Family Jewels (13 page)

Was it all an act? She gnawed on the inside of her cheek. Her heart warred with her brain, insisting what she felt from him was real. Until the doubts about Trevor’s intentions were erased completely, she would keep the diamond and the cryptically engraved numbers to herself. Trevor still needed to provide a good reason why he should have it—why she should risk her reputation and send her career down the toilet.

She returned the stone inside her jeweler’s case and stuffed it in the bottom of her bag, hiding it beneath her tools and cosmetics again. It was as safe as anything right now. Trevor would have no reason to question her need to carry this backpack everywhere she went.

Satisfied with her resolve, Cynthia glanced in the mirror for the first time. What she saw horrified her. Her hair had come loose from her braid and purple circles of fatigue shadowed her eyes. She untied her hair. Running her fingers under the water, she combed the long strands back. At least she didn’t look disheveled and windblown now. She splashed water on her face and scrubbed a towel across her skin to liven up the color.

Time to go, before he came searching for her again. She turned off the water and unlocked the door, draping the strap of her backpack over one arm. She found Trevor seated on the bed. He’d removed his socks and boots and propped all of the pillows against his back. His long jeans-clad legs stretched out on the bed with bare feet crossed casually at the ankles. Pages from the report that Captain Hill had given him earlier lay spread out around him. He ignored her, listening to someone on his cell phone.

A knock sounded on the hotel door. Before she could turn around, he’d slapped his phone shut and grabbed his gun from the nightstand. “I’ll get that. You stay here.”

Stunned by the rough tone in his voice, she stepped aside to let him pass. He tucked his gun into the back of his jeans and closed the bedroom door behind him. Left alone, she looked for a place to keep her backpack out of his way, yet easily accessible. The corner behind the television cabinet looked perfect. It wouldn’t attract undue attention there. She tucked her backpack in there. Then she unzipped her larger suitcase and searched for a change of clothes.

She chose a loose-fitting white cotton t-shirt and faded jeans. After removing her sweater, bra, skirt and tights, she donned the shirt and then propped her foot up on a chair to examine her knee. Sure enough, a large purple and green bruise decorated her kneecap. It was swollen and tender to the touch.

The door opened. Trevor walked in, his eyes searching the room until he found her in the corner. His smoldering gaze singed the skin off her legs and nearly naked ass.

She had to look away, her lips pressed together, to keep from grinning like a chimp at his lusty reaction and slowly reached for her jeans.

Chapter Twelve

“This will be easier if you keep them off.” Trevor came to her, holding a plastic bag full of ice in one hand.

“I really think I should get dressed.”

With a gentle but persistent tug, he took the jeans out of her hand and dropped them on the floor beside the chair. “Sit down, Cyn. Let me look at your knee.”

Cynthia sat, every inch of her aware of Trevor’s tall, warm body standing so close. She tried to sit modestly, keeping her legs together, tugging on the hem of her t-shirt to bring it down over her hips.

He knelt at her feet. When he smoothed his palm over her sore knee she sucked in a sharp breath. He placed the ice bag upon the purple bump.

“It looks painful. I’m sorry you were injured.”

“Oh, I’ve had worse. I’m just glad it doesn’t hurt too much to walk.”

Goose bumps sprang to life on every inch of her skin but not from the cold he applied to her knee. His large warm hand rested on her outer thigh, away from her aching knee. The firm pressure of his fingers seeped into her skin and sent tingles up between her thighs. She’d always been quick to arouse, never needing a lot of foreplay or stimulation to reach orgasm. Her body reacted to him now. The pulsing throb inside her pussy brought with it the heady scent of her woman’s musk. She glanced down at herself, fully expecting steam to be rising up from between her legs.

She looked up. When her eyes met his he raised one dark eyebrow. He watched her intently, the blue depths swirling with sexual heat.

Did he smell her arousal?

His nostrils flared as if he inhaled something delicious. “I think we should eat dinner first. Hold this right here.”

He took her hand and placed it upon the ice, keeping the frozen bag secure on her injured knee. Then he dragged the ottoman from the chair over and reached for her foot. Sparks of pleasure swarmed up her leg from his warm fingers. He cradled her foot, caressing her sensitive arch with soothing strokes and then settled her leg on the ottoman with great care.

The ice bag lay perfectly balanced and draped over her entire knee now. She let go of it and tucked both hands under her thighs, feeling exposed and uncomfortable about her nearly naked state.

Trevor stood up and exited the bedroom, returning quickly with the small, wheeled cart and their dinner.

He pulled the small table over and lifted the other chair next to hers. Smiling like a satisfied wolf with a trapped rabbit, he placed a cloth napkin on her lap, handed her a fork and a large plate with a mound of chicken Caesar salad large enough to feed three people. Then he picked up two wineglasses from the cart, set them on the table and uncorked a bottle of white wine.

“I hope you like Chardonnay?” He showed her the label.

“Yes, I’d love some.” She waited for him to pour wine and serve his own dinner of grilled pork chops and herbed pan-roasted potatoes. He removed the gun from the back of his jeans and returned it to the nightstand before he sat down.

“I promise, no getting up and running away this time.” He lifted his glass to her. “
Bon appétit
,
chéri
.”

“Thanks.” Cynthia clinked her wineglass with his and sipped. It was cold, fruity and delicious. If she weren’t careful about how much she drank, she’d lose all her inhibitions and attack him with her fingers, hands and mouth. She set the glass down on the small table and stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork, desperately searching for something to get her mind off him. “Do you speak French, or just those few words?”

“
Plus que quelques mots
,” he said and sliced into his grilled pork chop. “More than a few words. Do you?”

“Me? No, only a little that I’ve picked up here and there. I took two years of Spanish in high school. I haven’t used it much, sorry to say. Do you speak other languages?”

He chewed with obvious relish, swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Well, besides French, which is my strongest foreign language, I also speak German and some Dutch. Russian when I have to. Those are the languages I need most when I’m on assignment.”

She nodded and took another sip of wine before speaking. “You spend a lot of time traveling, don’t you?”

“Yes.” A shuttered expression crossed his face. “The items I recover rarely remain in their country of origin and switch hands many times.”

“It sounds intriguing.”

“Sometimes it is. More often it’s tedious work. I ask a lot of questions of people who’d rather not give me any information, or who have conveniently forgotten. In many ways it’s a hunt for a missing clue.”

Cynthia glanced toward the nightstand where his guns rested in cold, deadly silence. “Are you in danger often?”

He grinned. “Define ‘often’.”

She shrugged. “Do you carry those guns with you everywhere you go?”

“Usually. The items I’m recovering for their rightful owners are often priceless or worth millions. The people who stole them will do almost anything to keep them. Even kill.”

She forced down a chunk of half-chewed chicken and struggled for a few seconds not to choke. Thankfully he didn’t notice and focused on his meal. A large swallow of wine helped clear her throat.

“You’ve been shot at?”

“Many times. But so far they’ve all missed me.”

Her glance strayed to the deadly looking weapons on the nightstand again. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

Trevor set his fork and knife down. “Does that bother you,” he jerked his head toward the guns, “having them out in the open?”

Cynthia pursed her lips. “A little. I’m not used to seeing one and the potential of what it could do in the wrong hands scares me.”

“Have you ever fired a gun? Handled one?”

She shook her head, dragging her eyes away from the weapons and focused on finding another tasty garlic crouton in her mountain of greens.

“If we have some time I’ll show you how it works. The safety is on both of them so they won’t go off unexpectedly. But if you ever have to pick one up you’d better know how to use it.” He stood and walked over to where they lay, then opened the nightstand drawer, carefully placed both guns inside and shut it firmly. “Better?”

She smiled. “Out of sight, out of mind. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. How’s your dinner?”

“Great. But too much.” She’d eaten about as much lettuce and chicken as she could. She set her plate on the table and leaned back in the chair to finish her wine. “Trevor, there’s something I don’t understand.”

“What would that be?”

She twirled her glass for a moment, admiring the deep golden hue against the soft light of the bedroom. “I know the diamond you’re searching for isn’t worth more than one hundred grand. And you said you couldn’t tell me exactly why you need it.”

He nodded. “Sensitive information.”

Cynthia brushed off her flash of irritation. “I know it’s not the diamond itself. The stone represents something, right? Can’t you even give me a hint?”

His glance was quick and hard. “No.”

“Is it a key to something?”

He reacted by stiffening his posture for a moment. Then he offered her more wine but she declined. He poured more in his own glass, clearly stalling his answer to her question. “What did you see on the diamond, Cynthia?”

Her meal dropped into the bottom of her stomach like a bucket of rocks. She started to sip wine and then set her glass down on the table next to her plate, determined to keep her cool and not let the alcohol affect her brain.

Why didn’t he trust her?

She had to stay calm until she understood everything more clearly. For all she knew, he could be pretending to care for her, though she doubted he could fake his physical attraction that well.

Still, what did that mean anyway? According to a study published by
Newsweek
, men thought about sex at least once every ten minutes and had erections about as frequently. A stiff cock didn’t mean he wanted her. He wanted sex. And she just happened to be nearby. Being so coldly clinical made her grumpy.

“I don’t know anything, Trevor. That’s why I keep asking. These people want me dead. I have a right to know why.”

Trevor leaned forward and removed the ice bag from her knee. The skin beneath had turned pink from the applied cold. He touched around the bump gently. “How’s your knee feel now?”

“Much better. Thanks. Are you going to answer my question? Or, is there something else on your mind?”

“Hmm,” he murmured. “I can promise you one thing, I’ll never lie to you. If I have something to say, I say it. And if I see something I want, I reach for it.” His fingers moved to the inside of her knee, circling over sensitive skin, tempting her to open her legs and give him access. He tugged on the napkin that still covered her lap, drawing it across her legs in a slow, sensuous sweep that exposed her to him.

Cynthia shivered, not from cold but from the heat. “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

“Admittedly, yes,” Trevor said. “Is it working?”

She bit her lip when he palmed her inner thigh. “Admittedly, yes.”

This relationship between them–-if it could even be called that–-was going to be brief and temporary. She didn’t expect or believe anything more than lust existed between them. This was just a one-night stand with the sexiest man she’d ever met.

“Another promise, Cyn, I won’t let anyone harm you. I’ll keep you safe for as long as it takes to clear this matter up.”

“How long will that take?”

His other hand slid between her legs, warm and insistent.
Wonderful
.
Her heart jumped inside her chest. She had to concentrate on breathing. Creamy moisture soaked through the crotch of her panties.

“I don’t know for certain,” he answered. “But each hour that passes brings new information from many sources. I’m not working alone.”

“Oh. That’s…good to know.” Her breath caught when his hands inched up her inner thighs, toward the aching, wet center between them. “Really good.”

He moved out of his chair, pushed the table and ottoman away and kneeled in front of her. A whimper echoed from her throat in response to the hunger she read in his eyes. His jeans bulged in front, large and obvious.

“Tell me something, Cyn. Tell me you want this. If you say no I’ll leave you be. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Her fingernails dug into the fabric of the chair while she strained to keep her hands off him. She feared she’d claw him with her desire to bring him closer. Slowly, she wet her lips, watching his eyes follow the path of her tongue. “Oh yes. I want this, Trevor.”

His hands caressed her thighs, from outside to inside and back again, driving her insane with need. She nodded, too tongue-tied to answer.

“Please, don’t stop,” she said breathlessly.”

Trevor tucked his fingertips inside the elastic band of her panties, hooked the fabric and then slid it down. She lifted her hips to help him remove them. Doing that exposed her pouting pussy to his gaze.

He made a deep sound that could have been pain or pleasure. “Beautiful Cyn, so beautiful.” He reached for the hem of her t-shirt and slid it up. She raised her arms and let him pull it off. His smile could have lit up Manhattan. Her nipples had peaked into such hard nubs that she couldn’t help squirming in her chair in anticipation of his hot mouth on them. She leaned forward and offered her aching breasts for his caresses.