne drew off her gloves as she listened to the sound of liquid hitting glass.

“Scotch all right?”

“Fine.” She took the glass, then sipped calmly as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m hoping for an explanation.”

“Then you’ll be disappointed. I don’t owe you one.”

“You’ve prodded my curiosity.” He reached beside the bed for a pack of cigarettes. “You know, I’d given these up until I met you.”

“Sorry.” She smiled. “It’s just a matter of willpower, after all.”

“Oh, I have it.” His gaze skimmed down her, then up. “I’m using it up elsewhere. Now, my question is, why does a woman like you steal?”

“It’s not stealing to take back what belongs to you.”

“Madeline Moreau’s pendant didn’t belong to you.”

If her control hadn’t been so well tuned, she’d have choked on the scotch. “What does one have to do with the other?”

He blew smoke out thoughtfully as he watched her. She was no amateur, he thought, and a long way from being a novice. “Oh, you took them, Addy. Or you know who did. Does the name Rose Sparrow ring a bell?”

She continued to sip, though her palms had broken into a sweat. “Should it?”

“It was the skirt,” Philip mused. “It took me quite a while to put it together. You’re a distraction. But when I visited our mutual friend, Freddie, he mentioned Rose, described her. And I remembered that little blue leather skirt you were packing. The one that was so unlike your usual style.”

“If you’re going to talk in circles, I really have to go. I haven’t had any sleep.”

“Sit down.”

She wouldn’t have obeyed, but the sharp snap of his voice warned her it would be less complicated if she did. “If I read you correctly, you’ve somehow gotten it into your head that I had something to do with Madeline’s burglary.” Setting the scotch aside, she ordered her shoulders to relax. “I can only ask you, why would I? I hardly need the money.”

“It’s not a matter of need, but of motive.”

The pulse in her throat was beating uncomfortably. She
ignored it and kept her eyes steadily in contact with his. “What are you, a Scotland Yard man?”

With a laugh he tapped his cigarette out. “Not precisely. You’ve heard the adage it takes a thief to catch a thief?”

When the bell rang, it rang loud and clear. She’d heard talk of the legendary thief known only as P.C. He was reputed to be charming, ruthless, and the master of second-story work. He specialized in jewels. Some said he’d stolen the Wellingford diamond, a seventy-five-carat stone of the first water. Then he’d retired. Adrianne had always pictured an older man, a cunning veteran. She picked up the scotch again.

It was ironic that she was at last in the company of one of her own, and the best, yet she wasn’t free to talk shop.

“Is that your way of telling me you’re a thief?”

“Was.”

“Fascinating. Then I suppose you might have taken Madeline’s pendant.”

“A few years ago I would have. The point is, you had a hand in it, Addy, and I want to know why.”

She rose, swirling the inch of scotch left in the glass. “Philip, if for some insane reason I had a part in taking it, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

“Your title doesn’t mean a damn here, between the two of us, nor do social graces. Either you tell me, or you tell my superiors.”

“Who are?”

“I work for Interpol.” He watched her lift the scotch to her lips and drain it. “They’ve tied several burglaries during almost a decade to one man, one very elusive man. The Moreau sapphire is just the last of a very long list.”

“Interesting. But what does it have to do with me?”

“We can set up a meeting. I might be able to work a deal and keep you out of it.”

“That’s very gallant,” she said as she set the glass aside. “Or would be if you were right.” Though she knew how close the edge was, still she smiled confidently. “Can you imagine how amused my friends would be if I told them I’d been accused of being involved with a thief? I could dine off it for weeks.”

“Dammit, can’t you see I’m trying to help you?” He was
up quickly, his hands on her arms, shaking her. “There’s no reason for the act with me. There’s no one else here, no need for pretense. I saw you outside of your hotel on the night of the robbery, dressed all in black, sneaking in the service entrance. I know you had something to do with seeing the jewels were fenced. You’re involved in this, Addy. I was in the business, for Christ’s sake. I know how it works.”

“You have nothing solid to take to your superiors.”

“Not yet. It’s only a matter of time. No one knows better how high the odds become after a few years. If you’re in trouble, if you’ve had to sell a few baubles to save face, I’ve got no reason to embarrass you by making it public. Talk to me, Addy. I want to help you.”

It was ridiculous, but he sounded as though he meant it. A part of her she’d strapped down for years wanted to believe him. “Why?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he muttered, and brought his lips to hers.

Her initial struggle died on a moan. The passion she tasted was no less volatile than the passion she felt. His hands were in her hair, rough, possessive, as he dragged her head back for more freedom. For the first time she let her hands roam, search, linger over a man’s flesh. The need started out as a warmth in her stomach, then spread to a heat, then an ache, then a fire.

He knew it was madness to want her this way, to forget his priorities and sink into her. But she was all softness and strength, all trembles and demands. The scent radiating from the skin of her neck made his head spin as they tumbled onto the bed.

He forgot finesse and style in an explosion of desire. Whoever she was, whatever her secrets, he wanted her now more than he’d ever wanted before. He’d coveted diamonds for their inner fire, rubies for their arrogant flame, sapphires for their flash of blue heat. In Adrianne he found all the qualities he’d found before only in the gems he’d stolen.

She was small, agile. Her hair wound around him as they rolled on the bed, wrapping him in scent and texture. The taste of scotch lingered on her tongue, intoxicating. There was a desperation in her response that stripped his control layer by layer.

When he slipped his hand under her sweater to find her breast, full and soft, he felt her heart thundering under his palm.

It had never been like this. Year after year, time after time, she’d convinced herself it could never be like this. Not for her. For the first time she wanted completely, as a woman. To use and be used. As her body responded, struggling toward pleasure, arching toward release, the fear stabbed through.

She could see her mother’s face, wet with tears. And she could hear, muffled through her childish hands, her father’s groans of satisfaction.

“No!” The word ripped out of her as she shoved Philip away. “Don’t touch me. Don’t.”

In reflex he grabbed her wrists as she swung out at him. “Goddammit, Adrianne.” Fury had him dragging her against him, bitter accusations on his tongue. They died before they could be spoken. The tears trembling in her eyes were real, as was the terror behind them.

“All right, steady.” He gentled his grip and fought to keep his voice low. She was a roller coaster he still wasn’t certain he wanted to ride. “Stop,” he ordered when she continued to fight him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Just let me go.” Her throat was so tight even the whisper hurt. “Keep your hands off me.”

Temper rose again and had to be battled back. “I don’t attack women,” he said evenly. “I’d apologize if I’d read you wrong, but we both know I didn’t.”

“I’ve already told you I didn’t come here to sleep with you.” She jerked one hand free, then the other. “If you expect me to fall on my back just because you want to be entertained, you’re going to be disappointed.”

He drew away from her slowly. That was a measure of his own control. “Someone’s given you a bad time.”

“The simple fact is I’m not interested.” Before he could touch her again, she pushed herself off the bed and grabbed her bag.

“The simple fact is you’re afraid.” He, too, rose from the bed. He wouldn’t know until later that the sheets would smell of her and she would haunt him for the rest of the night. “Of me, I wonder, or yourself.”

Her hands weren’t steady when she lifted the strap to her shoulder. “A man’s ego is an unending fascination. Goodbye, Philip.”

“One more question, Adrianne.” She was at the door, but she stopped, tilting her head. “We’re alone here, no recorders. I’d like the truth for once, for myself. Personally. Are you involved in all this because of a man?”

She should have ignored him. She should have given him her coolest smile and walked out, leaving his question unanswered. She would ask herself a dozen times why she didn’t. “Yes.” She saw her father as he’d looked striding down the wide, sunwashed halls, ignoring her mother’s tears and her own silent cries. “Yes, because of a man.”

The disappointment was deep and as ripe as his anger. “Is he threatening you? Blackmailing you?”

“That’s a total of three questions.” She found the strength to smile. “But I’ll tell you this, which is nothing but the truth. I’ve done what I’ve done by choice.” Remembering, she reached into her bag and drew out his jewelry case. On impulse she tossed it to him. “Honor among thieves, Philip. At least for today.”

“Darling, isn’t this glorious?” Lauren St. John swirled around the edge of the pool to kiss Adrianne’s cheek. She made certain the cameraman got her best side and used Adrianne’s body to block the fact that she’d put on five pounds since Thanksgiving. “Everything’s going so well, isn’t it?”

Adrianne lifted her iced margarita. “Right on schedule.” There were a hundred people, by invitation only, mingling on the pool terrace. Inside the ballroom were another fifty, who preferred air-conditioning to sea-swept breezes. She allowed herself one quick, wistful look at the beach before smiling back at Lauren. “It’s a lovely hotel, Lauren, and I’m sure this fashion show is going to be a huge success.”

“It already is. Why, the press alone’s worth a million.
Peoples
here, of course. We’re getting a three-page spread. We have a good shot at the cover. Of course you know I did
Good Morning America
last week.”

“You looked wonderful.”

“So sweet of you.” Lauren pivoted toward a camera crew. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have champagne, dear? We’re serving the margaritas mostly for atmosphere.”

She imagined Laurens five-thousand-dollar Mexican peasant outfit was equally atmospheric. “This is fine.”